Its 4:26. . .
It’s 4:26 and I have another half hour at work. When you consider that I’ve been here for 7.5 hours, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? But somehow, this last half hour makes everything before it look like a fast forward scene from a particularly boring movie, so its more of time lapse photography that they use in tv shows to denote that boring, pointless time is passing.
My office isn’t that bad. I have co-workers who can provide interesting conversation, a boss that is quirky enough to merit raised eyebrows and rolled eyes, but doesn’t cause any real harm and there are three cats who live in my office, as a bizarre perk. So it could be a lot worse. I get to wear jeans and listen to my i pod. My browser isn’t tracked. It could be much, much worse. By the way, its 4:31. If I calculate the time it takes to carefully and slowly pack up my desk, make a list of things to do for the morning and shut off my computer (and rinse out my coffee mug thoroughly) I can usually justify stopping work at 4:45. That leaves 14 minutes.
Another good indication of when its ok to start packing up is by watching my co-worker, Dan. Dan is an interesting guy, I don’t like to disagree with him because he is always right. He also always packs up about ten minutes before I do, so he makes me look like a hard worker. This helps me out, because it gives me cover on the days when I just can’t take it anymore (like today, today got to me for some reason) and I have to leave, leave now!
There is a sort of quiet desperation that clings to us at 4:30, an acknowledgement of how close we are, but how close isn’t enough, and close isn’t instant gratification.