You heard me. Or, rather, you read me. And more to the point: you heard/read me correctly. I do, in fact, love my cube. Of course, my cube doesn’t have those flimsy walls, it’s got nice solid wood walls. It’s personalized. It’s cluttered and messy. But having spent the bulk of my adult life working in crappy retail and food establishments, it’s a well overdue and welcome change.

I love my cube. Primarily for what it represents, admittedly.

I’ll be moving, soon. Possibly as early as the end of this week. Our office got expanded. My department is shifting down. I’ve been sitting in this cube for a little over six months. It’s been my only cube. I have mixed feelings about the move: it’s very possible I’ll get a cube with a, yes, a window. In the meantime, I’m going to make the most of my last week in this cube. Cube, it’s been a great six months. You’ll always have been my first cube. Always.