In a white-walled room dissected by cubicles, I sit in the corner underneath too-bright track lighting. My only connection to the outdoors is a sliver of a window revealing a lovely view of a brick wall. On a day when I would give the world to be outside, running around the Reservoir, or circling the Bridal Paths of Central Park, I am here, sedentary. And alone.
Where have all my co-workers gone? At one point, this room was filled with life. We laughed, chatted about the Upper East Side crazies, and documented our celebrity run-ins. We played heated games of Scrabble. We languished over long lunches. And yes, we did work, too.
But today, I am the last one standing (er, sitting). Those friendly faces have departed for bigger and brighter things, leaving empty, dusty desks in their wake. I blast my iPod speakers, hoping to bring some life into this silent, anemic office. But even the upbeat strains of Folsom Prison Blues can't shake the unavoidable truth: Today, I am a solo--and lonely--operation.
I think I'd rather be at the DMV.
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