In my new job I spend most of my day sitting beside the same eight people. They are decent folks. They don’t smell. They don’t mind that I swear a little too often. We even have enough in common to keep the small talk from escalating into heated political debates (which seems like an extra plus this time of year).

Yet, as I near the one month mark, my patience has begun to run thin:

Nothing big. Just a laugh that lasts a little too long or a comment about my shoes that I can’t quite read or the speed they walk or their dumb faces. No, no, no. This can’t get out of control. I can’t be tired yet. So I breathe and smile and try to put it all in perspective. We’re lucky to have this job. All of us. It pays pretty well and 95% of the time it is only forty hours a week. That’s not bad. Plenty of time for TV and books and people I like outside those forty hours. I breathe and they laugh at my jokes and we’re ok.

Then again, maybe I’m just mad because this is what I packed for lunch today:

I’ll pack something better, something not so beige tomorrow. That ought to help.

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