I seem to have come down with a bout of presenteeism. Foggy foggy mind and foggier thoughts. And it doesn’t seem to be passing. I’m sitting at work. My screen stares vacantly into my vacant eyes.  I stare back waiting for it to send me a message, a sign, a prognostication, a provocation, a new recipe, a remedy, a refuge, a respite.

But I need to take action. I have to find a place to live in 2 weeks, maybe less. But I am not feeling the urgency needed to confront this situation. Getting more than 4 hours of sleep might be helpful, or so they tell me. The caffeine is not helping. The Tylenol after the caffeine is certainly not helping. My inner resolve isn’t really pitching in. Even working at a job where my skills/abilities/talents have no function is not liberating my  consciousness for higher concerns.

The murmur of people around me. Catching fragments of sentences not spoken to me. Architects talking about partitions, garages, levels, structural grid systems, deadlines, grace periods. The scent of fried foods from the neighboring desk almost disgusts me. But I try to be a good neighbor to my neighbor. After all, he only sits 3 feet behind me. I think his name is Elliot. Sometimes he speaks in a language similar to Spanish.  Or my idea of Spanish.

Each passing minute means I have one less minute to figure out my housing situation.