I'm waiting for someone.

The cube next to mine is empty. The denizen moved to new york. It has sat empty for a couple weeks, file folders neatly piled in the corner unminded by the replacement, while employees dropped by occasionally to snag a coat rack or a pencil sharpener -- the fate of any abandoned cube.

Now a cleaning crew is attacking the neglected cube-- I can smell the windex, and hear the banging of the drawers. The rest of the floor is nearly abandoned... I can hear one other keyboard clacking, and two people chatting, their voices growing softer as they head for the elevator.

I'm waiting for someone. I want to start something, some task or chore, but I also don't want to have it interrupted. I tidy my desk for the first time in weeks. I check Amazon for new recommendations. I look over my numbers for a presentation; but waiting precludes good thinking. I can't do much but wait.

Time moves incredibly slowly now-- 7:02, 7:08. But I find this slowness precious and not painful. All day I've rushed, meetings folding into hastily accomplished tasks, back into meetings. Open excel, photoshop, homesite, word, email, calendar, make a phone call, repeat....

Now I am waiting and it's like a meditation. I want very little, except the amazing stretch of this now. I'll sit, maybe get up for a cup of tea, and sit some more.