Friday, April 08, 2005


This week was also attended by the unpleasantry of having to move from my protected, private and unmolested hideaway to the first cube in the throughway just outside Jack’s office. It was either there or practically share a cube with Steve Fix in Melanie’s old cube, and I recall with disdain the times I visited her there. Her cube seemed set in low-lying land prone to floods and mosquitos and mudslides. A sad orange chair sat in the cube, a cast-off that looked like something one would find on a Appalachian’s porch. I moved it outside the cube and a few hours later it was back where it was, like Poe’s raven. Torn between bad real estate and worse, I went with Mike Porter’s very visible old cube. People stopped by to wish me well or welcome me to the neighborhood, which only made me feel more overexposed than I already was. It was like wearing a sign.

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Desperately Seeking Retirement
..a situational comedy
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