Outside

I want to be outside. Very, very badly.

Outside there is a giant orange crane. It goes right past the window behind my desk, and towers beyond my immediate vision.

I work on the ninth floor. This means that the crane in question is at least 10 stories high!

There are guys climbing all over the crane. They are wearing construction hats, but they are not wearing their safety harnesses. One guy is lying on the roof of the cab, catching some sun.

My desire to not be me, and be one of those guys instead, is pretty damn strong right now.

One guy just scampered all the way to the top of the crane, adjusted something, then just stood there, straddling the very top of the crane, surveying his world. There is not an ounce of fear or trepidation. He looks completely at peace with the Universe. I can see his smile from here.

Right now, at this exact moment, that guy is the luckiest s’umbitch in the whole wide world.

Down on the ground, there are guys driving around in little tractors. They shovel pick up bits of dirt, shuffle off to another area, dump the dirt, then rumble back to the big dirt pile.

If I was in one of those tractors, I’d race the guy beside me. We may even do laps around the construction site. I'd definitely buzz past the foreman, who's standing close-by, looking at blueprints. I'd snatch off his hat. I'd whoop like an idiot. And I'd probably get fired.

If I was on that crane, right now, I’d stop for a moment and see just how far the city stretches. I’d look up at the CN Tower, and wonder how far I could see if I was on top of that instead. Then I’d look in the window of the CBC Building, look at the guy who is trapped behind his desk, looking at me out his window, doff my hat, and give him a nod.

I’d be such a smug bastard.

Because I’d be outside.


Jim out…er…in. Fuck.