A lot of people are losing sweet corner offices with huge windows, with breathtaking views of Market Street and the bay. Many of these people are moving into tiny cubicles the size of a wallet with sick yellowish walls that were an attempt to be contemporary.

Granted, I will also join them in my own little pouch of an office on Monday. But I'm not necessarily leaving the best office environment. I have no natural light and share an office with a big-haired Southern girl who projects when she speaks.

*Sigh* Even in a cubicle, my life is about to get a little more peaceful.

Last night, I did a lot of writing. I'm working on an honest-to-God second draft of a short story. OK, so technically I never actually finished the first draft. That's because it was so stinky and directionless at some point that it wasn't worth finishing. But getting all the poo out on paper helped me understand where the story was going much better, and so I'm feeling good about starting again.

A. is supportive about my attempts, though I've never shared with him anything I've tried to write in recent years and I'm not sure he totally understands. And he laughed at me when I announced I was going to start getting up at 5 a.m. to write. Which he had every right to do, because every morning this week that I've set the alarm to get up at 5, I've rolled over, reset it for 6:30 and snoozed 'til 7.

SLACKER.

I'm all packed. My 2:30 meeting that I was nervous about went well. I'm going to a colleague's going-away party at 5. And I fully intend to fuck around until then. No guilt required.