After a long, hot summer, filled with the ups and downs of sweat and ice, of long stares and quick reactions, I find myself back at a desk. It is as if Labor Day marked the end of labor in the physical sense, and the beginning of days in the stagnant sense. The adjustment to a new existence of a limited prison of movement and a regulation of hours, the Desk Job. Which of course is only new to a recidivist like me.
True, direct deposit has its advantages.
True, there are still tens of thousands outside longing to arrange paper clips and sit all day staring at a screen, yielding only a revelation of what “www-dot” actually means. I am lucky.
And with time to think comes time to write, and I suppose that’s helpful as well.