THE LONGEST MONTH OF THE YEAR

It is a dull, dull, day. The sky outside my office window is some shade of gunpowder all day, and even the seagulls that haunt the parking lot, weaving through the branches of the bare trees, behave like they are trapped in a cage. The reason I have time to look out the window is because I am free from training for a few days and only have to be on the phone; simple, easy, I can do it in my sleep. After a few hours the automated dialer crashes and we’re logging into the old phone system doing inbound calls only, double yeah. Like dogs chained in the yard, the people around me stretch to the very end of their phone cord, pulling the spiral curls of their attached shackle to the maximum extension for reasons I cannot fathom. I stand gazing out into the grey, testing the limits of my imagination instead of my physical boundaries. When the dialer starts again I am cheerful, professional, empathic. I hear my friend in the next cube tell someone he will keep them in his prayers. Fifteen minutes later I hear him telling the same to another member. Maybe he means it, I don’t know, but I think he’s just in the moment like me. Empathy sells. The grey seeps through the window and surrounds me like a fog.

Lunch is provided at the trainers meeting I attend at 2. There is nothing I can eat, so I munch the apple I brought along and listen, contribute, push forward my ideas. The manager takes notes just like he did during the job interview I had with him yesterday. Four other people in the room interviewed for the same job, including my friend who prays for our customers. I actually hope he gets it because I have another stepping stone in mind on my way forward, and that would eliminate my only real competition for the job I prefer. I wonder if he is thinking the same. Back at my desk I am patient, compassionate, understanding. I tell a member I will keep them in my thoughts, since I have no gods listening in on my private moments nowadays. As I pull on my coat to leave I only remember the difficulty she had speaking because of her stroke. By tomorrow that will fade, and by next week she will blend with all the other voices in the endless stream of wounded people.

My cheerful red car cannot compete with the sea of grey as I navigate homeward. Do people buy all these grey cars to be in stealth mode on these dreary days? The news on NPR is about suicide bombers, political bickering, global warming, and how goes the war. No sunshine there, so I switch to my ipod. It’s my dark depressed favorite to complete my day, L. Cohen.

I smile when I’m angry, I cheat and I lie.

I do what I have to do, to get by.

But I know what is wrong, and I know what is right,

and I die for the truth, in my secret life.

Damn, I hate February.