I’m unofficially, temporarily back in the office for the first time since March 2020. The rest of the university (including students, yay!) returned last month. My department is under construction, so we’re working remotely until the project is completed. Construction is expected to last the duration of the fall semester, and was projected to begin August 1. It is now September 16; it still hasn’t started. I’m taking advantage of being in the office while my officemate is on paternity leave. I’m enjoying being in a space intended for work, quiet and with effective air conditioning that I don’t pay for.
As I crossed the lawn onto campus Monday morning, I was struck with the realization that I’m working for an actual place, not just an idea.
Returning to work means returning to commuting by train. Taking the train again is, as always, a mixed bag. Today, a man was smoking a cigarette on the train, and I stepped on a pile of broken glass in my flats (I’m OK!). Train stations continue to smell like urine, whether or not you can see the puddles. Commuting by train is, for me, a mostly ugly experience. Public transit is an emotionally and physically complicated place to be, strewn everywhere with examples of human suffering and thriving and garbage of every description.
Walking down the steps to the train station is like reading a series of clues. What was the situation that caused someone to take off first their left shoe, then their sweater, then three different face masks, then a pair of pants, and then their right shoe, all while running down the stairs?
Yesterday morning, I dropped my lunchbag on my kitchen floor and the glass container inside shattered. I did not cry. Morning resiliency isn’t a strength of mine, so I chose to stay home. Even after only two days in the office, working from home was jarring. The apartment next door is being painted, and it is the loudest, most antagonistic noise you could imagine. I sat on the couch, typing and watching men on skinny, wooden ladders spackle and sand high in the air. I was not very productive. I stayed in my pajamas for too long and watched too many episodes of Nine Perfect Strangers, which is too engrossing to just have on in the background.
Today, I’m back in the office, enjoying the morning calm and the vase of red and white dianthus basking in the glow of my desk lamp.
Feeling thankful (and a little grossed out). Time to do the writing I get paid for.
