STFU

There are days when my hearing is damningly acute. Everything I can hear at once literally starts to steal my energy until I am a puddle of others' words and the ticking of clocks.

Take today for instance.

There are four conversations going on in the room and I know what every single one is about: vacation, lunch, IT complaints about Course Development, and Course Development complaints about IT. None of these things interest me, and yet I know all the filthy fucking minutiae because I can't fucking ignore it. (Disneyworld with the kids for Christmas, Thai, Course Development is high maintenance, and IT is incompetent.)

I know that my most irritating cubemate just took eleven steps to throw away his fucking pansy-ass diet soda bottle in the recycling bin.

Right now my boss's space heater is on but she is not in there. I know she is not in there because I can not hear her three middle fingers rubbing against the arm of her chair as I could all morning when she edits.

The new guy is listening to Led Zeppelin on his headphones.

The guy I always say hi to yet never remember if his name is Daniel or David is across the room sucking on a mint and chewing on his bottom lip simultaneously. Such an odd fucking sound that I'm not sure anyone else on this side of the room is remotely aware of.

The reason I know all these things is because I go on three day periods of time when all I can do is hear the whole world. I should be out somewhere interesting, listening to the birds or the rush of traffic or conversations that I don't already know all the answers to. Writing down all the beautiful things outside this cubicle that come into my ears and play dress-up games with my imagination. I should be dancing right now—when the music has different sounds I could swear weren't there before. I should be making love with my eyes closed, listening to the shifts in weight and the fusion of skin.

Instead I am in my cubicle.

I think it's official—something has to give. This sedentary job with these sedentary people and our fucking sedentary purpose is suffocating my creativity muses. When I can't even manage a blog, life is in a bad place.

A cubicle is just no way to live.

(Goddamnit if I hear one more fucking thing regarding video games or Inglourious Basterds, shit is about to get ugly.)