Hump Day. Not as fun as it sounds.

Oh God someone pull the fire alarm. This week, work has been kind of slow. The weather is gorgeous, and the sun is peeking through the office windows, begging me to step outside. I should be working through my pile of filing, but I can’t seem to muster the energy. Nay, I cannot summon the motivation. I have plenty of energy, but I’m sitting here wishing I could be at home, tackling the projects that I’ve been dreaming up over the past few days. Perhaps I’ll request Friday as a vacation day. Note to self.

Despite my frequent complaining about not having a job that satisfies my literary urges, I truly have an excellent job. I don’t work in an office with depressing fluorescent lighting, and I don’t have to speak with customers. I work with people who call me because they know that I can help them. They don’t phone with the assumption that they’ll have to come in swinging, ready to fight for what they want. They know that it’s my job to help them, and that I will most likely be able to do that. That’s a plus. And I really can’t stress enough how glad I am to work in an office like this. It’s gorgeous, it’s hip. The décor is so very right now. So there’s that.