guess where i am

i'll give you a few hints:
im surrounded by grey walls under flickering hallogen lights and theres a perpetual hum of the variety used by oppressive regimes as a form of torture.
THE OFFICE!
woooooooooo!
today i was on calls, as in, headset on, note taking, transferring from one pre-booked internal conference or external business call from one pm until 6:00.
at around 3 i realized i had to pee.
by 4 i was cross legged gesturing to coworkers with the i-have-to-pee sign
at 5 i had pretzeled myself into the position in which my bladder would be least likely to explode and was gesturing to coworkers with the i-am-about-to-flood-this-office sign.
im not even going to get into what happened at 6.

i should go home.
i have so much work, all of it assigned or realized during these calls but ofcourse i couldnt get any of it done because, um, THERE WERE STILL VOICES IN MY EAR.
but even if i stay i wont get it done.
i'm just staying because its balls cold out and normally i walk home and i really shouldnt because i'll probably die unless i run in which case id die for fitness reasons...

well. i should go. i'm going to go. but not before i fulfill my role on this blog to write depressing posts that everyones too intimidated by to comment on.
So i'll just leave you with this poem sent to me by my poem a day email subscription.
much like a horoscope or fortune cookie, i always fine a way to make it meaningful in my day.
this one wasn't too hard. i think its resoundingly true any day but i know personally true these days.
love to you all.

(HAH i just went to paste the poem and what came up instead was the Barron's editorial calendar bc thats the last thing i was copying, which listsall the financially oriented articles that will be written in 2009. which might just be the antithesis of this poem)

Love Poem With Toast

Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.

The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.

With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,
wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
wanting the water to boil,
wanting not to have cancer,
wanting to be home by dark,
wanting not to run out of gas,

as each of us wants the other
watching at the end,
as both want not to leave the other alone,
as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone,
we gaze across breakfast and pretend.

Miller Williams