Whatchu Lookin At?

Before I flush these loser thoughts out of my head with a rigorous meditation, I'd like to consider the following for just a little while longer: What the hell was She staring at so hard? ...sitting three seats down the conference table from me...with other blabbering blabber heads at both ends of the table droning and driving everybody into their own happy places or sad places or wherever...maybe a few of us were actually paying attention to what was being said. I was, actually. I was paying attention...until I noticed Her staring at me. Was she even staring at me? Sometimes, a spacey person's stare will fall so heavy, they don't even know what they're staring at or even that they are staring. They just stare. No reason. Was that the reason? Was she even staring at me? Or past me? Or directly at me? Into me? I am pretty sure she was staring at me. She was. No doubt. But why? And she didn't break off the stare when I looked back either. Weird. Had she fallen asleep with her eyes open? If so, what was she dreaming? Her face had settled into a drowsy, cocked obtuse configuration, the only thing supporting the whole mug was that bottom lip kind of curled up with some kind of cognition somewhere deep in there. How do you just stare at a person like that?

Stare at the freak!

Stare at the weak link on the team!

Stare at the guy around whom...you...repeatedly mention in passing...that your EX has your daughter tonight...and that you're not quite sure how you'll fill your evening...other than being logged onto your work Skype account...endlessly going over text, images and layout on a site that people just barely care about blah blah blah with one other person pretty steadily logged onto his work Skype account for a while there...noticing that you spelled 'Thursday' wrong in your Skype status...

One night at a department happy hour, people were taking turns talking about how much home life they were missing out on because of all the long hours. I mentioned the fact that I didn't really have anything better to do. You said yeah, you too, and that you and I (each, separately in our own little worlds, I guess, or maybe not) should both do something about that. Whatever. Maybe. Maybe not.

Quit picking on me. You don't know how hard it is to keep the data flowing from forms to tables through the wizards triggering the messages and the fueling the B.I....all -- while trying to look nice too.

And I'll try to remember to forget something else too...but I'll keep the wisdom from it - or I'll decide which cases to ditch it in: When somebody mentions the fact that they sure could use a shoulder rub (again, at that same dreadful table - different day, you being the one mentioning it -- mentioning it to nobody in particular -- I guess -- me being seated directly across from you that time), yes, when somebody mentions the fact that they sure could use a shoulder rub, it doesn't necessarily mean that they want one from you (me).