There’s something to be said for dreary day jobs:  If nothing else, they teach fortitude. And patience. And strength. Believe me, on days like today, it takes every ounce of energy I have not to wipe my hard drive and just walk out the door. Here’s to hoping I am strong enough to sit still. For the next two hours I will break the monotony by trudging from desk to copy room to kitchen, pouring yet another glass of water, and resuming my brain-dead slump, with my back to passersby. With any luck, the water will run right through me and I will have an excuse to use the restroom.

When the clock clicks over to 5:00 and I’m still here, I will claim it as a major victory.

Seriously, some days I think intelligence ought to be treated like a disability. Just as the stalls are fitted with handrails for wheelchair-bound employees, desks should come with logic puzzles that must be solved correctly in order for you to log into your computer. Every half-hour another one will pop up–in varying degrees of difficulty. If you hire someone with a brain, you should be forced to feed it. Asking a smart person to perform a rote task is like putting the coffee all way to the back in the top cabinet and wondering why the man with no legs feels sleepy.

One day I won’t need to drive 25 miles to pretend I’m not weighing my career options as I stare out the window: homicide, suicide, death by cop…homicide, suicide, fuck it. I can do more than this. I already do–four or five nights a week, I get at least 2 blissful hours of writing time. To pretend that my gray matter matters.

’til then: I’ve got another 8 ounces of water waiting….