Day In The Life III

It was a very short while after my office first moved into its new building that the excitement started to wane. It didn't last long, at least for me. The light brown wood that felt like plastic, the grids of green metal that lined the walls and ceiling, the fluorescent lights that hovered above us silent and obsequious as maître ds in those posh hotels on TV, their magic didn't last long and it was just a few months before I began to think of the warehouse we had worked from before we shifted. The way into this warehouse was a large door that slid sideways to let us in or out. We could see the sun on the lawns outside while we worked.

In here the windows never open. We have air-conditioning and when this air-conditioning breaks down, we call a mechanic, not a person to open the windows, so we have this chilly light whispering air around us all the time, air that feels televised and shrink-wrapped and purchased and unbreathed. And the blinds are always, always drawn, no matter how bright it is outside. If it's a nice day, we will find out from our facebook feeds, I guess.

There is something called Sick Building Syndrome. Apparently the recycled air, office chairs, the glare from computer monitors and the white lights have an effect on our health; they make us ill. I've been worrying about this lately, especially nowadays when I get to work and the moment I arrive I start feeling desiccated and listless. My mind clamours for things outside the office and it lands on facebook and twitter and gtalk, which are the easiest ways I can get out of here. It's desperate and anguished and though the people I talk to cannot see it, I can, when the net goes off and I'm stuck back in this seat, staring at the white lights above, which no longer look like bellboys and doormen. Now they hover like angels of death, watching me ebb, decrease, lapse, waiting for me to finally end.

I don't know if the building is making me sick, but it is making me stale. It's making me want to go outside.