"Okay ka lang?" Kris asked.

"Obviously, hindi," I answered.

I attempted to chuckle, but it came out so feebly I felt the insincerity come out of me. Or, it's the only time I figured sarcasm would make me feel good.

I fell off my chair. Well, it's more of the chair giving way as I sat. Two of its five legs cracked and gave way, giving me a ticket to the blue carpeted floor. I type this with a painful right shoulder and left elbow.

But it was the only time I got the others' attention. Neobie was bewildered. Glenn tried to explain things. I felt worse.

Today is the worst day of my life.

I am seated on a new desk, my third in seven months. Another account needed the chair since they're having a hard time communicating, which is something I obviously understood, with me being practical by all means. Obviously, however, I was hesitant. My last fragment of physical inclusion is being taken away from me, and I didn't argue against it.

After all, it's my only chance of being part of something, where I am right now. Instead, I find myself in a different row of computers, away from the window I've relied on, and away from the sightings that both hurt me yet keep me going.

Instead, I hear three people laughing behind me.

It's an unusually quiet day at work. I'm not chatting with anybody. The usual ones aren't answering, or aren't there. Well, Ella was surprised that I got to work early. Before eight in the morning. I've been compensating, overcompensating, for my late arrivals the past two days.

I've tried my hardest to waste time, and so far I've been successful. I felt a little better after writing an unwarranted editorial, only to have whatever I'm listening to buffer. Break into pieces. Everything else in the background.

Today, really, is the worst day of my life.

And I don't want any of you to say that I'm just making a big deal out of a day on the wrong side of the bed. Or that everything will be better tomorrow. Or that I've got to look up and ahead, because in the next six weeks I might be out of here, provided the horoscopes are correct, or if I decide to do something. In that case, I'll have a simple retort: you just don't understand me.

Efficiency! Efficiency! Efficiency!

Katia was right. At this point you don't care whether you mess up everything that you do or not. You just don't care anymore.

Somebody, please consider my job application.