Ahh Corporate America

Sometimes I think you own me, you, the company I work for. After all, you tell me where to be, and when, you decide when I work late, and you "highly suggest" things for me to do during certain lunchtimes. Tonight, as I lay in bed, listening to the soft breathing of my sleeping man and soft snores of my sleeping dog, I get that sinking feeling. I am not in control of my life, of my destiny. Sure, I want to be helpful, I want to be a useful employee, but does that mean forgoing any mention of a life outside of the office? Not in my mind, it doesn't. 

I never pictured myself in Corporate America. Of course, I never pictured myself doing anything realistic which I wasn't already doing. I pictured myself as a college student, forever. Or perhaps on tour with my imaginary band. There was a point in my life where I really thought it was reasonable to not be working while I planned my future wedding (to whom, at that point, I had no idea--a Baron, perhaps? A Rockefeller?). I really never pictured myself dressed to impress while impressing no one but the meager reflection on my monitor. 

Before I let myself get carried away in who said what to whom over the cubicle wall, or who wore jeans (jeans! can you believe that?!) to work on not-so-casual Friday, I had to stop my mind from spinning. No matter how much control the corporate world has over me, it can't stop me from sitting on the shower floor at 10 p.m., letting the water rinse away the memories of my day. They can't stop me from sitting, cross legged and in my bathrobe, facing the glow of my monitor, at 11 p.m. while I write about my feelings. And as much as anyone I work with would contradict this, they cannot tell me what I can and cannot do in my unpaid hour lunch. That is my hour. 

Perhaps it's selfish of me, sitting up late and taking this time for myself, and depriving the Corporation of the employee they deserve tomorrow, one operating on  full nine hours. But this is my time, and I'll do as I damn well please.