The Small Drain

James Lileks writes:

No matter how good the workplace, how merry the tasks ahead, there’s just something about offices that feels like a trip to Chernobyl. You can only stay so long. My dosimeter starts pinging after three hours. ...

And any office, any office, contains a small drain hidden in your cubicle, and if you listen closely you can hear your mortal allotment gurgling down the pipe. It’s the sitting in one place that does it, and nothing more.

I've been spending a lot of time in the office lately, and I've been feeling the effects of that drain. Three hours is bad, but eleven or twelve is a lot worse, even if you do have a decent-sized office with a nice view. The window serves more as a feature to admit light rather than as something to look through; there are days I never look outside, never look away from the computer screen and the papers on my desk. My optometrist will not be pleased.

Yes, work has been taking a lot out of me lately. Last week, there were three days I worked between 12-13 hours. The other two I worked for my more customary 9 or 10. Friday night then provided a wonderful break. We walked through our neighborhood, then, not content to go sit around the apartment, drove up to Boulder, walked around Pearl Street, and stopped at the Boulder Cafe for dessert. For the first time in months, I was able, for a while, to separate my mind from work.

Unfortunately, I spent the rest of last weekend doing legal research in front of the computer. From that, I plunged into a work week of more 11- and 12-hour days (except for yesterday, when I left early for an appointment). I hope that I will be able to avoid the office this weekend. I desperately need a real weekend; I want to spend some time with someone important to me without having my mind constantly bombard itself with anxieties about work.