Workers in the mist

"When is maht's last day?" The Worker I was mercilessly teasing craned his head so he could see past me and address this question to my supervisor, the guy who signs my invoices. His question indicated to all three of us that the office will be a more hospitable place once I have departed.

It's hardly my fault. He claimed that he was unaware of when Thursday happened. Or that yesterday was, in fact, an occurrence of the rare and elusive Thursday. I had no choice. Once I am gone, does that really mean that such a statement will pass by unchecked?

Whatever his motive, his question brought up a few very real things about my status among the Workers. First, that I am not really one of them, and as such, I do not really belong there; second, that my time observing them this closely is about to conclude; and third, that I have perhaps overstayed my welcome.

There are some in the office who will miss me, or who I will miss, and I will certainly miss the paychecks they used to lure me out of the safety of my home and into the strange industrial building to move among them in the first place. For the most part, though, I think the people in that building think I am just strange. Right back atcha, Workers.

Two days ago, the president of the company walked into the breakroom, where I stood talking to GoodThomas.

"Try to look busy," I said to GT in a stage whisper. "The president is here!" And then I departed.

It was later relayed to me that the man watched me walk away and then said aloud (it is unclear whether he was directing this remark to GT, or simply to the cosmos) "He reminds me of House." He meant the fictional character played by Hugh Laurie on television. I get that a lot. It is, perhaps, a thin distinction to point out that the character on television is usually mean when he is serious and joking when he seems kind. I think I work the other way around. Nevertheless, I take this as a compliment. Like the character, I am good at what I do, easily annoyed, and often difficult and/or funny. I get that.

So my time of Dayworking is drawing to a close. My time with my Dayworker persona also draws nigh. Soon I shall be back to being whatever it is about me that is different when I am not there. I will not often be compared to House for a while, unless I talk to my brother, who has drawn the same conclusion as the Workers. I have only a week remaining. Seven short days mark the divide between Dayworker and full-time unpaid novelist.

I have already told you of their strange immunity to free cake, these Workers. I have told you how one of them may have tried to poison me by tricking me into putting sea salt into my morning coffee. I have explained, I think, that they seem to find it nothing unusual to rise in the morning and travel to this building and perform their allotted tasks. In the morning! When decent people are sound asleep!

There are a couple of tales gathered during this interval that I have not yet had an opportunity to share. Perhaps those will appear here in time.

Most of the times I have been there for any duration come with some separation anxiety toward the end of my stay. I forget the cardinal rule of freelancing, and grow attached to these strange creatures, their habits and customs. I forget that I am not really there in the same sense that they are. This time is no exception, but I feel a little different inside than normal, for the simple reason that I know what I will be doing with my time once I depart. I have work to do of my own, Blogreader; the kind that is unlikely to garner me a paycheck, but which will be so much more personally rewarding.

I am excited to get back to what I have come to regard as my real work. I am ready.

I am ready to work full-time on my novel. I am ready to sleep when my body tells me to sleep. I am ready to walk the streets of Chicago with my camera to see what I can capture and bring back home with me.

In the coming months, free from the demands of the Daywork, I shall complete the first draft of the current novel (and probably another one as well). I shall submit short pieces to literary journals to begin the time-honored process of being rejection slips and self-recrimination. I shall take more pictures to share my city with you, and to try to wrangle a showing of my photography from the owner of Bite (and may look into other avenues for my photographs to get out into the public eye). I shall host my second GBA(s)FC which begins May 1st (mark your calendar) and which I hope will be as successful as the last one.

And, of course, it seems likely that I will blog and blog and blog.