We're reading "Notes to Myself: My Struggle to Become a Person." HEY. Quiet, you. It's not like we're all scientologized and what not. Ahem. Back to the book:
My trouble is I analyze life instead of live it.
Right? We were just thinking about this today. Again.
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So the coworker who once had to wait for his legs to work took an "early lunch" today because he had to get his daughter's car towed from somewhere.
He didn't tell us or the boss -- he told his friend in the office so that he wouldn't really raise additional questions.
One of the secretaries, a second ago: "It's always something, isn't it? Life has a way of doing that."
Does it? In five years: back problems, basement flooding, unworkable legs, countless sick days, wife is sick (no kids at home), car problems, back to back problems and more car problems, throwing up, more with the flooding, etc.
The guy is a walking Job. Which is funny because, well, we're talking about the job.
Speaking of, we're the only one in the office right now. Two secretaries took "breaks," one is picking up another, and one is MIA. Our coworker is off getting a tow, and the other fella might be in the bathroom.
So it's us, in our cube, running through our setlist over and over again. And answering the phone, pleasantly.
Oh, and about 10 minutes ago, someone in a different office ran out the door.
"My friend got tickets to today's Phillies game!" he exclaimed.
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