The lingering scent from the shrimp leftovers Jennifer microwaved is mercifully gone, dispersed by time. Except for a lone succulent on Derek’s desk, the rest of our plants are desiccated husks. On my desk is a project I finished at home in May. I was stressed about this at the time. I didn’t need to be.
Today I see only potential: unbrewed coffee beans, the new orchid I’ll replace my dead one with, the fresh perspective on my work-life balance.
Then, the office phone rings a tone I haven’t heard in over a year, and all the old anxiety rushes back.