exile

After an ear infection that sidelined with me at home, I'm back in the lounge that is my new workplace. I call it that, a lounge. So relaxing. My corner inside its inner room is stuffed with a large box filled with my stuff, one so big I have to sort them out tomorrow. Because I'm a sloth and disorganized, the lounge people did me and themselves a favor: they bundled and shoved together all of my stuff. I think I'm going to write each of them a Friendster testimonial, by way of thank you. I'm still working for my alma mater's PR arm, though I've been relocated, because I am Godforsaken anti-social, and my boss knows writing can be mood-driven, to a quieter place. It was not that silent this afternoon though, when college students excitedly argued their project proposals to my boss, who held the power to veto cash grants to students' artistic endeavors, for which they wanted university funding. I felt relieved to listen to their emotional gestures and spontaneous laughs. I'm not that old, but being around people who are, can make you. So I have to thank my boss for understanding the quirk of a man I am, and for exiling me here, in the lounge, as opposed to the other, tunnel-like office, where I had probably aged 10 years. Feels good to be back. No, this can't possibly be exile.