tonywalt
04-02-2026, 11:02 AM
Forget about your job.
Okay I have.
Hold onto something that is yours:
desk, password, coffee mug.
I’m staying here.
This is what I said when they asked me
if I had thought about leaving;
everyone nodded.
I should stay at my job. I should
stay
with the knowledge of meetings
and small talk. I’ll ask my manager to keep me.
I liked it better
when my tasks
felt important.
I should stay inside my life.
If a man walks through the office on his way to another company, I will not go with him. I don’t care who
he is:
if his offer is higher, fine;
if his office has windows, fine.
A person should be leaving today,
at least one person; this office
is so big.
When I’m at my job I’ll sit at my desk
and think. All of the emails will crowd
around me and force my inbox open
with their subject lines. One
will bring me a task. I won’t be able to ignore them.
My tasks
aren’t people
anymore.
I forgot to name them. They were over filed. They disappeared.
There isn’t a meeting, no one discussing the loss.
That was a work-life;
that was my folly.
My life at this job will be inspiring. I’ll send emails to people who didn’t know I was
working. I’ll even send emails to people I haven’t spoken to in years.
I’ll buy a new shirt for Monday.
I’ll volunteer for things once I arrive.
I’ll say, I can do anything you need.
I’ll show them spreadsheets and how quickly I respond.
I won’t feel quick.
Everyone will thank me.
When it’s Friday and someone asks what I’m doing this weekend, I’ll call someone and say how tired I am.
I shouldn’t stay at this job then.
No one can be fulfilled here.
The office plants are just so the company thinks people are alive.
I’ve never even wanted to leave this job before.
I should stay now.
I went to wake up my partner to tell them I was staying. They said, Why do you want to stay there?
Because I have to.
You should leave then.
They won’t understand why I don’t.
My job doesn’t have windows.
I know a person who should be leaving this week. I check my email to see if they
have written to tell me they quit.
They haven’t.
The computer says the right role is out there waiting for me. It asks for my name and
experience. I tell my partner to apply for jobs and I’ll do the same
and we can see if we are compatible with something else. They don’t want to, so instead I ask if I can
sit at their desk and they let me but say it feels strange.
Later when they wake up they’ll say, What was all of that about your job?
And I’ll say, Oh nothing.
And they’ll say, You’re staying too long.
And I’ll say, Probably, but I don’t mean to.
They’ll leave for work and I’ll spend the day listening to people talk about productivity
that will make me want to stay exactly where I am.
I’ll stay at my job then.
When I go to my desk,
I say to myself,
this doesn’t feel like anything
and nothing in my life does
and my partner says they’ll have to hear about this forever.
I want to stay so bad I sit very still
and hold my breath, I press my hand into
the keyboard and think: it feels like this.
I need it this way.
I realize now that I’m an employee.
I go to the break room.
I pour coffee and forget it.
No one in the room looks like they want to leave.
A printer jams.
I take a paper with numbers on it; they are all very important.
I come out of the room and the ceiling
is filled with white panels
that could be stand-ins for sky.
I don’t even look outside.
I know this is the only place I’ll be today.
When I get home my partner sees me checking my email and they sigh at me. On the radio is
a story about a man who quit his job and walked across the country. He says we
don’t have enough time.
I need to remain somewhere.
Now there is a story about a woman who retired early. She says she doesn’t know what to do with her days.
She sits quietly.
She is a beautiful person.
She is lost.
She told the reporter to always stay where you are needed.
The next story is about someone who started a company. Their mother hugged them when they
told her.
She said, I’m proud of you.
If I left my job, I wouldn’t be listening to this.
I write my job title in the air.
Another story comes on about a man who never left his position.
I open my laptop; there are three thousand messages to read. I
open one. It’s about nothing.
Instead of leaving my job I answer one email and then another. My partner asks why I
care so much about things that don’t matter.
When they go to sleep I sit in a quiet room.
I told them I could leave.
This wasn’t me staying here.
I was leaving already.
They said things that made sense.
They closed the laptop gently.
I said no.
I said I can’t leave right now.
They said this happens every year.
They may be right.
If this job didn’t exist, I’d still want to stay somewhere.
As I look around the office I think of things I’ll keep.
I sit at my desk.
Before my partner left they asked if I would still be here next year.
Yes.
But you’ll leave someday.
Yes.
Will you tell me before you do?
Yes.
The last job I left got an email. I didn’t leave it for another job but for this one.
It was a quiet place. The email I sent was filled with polite sentences
about growth and opportunity.
After I left, someone else took my chair. I knew they would sit there the whole time I was gone. I didn’t think about it. I let them have it in silence.
By this time it’s apparent that I’m not leaving my job today.
The screen light comes on like a familiar face.
I should log off.
I’ll stay tomorrow.
If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to decide.
Okay I have.
Hold onto something that is yours:
desk, password, coffee mug.
I’m staying here.
This is what I said when they asked me
if I had thought about leaving;
everyone nodded.
I should stay at my job. I should
stay
with the knowledge of meetings
and small talk. I’ll ask my manager to keep me.
I liked it better
when my tasks
felt important.
I should stay inside my life.
If a man walks through the office on his way to another company, I will not go with him. I don’t care who
he is:
if his offer is higher, fine;
if his office has windows, fine.
A person should be leaving today,
at least one person; this office
is so big.
When I’m at my job I’ll sit at my desk
and think. All of the emails will crowd
around me and force my inbox open
with their subject lines. One
will bring me a task. I won’t be able to ignore them.
My tasks
aren’t people
anymore.
I forgot to name them. They were over filed. They disappeared.
There isn’t a meeting, no one discussing the loss.
That was a work-life;
that was my folly.
My life at this job will be inspiring. I’ll send emails to people who didn’t know I was
working. I’ll even send emails to people I haven’t spoken to in years.
I’ll buy a new shirt for Monday.
I’ll volunteer for things once I arrive.
I’ll say, I can do anything you need.
I’ll show them spreadsheets and how quickly I respond.
I won’t feel quick.
Everyone will thank me.
When it’s Friday and someone asks what I’m doing this weekend, I’ll call someone and say how tired I am.
I shouldn’t stay at this job then.
No one can be fulfilled here.
The office plants are just so the company thinks people are alive.
I’ve never even wanted to leave this job before.
I should stay now.
I went to wake up my partner to tell them I was staying. They said, Why do you want to stay there?
Because I have to.
You should leave then.
They won’t understand why I don’t.
My job doesn’t have windows.
I know a person who should be leaving this week. I check my email to see if they
have written to tell me they quit.
They haven’t.
The computer says the right role is out there waiting for me. It asks for my name and
experience. I tell my partner to apply for jobs and I’ll do the same
and we can see if we are compatible with something else. They don’t want to, so instead I ask if I can
sit at their desk and they let me but say it feels strange.
Later when they wake up they’ll say, What was all of that about your job?
And I’ll say, Oh nothing.
And they’ll say, You’re staying too long.
And I’ll say, Probably, but I don’t mean to.
They’ll leave for work and I’ll spend the day listening to people talk about productivity
that will make me want to stay exactly where I am.
I’ll stay at my job then.
When I go to my desk,
I say to myself,
this doesn’t feel like anything
and nothing in my life does
and my partner says they’ll have to hear about this forever.
I want to stay so bad I sit very still
and hold my breath, I press my hand into
the keyboard and think: it feels like this.
I need it this way.
I realize now that I’m an employee.
I go to the break room.
I pour coffee and forget it.
No one in the room looks like they want to leave.
A printer jams.
I take a paper with numbers on it; they are all very important.
I come out of the room and the ceiling
is filled with white panels
that could be stand-ins for sky.
I don’t even look outside.
I know this is the only place I’ll be today.
When I get home my partner sees me checking my email and they sigh at me. On the radio is
a story about a man who quit his job and walked across the country. He says we
don’t have enough time.
I need to remain somewhere.
Now there is a story about a woman who retired early. She says she doesn’t know what to do with her days.
She sits quietly.
She is a beautiful person.
She is lost.
She told the reporter to always stay where you are needed.
The next story is about someone who started a company. Their mother hugged them when they
told her.
She said, I’m proud of you.
If I left my job, I wouldn’t be listening to this.
I write my job title in the air.
Another story comes on about a man who never left his position.
I open my laptop; there are three thousand messages to read. I
open one. It’s about nothing.
Instead of leaving my job I answer one email and then another. My partner asks why I
care so much about things that don’t matter.
When they go to sleep I sit in a quiet room.
I told them I could leave.
This wasn’t me staying here.
I was leaving already.
They said things that made sense.
They closed the laptop gently.
I said no.
I said I can’t leave right now.
They said this happens every year.
They may be right.
If this job didn’t exist, I’d still want to stay somewhere.
As I look around the office I think of things I’ll keep.
I sit at my desk.
Before my partner left they asked if I would still be here next year.
Yes.
But you’ll leave someday.
Yes.
Will you tell me before you do?
Yes.
The last job I left got an email. I didn’t leave it for another job but for this one.
It was a quiet place. The email I sent was filled with polite sentences
about growth and opportunity.
After I left, someone else took my chair. I knew they would sit there the whole time I was gone. I didn’t think about it. I let them have it in silence.
By this time it’s apparent that I’m not leaving my job today.
The screen light comes on like a familiar face.
I should log off.
I’ll stay tomorrow.
If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to decide.