These cubes are empty. We fill them for a period. Transition in and out of them. Pack and unpack ourselves. Or at least the self we’d like to portray in this place.
I am a fan of sports. Or music. Or a father and husband. Or a divorced alcoholic with aspirations seemingly misaligned with my knowledge, skills, and abilities.
The KSA’s don’t add up.
But I’ll attempt to breathe life into this small corner of the building. To carve a life out of it. But not to have the life carved from me.
If I can fill this cube and fill my time, can you fill out the memo line to read, “in exchange for a portion of your life, but not the whole of it.” Or something to that effect?
