"Do you miss me yet?" she asks again.
"Nope," I say. On this warm and sunny day, Elizabeth and I moved from our shared cubicle space and into our own private offices. At once, this is huge and nothing at all. While I can no longer see her, I can still hear her singing and coughing. We still share a wall, but that wall is now made of something more than just dusty cloth and goes all the way up to the ceiling (where the cockroaches dance and play). We have windows. Our windows allow sunshine to blanket our skin, and our windows rise to offer fresh(er) air. I can turn away from my computer screen and see, instead of more gray dusty cloth: rooftops and blue sky and all kinds of swirling, beating, whistling life. I have a ledge, where my green plant will grow. I have a bookcase, where my library of back issues will stand. I have a filing drawer, where my documents will be organized. And I'm envisioning an office system, my own little hi-fi away from home, which will throw forth such great, pulsing sounds.
What will it be made of? Perhaps I'll look into an Outlaw Audio RR2150. Maybe I'll match it up with an inexpensive player from Cambridge Audio or Music Hall. Then again, I've always been interested in the players from Naim and Rega and Linn and... And what about speakers? I'm thinking maybe Epos, maybe NHT, maybe PSB or Polk. Who knows? What would you do if you were me? What kind of office system do you have?
John walks by, wanders around the space that Elizabeth and I once occupied, frowns, and jokes: "Where have they gone? Where are they?"
He then allows himself to look into our new offices, pretends to be surprised, and exclaims: "Ohhhh, here you are!"
"You've got such a big smile on your face, John. You delight in our happiness."
"That's right," he says. "And also in the fact that these offices will take the place of pay raises."
More JA gold.
"Just remember," he tells me, "Make sure to close the door if you're going to do the wild thing."
"That's going in the blog," I say.
"Nope," I say. On this warm and sunny day, Elizabeth and I moved from our shared cubicle space and into our own private offices. At once, this is huge and nothing at all. While I can no longer see her, I can still hear her singing and coughing. We still share a wall, but that wall is now made of something more than just dusty cloth and goes all the way up to the ceiling (where the cockroaches dance and play). We have windows. Our windows allow sunshine to blanket our skin, and our windows rise to offer fresh(er) air. I can turn away from my computer screen and see, instead of more gray dusty cloth: rooftops and blue sky and all kinds of swirling, beating, whistling life. I have a ledge, where my green plant will grow. I have a bookcase, where my library of back issues will stand. I have a filing drawer, where my documents will be organized. And I'm envisioning an office system, my own little hi-fi away from home, which will throw forth such great, pulsing sounds.
