In tan, cubicle land, pretty pictures mean nothing. Messages, when they are pointed to and explained, mean nothing. People might wonder as they walk by, but you can best believe they will walk on. The guy sitting across from you can't appreciate your work and as he wonders why his life seems meaningless. While you know why, you speak a different language and your kaleidoscope words and musical tone mean nothing to him.
Like the earbuds in your ears, if heard by someone other than you, sounds like a tinny beat, your message isn't heard in this place; comprehension is for calculations, completing an 8 hour day and getting out of here for the weekend.
For me, though it is familiar territory, it is not 'home.' It isn't the place where I look forward to spending my days. I have moved from place to place in the last few years, not because I was looking for home, but perhaps to reinforce for my own sensibility, that this place is not home.
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