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Lifting my attention to my computer, I discover that apparently I finished the spreadsheet.
I haven’t emailed it yet.
Unknown: This is Willow, by the way. I stole your number from Ollie.
I need to order Racheal’s lunch and get this spreadsheet sent out.
Muttering a veggie curse, I decide I’ll respond to Willow later. People are busy during the day. I’m sure she’ll understand if I can’t respond immediately. What if she’s on lunch break? Should I respond now?
I glance at the clock. Just past eleven.
If she is on lunch break, it’s an early one. I don’t need to order Racheal’s lunch for another thirty minutes.
Unknown: Zy says you’re not ignoring me, you just forgot about my existence, so I’m messaging again.
My heart jumps.
One. It’s past one.
What? How did that happen?
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I take stock of what’s been done and what I’m muddling through now. Apparently, I ordered Racheal’s lunch and sent the spreadsheet. Now I’m suffering in the midst of sorting hundreds of emails. I guess.
My head hurts.
Rubbing my temple, I lift my phone, type out a dozen messages, and finally land on:
Brittny: Sorry! I’m at work. TGIF. How are you?
Unknown: Ew. Quit your job, Brit.
I resonate with this woman all of a sudden.
Unknown: Have you ever considered living in a tree in the woods, drinking leaf dew tea, and baking little fruit muffins in a walnut oven?
That’s a bit too specific for my usual daydreams of abandoning society and running free with the wolves.
Brittny: Why? Has a position for Keebler opened up? Side note: where do I apply?
Unknown: Fun fact: elves don’t live in trees. They walk among us, conduct karmic events, and return home to Faerie before every third Tuesday, when they organize a party in the woods.
Unknown: We should go sometime.
At this point in our relationship, I don’t know if she’s joking, insane, or really into roleplay like Alana was at one point. Either way…
Brittny: I don’t really like parties.
Unknown: Neither do I.
Then…then why would she invite me to one?
The pricking pain in the back of my skull stretches across my entire forehead, so I rub my neck. I need sleep. Are there really four more hours before I can even think about leaving?
Unknown: Anyway, I think you’re neat, and we should perpetuate our friendship. I’m going to hibernate for a few hours now because this social interaction has consumed the last of my spoons.
Spoons?
I reread the entire conversation, decide all of it is strange, and set my phone aside.
