As of now, I am sitting in what I would assume is no longer my office. The school held the graduation ceremony a while ago, and no one has approached me about my keys yet. I am not complaining about this, but I do see a lot of humor in it.

I have pulled a lot of things out of the office to take home, but there is still a considerable amount of stuff lying around that I will have to take eventually. It’s not like I don’t have the time to do this, but I am in no hurry to scuttle out of here. I am not trying to be obstinate. I just don’t feel like doing anything of the sort. I don’t even have to come to campus, but I do every day. I think it gives me a sense of normalcy because I have never done well with summer break. I need to be doing something, and I work best in an office, away from all my distractions at home.

My old department chair asked how long I would be staying. I told them that I do not know because I am fine here. It is not like this school is in dire need of space. It has plenty since Romulus fired a quarter of its faculty three years ago. For all I know, I could just occupy this office like Milton Waddams from Office Space. The only difference is that the school fixed the glitch, and I won’t receive any more payments once the contract expires. One of the staffers asked me if I didn’t land a job somewhere, would I continue to occupy my office.

The honest answer is yes. I would continue to come to this office and remain productive. I don’t know whether my response is funny or sad. It’s funny because I would keep coming to this office to work on various projects like writing, completing job applications, and researching. All the while, the school just forgot that I existed. The only person in the building who might have a problem with my continued habitation would be one of the members of the committee who confirmed my dismissal. Everybody else in the building wants me to stick around, not like they have a say in any of this.

The part that makes this sad is the potential that I would not land a job. Somehow, nobody would hire me for whatever reason, and I just kept coming to the office like a zombie in Dawn of the Dead. The idea being that I needed something familiar that would remind me of when I had life in my veins. I realize that I am a creature of habit and that I need to do something because I am afraid of rotting. I blame my grandmother for this work ethic problem I have. That woman was well into her nineties and still mowing her own grass on a riding tractor. I know have the same affliction, and I feel it in my bones whenever I lie around for more than fifteen minutes.

For now, I am riding out the awkward summer silence in my office. Until somebody physically removes me from my office or I land another gig, I will come to campus and continue my life as it is.