Justin posted to his blog sometime this year or last year pictures from his work window. It was fairly basic — a rooftop with some occasional item on it. Shelby then posted her office because it is clearly in a basement and has no windows (which has me speculating she really works for the CIA or something secretive). Maybe it seems mundane to most of the blog entries that float around. I mean, there is a cabinet of change being formed, the economy has slumped so bad for so long it needs an IV attached to it and there are 2 wars American soldiers are fighting (not to mention all of the riots in Greece, the tragedy of Africa, the attacks in Mumbai). There is a lot going on in the world other than what is revealed looking out a window.
And yet, it still means something. Work, especially in America, becomes our second home (willingly or not). It’s the place our families and friends find us when all else fails. Our desks are littered with the things we get paid to do. Hours, days, weeks — most of our waking hours are played out away from home. So it’s important. After talking to several of my friends that are unemployed right now, it’s doubly important we stay behind these desks and in these rooms — surrounded in part by industrial grey.
But I forgot my camera so I can’t post a picture. If I look slightly to the right of my computer screen I can see 75/85 below me. All the cars flowing away, but more cars during this hour flowing in. There is construction going on to add a bridge and further to the right I get a glimpse of the spreading skyline to the north. I feel like I’m at the entrance of a great machined ant hill. Some silent watcher of the gates. The lives on the asphalt in their red, white, black boxes moving towards their work windows and the others all ready arrived in boxes pointing to the sky, coffee in hand, pens in a wire baskets, pictures of their kids nearby. All of us in our extended homes, so far away from ourselves. Working.