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2002-07-15 - 4:42 p.m.

While unpacking the boxes that I had desperately thrown office detritus into last week, I cam across a sleeve of Mint Chocolate Girl Scout cookies. I may have to eat them. They are taunting me from the drawer that I stuffed them into, during a vain attempt at playing out of sight, out of mind. The cookies are better at the game than I am. Even the distraction of having a cube that has been around the block, and possibly seen combat in the Middle East, but thatís assuming that those holes are actually bullet holes. Which they resemble. Perhaps my cube is a decorated war veteran. Or on its last leg before being trucked out to a flesh fair, for the amusement of laid off corporate employees. One wall fell off this afternoon, however they managed to fix it with a large number of sheetrock screws. The soul chilling shrieks of the screws as they bit into the soft flesh of particleboard were very difficult to work over. Plus, I imagined that the cube would collapse around me. The cookies, sensing the advantage, promised to take me away with their crisp mint goodness. They lobbied to be put out of a drawer, so if I were pinned in the collapse I would have ready access to them. These were compelling arguments. But I managed to resist their sweet temptation. Focusing on work. On figuring out where all the necessary accoutrements of my job were in the new (except in reality), smaller cube. Iím sure that Iíll hit some sort of stride, hopefully by next week. Iíll remember where the printers are, and will no longer miss the executive style bathroom of the old building, the modern lines and up to date technology of our conference and training rooms, the feng shui-ed office space with itís carefully chosen pictures, colors, and plants arranged just so in order to align our karma towards the good of the company. Not that it helped. I will not be looking closely at the third world facilities and crumbling infrastructures of our new (except in reality) digs. I will ignore the workmen as they run network and electrical overhead. The painting, spackling, and cursing (not necessarily in that order)of the space around us, a vain attempt to hide the shoddiness. But we are sales and marketing and will put on our blinders. Or our derision. Whatever gets us through the day.

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