One time this happened...

As I fumbled with the stapler, my boss's gaze landed firmly on me. "You know, it's not rocket science," he muttered, which only made me more convinced it was in fact an advanced aerospace procedure, beyond my capabilities.

My hands have taken on the consistency of overwashed washcloths by the time I'm done folding yesterday's batch of sweat-scented t-shirts for Uncle Joe's Discount Laundry. It's been three years since I quit community college, telling myself that real life experience trumps textbooks, like some sort of twisted life hack.

The fluorescent lights above me hum like a swarm of restless bees, making my skin itch. I've been stuck in this cubicle since 8, trying to finish quarterly financial reports on time.

I spend more time navigating office politics than actual work tasks these days, it feels like I'm stuck in some surreal, HR-manufactured purgatory where the sole purpose is to maintain appearances and not rock the tiny, stagnant boat that is our department. We're a team of moderately successful middle managers, stuck between micromanaging our employees and appeasing our bosses – the endless see-saw that is office life.

The fluorescent lights overhead are probably why my hair feels greasy now, even after the two hair ties I used this morning failed to keep every stray locked in their place.

In the fluorescent-tinged monotony of the office, my feet move as if on autopilot, navigating a maze of cubicles that all bleed into each other in my haze of coffee-fueled half wakefulness. The constant din of keyboard clacking and stilted office chatter grinds against my eardrums like fingernails on a chalkboard.