Life outside the window

Sitting in a conference room, confined to an all day meeting on something I know little about and care even less, I stare at the patch of blue outside the window. To make matters worse, the air conditioning is on full blast and I have goose pimples, even though the bricks across the road are baking in the first really hot midday sun this year. Like a child who cannot leave the classroom, I stare wistfully now at the clock, now at the sky, praying for my release.

It's the thinnest of bonds that keeps me there - tying me in to duty and obedience. I feel that one slight tug with my shoulder to the left would free me, to get up, walk out and bathe my feet in the sunlight. The frustration I feel is more towards myself and my own inertia than my captors. A sense of self-thwarted ambition, stifled creativity, some wonderful possibility gnaws at me. I could unleash a chain of events that would lead to ultimate happiness and fulfilment this sunny day - if only I could move my chair back and take my dulled body out of that cold room and into the warmth the other side of the glass.

But still I sit and stare, stare as if staring would do the trick.

And then, miraculously (but no miracle worked by me) the meeting is over and I run from the room, like a schoolchild once the bell has rung.

Outside I feel the heat as a temporary relief. And then, the warmth, coupled with the hours of boredom that preceded it, makes me only want to curl up and sleep. No great conquests today - that window of opportunity has gone in the time I was staring out of it.