Second Thoughts

It occurs to me that anyone reading my blog randomly might not understand where I was coming from on my last entry. I want to make myself clear: I love children. I love the children I watch. I don't accept babysitting jobs for people I don't like, and I don't watch children who drive me crazy. So if you're reading this worried that I'm talking about your kid, there's a 99.999% chance I'm not. It's not that at all, actually. The sentiment is more along the lines of, "I love kids, but is that really all my life is about?" Also, "When is my grownup time?" I didn't want someone reading this to get the wrong message. Now, for some writing:

I think this will be another flip-to-a-random-page-and-continue-writing entry.
Excerpt from "Saint Marie," by Louise Erdrich.

It was a quiet day with everyone working at their desks, when I heard him. He came in ranting and raving, hair tousled and suit rumpled. "Are you kidding me?!? What are we supposed to do about this? I can't fix this!" He was frantically waving around several sheets of paper, and one crumpled lost page fluttered to the floor at my feet. I picked it up and scanned the sheet for something useful to determine the source of his anxiety. At first I saw nothing. Then, as I looked more closely, I could see the error. This paper was a copy of a final document sent to our most prestigious client, and in the header of every page her name was misspelled. Our client's name was "Frances Dissustin," but each page had listed her as "Frances Disgusting." I could see why Michael was so upset.
"She already has her copy!" he screamed. "Which one of you did this?" Grateful that the answer to that question was not "me," I waited until Michael's back was turned to sneak out the back hallway.

As the sounds of someone's failed career faded behind me, I briskly walked to the women's bathroom for a refuge. We were on the 52nd floor, and the hall I was in was on the outside wall of the building. The view was breathtaking, although I rarely stopped to enjoy it. Today I did. I had no desire to be back at my desk anytime soon. The fog of clouds usually obscured my vision of much of the city, but today was clear and sunny. Each building glinted back at me like pennies in a wishing fountain. I could almost make out my apartment building ten miles away nestled among several other impressive edifaces.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked a smooth voice by my side. I turned my head to see Neil, an accountant from my company. "I never actually take the time to look at it," he said.
"Me either," I admitted, turning toward him. "Someone messed up in Marketing and it wasn't me, so I booked it out of there before I could become someone's scapegoat."
"Nice," he chuckled, reaching into his pants pockets and jingling some change. "Nothing worse than paying for a crime you didn't commit."
"Exactly," I agreed. "So what's your excuse?" Usually the only time I saw Neil was through a glass partition in the office, as he hunched over numbers at his computer.
"I'm taking a breather," Neil sighed. "I'm working on a really difficult account, and the numbers started looking like little animals all fighting each other." He laughed and rubbed his eyes. "Wow, I'm starting to sound like a prime candiate for therapy!" Neil checked his watch and looked at me. "It's nearly lunchtime," he said. "Interested in grabbing some food?" I thought about it for a moment. Why not? He seemed nice enough, and it was just lunch.
"Yeah, sure," I agreed. "Just let me sneak back in for a second to grab my purse. If I don't come back in five minutes I've been abducted," I joked. Looking back, later, I realized the irony of my statement.