Fume

I was greeted by dropcloths lining the hallway of my office and 'Just Painted' signs covering my door, even though the painting hadn't started yet. I knew I wouldn't have much time to get in an out before the paint fumes would eventually chase me out of the building, but after missing a day and a half of work this week, I wasn't willing to miss any more time. Stubbornly, I stayed in my office with the door shut, trying to steamroll my way through the piled up paperwork before my throat finally gave up on me and I beat a hasty retreat into the building next door.

In the eight and a half years I have been on this campus, there are still public spaces I have yet to set foot into, and this slowly starts to feel like a strange issue to be aware of. I have a great desire to view coffee shops as places where people go to be isolated, and the thought of being in the same one enough times to start running into people I recognize makes me want to find a new one.

All coffee shops play music, and I don't understand why. Everyone brings their own headphones, or they are there to chat with someone and thus have to speak in tones that fit between the wavelengths of speaker noise.

Eventually, I'll have to return to my office, and hope that the fumes have dissipated. At my house, the contractor finally came back to finish cleaning up the work site, and stated an intent to just put all the trash in a barrel and burn it in the driveway.

06 March 2014 16:23