This windowless office, seven feet square, on the top floor of Medical Science II, in the middle of the building, will be someone else's. In 13 months and two weeks.
I'm bolted from my reverie by a sudden "thud". The entire building shakes and the lights flicker and go out for a second, then return. Not a short enough time to keep the computer going so I reboot. I look out of my office door, down the corridor. The other half of the building has emergency lights on. This tells me that the hospital's emergency generators have kicked in and we're off the grid. Great. That means that the a/c is off, too. So it's gonna get stuffy and hot in here and people are going to be whining about their computers, since I'm sure the network puked as well. 13 months and two weeks.
I start wandering around, waiting for my computer to reboot; it's one of the perks of being on this side of the building, closest to the hospital. We're fed by the emergency generators and get lights and stuff even when the rest of the town is dark. It occurs to me as I watch the people wander around, not knowing what to do, that we might all get to go home early, like last August. The traffic will be stupidly insane like then as well but it will be time away from this windowless cube.
I can hear voices around the corner, where there's a corridor that connects Med Sci II with Med Sci I. It's a wall of windows and since we're on the seventh floor here, it's got a view. Nice to watch thunderstorms rolling in from the south and west. I wander over, expecting to see a traffic jam and stupidity reigning. I stop cold in my tracks, totally unprepared for what I saw.
In front of me lay a great vista that wasn't there when I drove in this morning. Instead of Glen Avenue and Maiden Lane and a bridge and apartments and civilization, there is... nothing. Nothing at all.
OK. There's more than nothing. There's something. But it's the sort of something that just doesn't make sense. There is a jungle in front of me. Dense jungle with huge trees and a lake. A lake? I close my eyes and count to ten, slowly. I try to block out the people around me who are freaking out like hippies on a bad LSD trip. Or maybe I'm the one on the bad trip? Eight.... Nine.... Ten.
I open my eyes and it's all still there. In the span of five minutes, 13 months and two weeks seems like it's a lot further off.
And I still haven't had my coffee.