I have the day off work today. Woot.
I have time to read. I finished a book I’ve been trying to get read, now, for months. A guy on my team at work loaned it to me, and he’s been wanting to discuss it. I’ve been putting him off, feigning knowledge from the few paragraphs I skimmed over the past weeks. This weekend, I got that done. Now we can discuss it. I liked the book. It’s given me ideas. I skipped a number of parts where the author went into intense levels of detail that I couldn’t follow and didn’t care to absorb. I’m very pleased that I finished reading it, and I can discuss it with my colleague.
Now, I really do have the day to myself.
Red. Like life. Lifeblood running through my veins. Life coursing through my day.
Uninterrupted, unsullied, untainted life — free of the limitations of the cubicle, the politics, the jockeying for position, the competing agendas, the contrasting working styles.
Untroubled by the existential risk of saying something wrong to the wrong person in the wrong way at the wrong time. Crossing lines that I don’t even see. Drifting into dangerous territory, simply because I seek honesty and truth. Being at a distinct disadvantage because I’m blind to the faces, deaf to the tones, too busy dealing with all the sensory details to attend properly to the subtleties of … whatever it is that the neurotypical folks around me deem essential at any given point in time.
I hate my job, but I love my work. If the people all disappeared or went off to fight amongst themselves in their own separate playground, that would be fine with me.
But why am I even thinking about them? Today is bright red with possibility. A high tower reaching to the sky. The clear, clear sky.
It’s time to celebrate. Time for a walk. On this quiet day, when everyone is Somewhere Else.
And I have the neighborhood — and my life — to myself.