Do I sit in a cubicle, or does my cubicle sit around me? These are the questions I ponder as I sit at my computer typing whatever may have just come across my desk or through my e-mail. I guess I probably should be working, but I find it so much more self-gratifying to ruminate over the metaphysical aspect of the office I visit five days out of the week. For example, I think it would be really cool if my cubicle was retractable. That way, I would know that it was there when I was gone, beckoning me to return. I would just push a big red button, like the ones in the Staples commercials, and my cubicle would sink into the ground, lying dormant until I return and actively commit to do work in the next week. That would probably just initiate another period of needless determination, though, cause I would probably just stand at the cusp of my retracted cubicle with my fingers lightly touching the button, willing myself to extract it from the depths.I think if there was an earthquake, like a really monstrous earthquake, and I tried to hide underneath the desk lining my cubicle, it would buckle and crush me to death. I think it's been planning this for a long time, planning new and creative ways to bump me off. That's another reason to not have a retractable cubicle, cause as soon as the earthquake hit I know the damn cubicle would sink underground and I'd be left unprotected. I can hear my cubicle cackling as it sinks into its safe haven while giant beams and foil-colored lights collapse on me, just before I'm impaled by one of the fire sprinkler system pipes. Then, just as I'm about to breathe my last and give my soul over to the great beyond, my cubicle would rise back up from the ground, and pee on my face. I don't know how it would do that being a neuter object, but I'm sure it would find a way.