My desk has a unique gravitational force. It pulls me down, towards the floor. My eyelids droop. People walk to my door and my response time to their approaching footsteps is almost drunken. I schlump at my desk, my chest resting against the edge, all attempts at proper posture gone.

Despite all the best intentions with which I walk into the building each day, I find myself having accomplished less that I had wanted each day. I swear, it’s because in my office the air is heavier. Moving my fingers over the keyboard for more than five minutes at a time proves incredibly difficult. I find myself reading blogs and the New York Times for hours, trying to prevent my brain from getting as sluggish as my body and spirit. I MUST (i must) find a new job.