The man upstairs from me has a piano, and he’s been playing “April in Paris.” I can hear it through the ceiling, and sometimes a peel of a woman’s laughter. We smile and nod in the hallways, as we are both persons of leisure, doing leisurely things.
I don’t think I can ever work in an office again. Life is is going swimmingly, and it directly relates to not dragging myself in to be abused every day by people with no understanding of what my job actually entails. I’m still doing freelance, but on my own terms. Now I’m just waiting for summer time, when I’m told the living is easy.