I’ve recently found myself back in the peculiar institution of employment.
I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of 11:00PM bedtimes (that are still too late) and 6:30 AM wake up calls (that always leave me deprived of the extra hours of beauty sleep unemployment graced me with).
While not my photo, this is the station.
Although my morning struggle to avoid crowded trains is never won, it does provide relief from career panhandlers. Apparently, they don’t get to work begging for whole dollars (they oftentimes will decline coins and food if it doesn’t meet their dietary preferences) until much later in the morning.
Upon arriving to work, I find myself going through a multitude of checkpoints and ID clearances before I make it to my floor, next my department and finally my desk. Once seated, I take the time to drink my coffee, sit in my chair for a bit and think, talk to a girlfriend, and catch up on text messages.
Throughout a myriad of tasks, my day moves relatively quickly. After quite a bit of filing, scanning and uploading documents, then signing off, sealing and shipping out others, the lunch hour arrives. Upon returning, I repeat the aforementioned, and just as soon as my day began, it is done.
My evening commute home is crowded although this go round I am able to snag a cozy seat, hamper down, and dive into my latest literary obsession. This week is Delores Phillips’ The Darkest Child. The panhandlers are now out, running things on the trains, and I’m grateful for the distraction my book provides.
When I’m finally home I realize I have approximately three hours before it’s time for bed. I can spend this time straightening up my apartment, catching up on some writing, calling back family and friends and attempting to cook a decent, well-structured dinner, or I can go out to an event and run around in the NYC streets.
Last night I ran the streets. Consequently, today I almost fell asleep at work. Tonight, right now, I am in bed.
Goodnight.
Fancy A. Yancey 