The Email Avalanche
Fiona’s inbox had become something of a mythic beast. Every time she cleared one email, four more appeared, as though her inbox had made a pact with the universe to keep her permanently tethered to her chair.
She had been at it all morning, yet still hadn’t made a dent in the ever-refilling queue of unread messages. She had a system, of course, answer, file, move on, but this was starting to feel like a cruel cosmic joke.
It wasn’t always this bad, was it? Fiona could barely remember. She settled deeper into her chair, her comfy, orange chair, which cushioned her descent into the morning’s email abyss.
The email alert pinged. Then another. Then three more, because why send one email when you can unleash a stream of consciousness on your colleagues? Fiona rubbed her temples, irritation growing with every ding. She could practically see the day disappearing in front of her. And she really needed to figure out how to switch off that blasted bell.
She shot a glance out the window. Outside her work-at-home boat bubble, the sun was shining, and she could hear people laughing in the park.
Right on cue, a familiar tail bounced past her boat window. Benji the curly-haired cockerpoo was off on his lunchtime walk, and Fiona’s neighbour, leash in hand, was pantomiming cake and walking signals, enticing Fiona to join them.
Along the river, their favourite cake and coffee shop awaited, and yes, Fiona probably needed a walk too.
She had been sitting on her comfy, orange chair all morning, and it was time for a change.
More tempting than she wanted to admit, she stood, feeling the chair groan in protest as if it couldn’t bear the thought of separation. Her muscles, stiff from hours of inactivity, creaked like rusty hinges. Fiona rolled her neck, stretched her arms, and felt the tightness in her back start to melt away.
She grabbed her purse and stepped out into the fresh air, greeted by a warm breeze and a curly-haired cockerpoo eager for bootie scratches. Her brain, sluggish from sitting, began to wake up.
As they strolled along the river, Fiona thought about her inbox, the ever-present beast. It would still be there when she got back, no doubt fuller than ever. But for now, she was free. She’d more than earned a lunchtime break—and a large piece of cake. The chair?
Her inbox? Well, they would just have to wait.
