Wednesday Night Fever

Right outside of my office door at work is a disco inferno. There is a flourescent light (ick) that has turned rogue (not Rogue, just rogue) and has decided to morph into a super-powered strobe light. Perhaps it got bored, just shining like it's supposed to, all predictable and sedate. It decided to have a light party, and bring the funk to the staid office environment in which we coexist.

At first, I had no idea what was going on. I would be working, typing away at my computer, and my peripheral vision would tell me that there was a bright flash in front of me. At first, I thought that a car was leaving the parking lot and the sun was shining off of it and into the reflection on my front office window, since the building parking lot is directly behind me in the wall of glass that is the back of my office (my office is window-happy. I'm not complaining.). And then it occurred to me that we, lovely Chicagoans that we are, have been living in a monsoon for days now, with flooding and lightning damage and loss of electricity and general sense of time or day, existing in a pervasive murk that is broken only by the occasional roaring hailstorm. Sunshine is a valuable commodity these days, and the light popping in front of me in my office was occuring even when the sun was not present. I investigated further this morning, because I was starting to feel like I was having progressively annoying hallucinations of light pulsing around me. And sure enough, it's the flourescent light outside my office. Mystery solved.

But now I feel like I owe it to the renegade light fixture to do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight...in my office. Hm. A quandry. Sigh. Perhaps I will do a little boogie when I get out of my chair until they fix it, in homage, that will have to be it. I can do a little dance, but the other two will have to wait for a more suitable place and time. So, for the disco flourescent, a dance, considering I sort of forgive it...