happy hour.

The clock on my office computer reads 5:13. I suspect this clock is set by some official time-keeping device out there in cyber space every morning when I log on, so it is probably correct. So I could use this clock to verify the other clocks in my life, such as the one in my car or the one in my kitchen or the one on my home computer. But I don't know what they say right now, because I am not there to look at them. Because I am here, pondering the ponderables of a clock on an office computer.

I stayed late at work last night, only maybe 25 minutes or so. And it wasn't bad. The difference between yesterday and today is that today is Friday. My weekend should have started about 15 minutes ago, depending on which clock you consult. Another difference between yesterday and today is the fact that while I spent my post-quitting-time minutes yesterday actually working on something, I am spending my minutes today waiting on someone else to finish working on something so that I may press a button and then copy some files. I am useless here for now, just complaining about clocks while on that of the company.

The clock on my cell phone now says 5:22, which also now agrees with the one on my computer, but it is on my cell phone that I call and cancel the 6 pm dinner plans in Chapel Hill that I had made with the intention of leaving work by 4:30 (because I stayed late last night). But no, as a reward for being such a team player and staying late last night, I am staying late again tonight and I am far more annoyed. Aside from having to call and tell my friend that she won't be dining with me tonight, I have to also call and tell my boyfriend that I am no closer to him than I was a minute ago, nor does it look like I will be any closer at 5:26, one minute from now. I'd like to be one minute's worth of 74 MPH interstate travel closer, but it is not to be. He can't even look forward to my arrival at this point, only my departure.

I feel no remorse about spending this time writing blog entries. Had I started this entry at 4:59, I would've felt a little bad, but after those numbers change, I consider this time to still be my time whether or not I have to spend it here. I'm on salary, so I don't get overtime. The most I get is a positive comment on my annual review that says "Sandra was willing to repeatedly stay late to facilitate the completion of company projects, even if she did spend the whole time looking at novelty earrings on eBay, calling her boyfriend, and complaining." My annual review is next week, and I suspect that my program manager is spending his post-quitting-time minutes filling out comments about me, so I limit my complaining tonight to a blog entry that he will never read. I do not sit in his office and tug on his shirt sleeve, repeatedly asking if I can leave yet. I will do that after next week.

But now I've stretched this entry out as long as I possibly can, and I've killed twenty-three minutes that could've been spent at 74 MPH. Twenty-three minutes and still not enough, because at the end of it all, I'm still watching the clock on my office computer.