what are you doing

Clenching his teeth and shaking his head in disgust, Paul reached for the bottle of vodka hidden behind his computer screen. He reached for his water cup and, without batting an eye, poured himself a generous helping of Russian comfort. Paul took another hard look at the error he had just discovered in his calculations and cursed to himself silently.

"Fucking thing."

The Finance Manager popped into his office,

"Want to grab lunch, Paul?"

Paul looked up and shook his head 'No'.

The Finance Manager left his office, and Paul gingerly picked up his glass.

"Here's to me."

He drank from the glass unceremoniously, and leaned back in his chair. How long must I suffer, he asked himself, how much can I give? The late nights, the working Saturdays, the "mission-critical" deadlines - how much punishment can any man take? He stared down his glass and helped himself to another sip.

From a distance, Nathan watched Paul wince from the alcohol. Nathan's eyes focused on the glass, then on Paul, and then retreated back to his computer screen, disturbed by what he just saw. Paul had picked up on this, but said nothing. He watched as Nathan then shut down his computer and headed out to lunch with a few co-workers.

Hardly embarassed, Paul set aside his glass and wondered what Nathan thought of him. He saw a lot of his younger self in Nathan - young... ambitious... eager to please and get noticed. Completely oblivious. He smirked to himself. "Nathan," Paul wished he could say, "Go out and explore the world! You should be out, trekking across South America, studying abroad in London, wooing Swedish women! What on God's beautiful earth are you doing here???"

He wished he could say these things, but knew better. He then redirected his gaze back to the screen, and began tackling the world's problems once more. One number at a time.