Back on the Scene

I went into the office around midnight last night to do the always hopeful peek at the Being & Nothingness Cam monitors, but nothing. I think.

I came in to get nail polish in a color that I particularly like that I had left in the break room. Yes, I wear nail polish. I’m a girl. It’s a stupid way to spend your time, there’s no point to it, and it’s probably toxic. In 20 years they’ll discover that acetone was sucked through your nails by some amazing heretofore unknown biological mechanism and it went straight to your brain! No stops or other tissue damage, just an express train to the brain to swell the vanity-producing area that compels you to put the polish on in the first place.

The plywood sheets--still on the floor five weeks after the office re-construction--creak a bit and if you’re in the mood you can say it’s spooky. Or you can think about how you really should get a guy out there to remove the plywood and fix the hole underneath them in the floor.

When I came in I made the usual creakings, but then I heard something rustling. A new creature invasion? Access was limited: big enough for ants, maybe some earwigs (eeww), but too small for most monkeys. Okay, all monkeys.

Creek, light scrape, rustle, tick. Something alive. I turned on a real light-light that I have near my desk and looked around an empty room. A low hhummh from the break room. I walked softly, trying to not creak, pushed open the cracked door and saw six lit candles and a small carton on the table, and Sia sitting on the far side seriously making out with a fair-haired man. He was pressing her upper arm, a firm, flat palm on her deltoid.

I said, Holy crap! I said it out loud and immediately thought, Please don’t let her say, Oh! Mom! Uh…I didn’t know you’d be home so soon….

They both looked up, and the man let down his hand. Sia, with a newly placed Nicorette patch on her arm, and Sartre Society contact Aureliano Jose.