Office Work

At work, I've been procrastinating finishing a couple of tricky projects, plus a twenty-two-year-old has latched on to me for dating advice, and because tricky projects become the albatross around my poor desk's neck, and because twenty-two-year-olds will spout the running narrative of their lives to whomever they consider true kindred spirits, meaning to whomever will listen, I have begun to feel a little closed in at my office. Not too much, just a little. I am hoping that next week when the projects are off my desk and the twenty-two-year-old has had her fill of the latest boy, I can get some good revision done at work. All I have to do is spread out several pages before me as though I'm poring over a complex manuscript, and also have my hands hover over the keyboard as though I'm composing important, grammar-related queries to the author.

I know nada about dating, especially when frantic texting and Facebook spying are involved, so I just tell this twenty-two-year-old things I imagine she would want to hear. Then somebody else her age joins us in my office to offer her own advice, and suddenly the haven I've made for myself at work has become a haven for twenty-somethings to dissect their Facebook mishaps.

Tomorrow I will blurt out something about my nipple story, and then happily look forward to the very welcome weekend, plus Monday and Tuesday as vacation days, during which the most recent revision for my theater story will be finished and finally sent out to seek a home. Then I will write some nipple scenes, or work on the ending first, and try to get a draft of the story done by the seventeenth for my writing group. The revision for the library story will have to be done in the latter half of April, which was my original plan anyway, it's just this nipple thing has taken hold and needs to be poked around a bit.