Tuesday, January 25, 2005

They say I’ve moved into the cursed office. I’m not given to superstition, gentle reader, but this is a label I’ve tucked carefully in the back of my mind. It isn’t a bad office by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve got a spacious desk, a few filing cabinets, a pleasant view, and a whole bunch of skeletons crammed into my figurative closet.

These skeletons belong to four people. Four. Four employees have worked in this office and met an ignoble end, by which I mean they got shitcanned. Fired. Pink-slipped without the pink. No hugging, horribly contrived farewell parties, or even the “get a box and pack up your things” shtick. They left without notice, and their belongings followed shortly after in the mail.

I’ve had a long, long day complete with a complementary headache. You know the kind, I’d wager. It wasn’t a Monday, that’s for sure, just a very busy Tuesday, a keen reminder of why I sleep eight hours each night. My ultimate goal is to slough off the pervasive dread cast by these ghosts from the past. I plan on doing this by mid-February. Cursed as this room may be, it will not claim me.