Tuesday

Today was a bureaucratic triple threat. My 401(k) rollover finally went through, yay. I got my parking ticket papers in order. And I filled out my health insurance, proof of prior coverage. Phew.

I just wanted you to know that; it's like my gold star for the day.

In the morning I go to a big open place with brick walls and large art that smells like pastries and I buy a small cup of black coffee and I sit there for a half hour. Sometimes I read the paper, sometimes I write in my notebook. It's very quiet. Not a lot of people seem to know about it. I found it by accident, on the walk to work one morning, but sometimes you have to go through that strange door and see what's on the other side.

One morning the sun came through the windows so bright it hurt my eyes. But most mornings a fire burns in a niche in the wall. I sit away from it at a table, so I can spread my stuff out. There is lots of room.

When my coffee is almost gone and my paper is read, I get up and walk a couple of blocks to work. I pass the steam factory with its big dull chimney and broken brick and the art gallery with the hanging oversized prints. I ride the elevator to my floor -- it's slow and steel. I flash my key fob and go inside.

My desk is small and shielded by cubicle walls. I switch on my two small lights and laptop, set the last of my coffee down, and get to work.