jobby job

I've not written in a long time, mostly because I've been too busy finishing college and starting this job I've been locked into since August 2010.
I work with foster kids.
Actually, that's a front... I do paperwork, most of which is paperwork that the state caseworkers or the people above or below me in the child-care-totem don't want to do. So this is my domain, sitting here, in this black, vinyl, slightly broken, uncomfortable chair where I am office-equipment-locked. Under my elbows is an 80s model desk with non-functioning drop-file drawers holding a phone that I sort-of know how to use, a coffee mug full of writing utensils of various shade, a four-inch fan, a Jeff Beck CD, a stapler, three different sized stickey notes, my cell phone, my mac (I can't use the office-issued computer... it's weird... don't tell HR), and some dell speakers I found in a storage shed belonging to the agency that have surprisingly good bass-response. To my right is a wall with a four-foot cork-board holding highlighter-scribblings by Olivia, come pictures, a heart-shaped button of John and Yoko, a birthday card with a picture of three pre-teen girls from the 70s that reads "'My mommy said love made me.' 'My mommy said God made me.' 'My mommy said I came from a fifth of Jack and a snowstorm,'" some forms pinned up with sewing needles, and some animals my grandfather whittled before he died next to some that he taught me how to whittle.
Behind me is a window and a two-drawer filing cabinet that usually works (which has replaced the old one that doesn't have a key and had to be opened with a screwdriver and ambition).
To my left is a bookshelf with a bunch of crap on it like Rolling Stone magazines, a sante coffee mug, some cascade files, an Ernest Hemingway book, some pictures of the wife and kid, some more folders of stuff, my diploma in a purple tube, and a statue of a little boy with a kite, upon which I have placed Mardi Gras beads and a Masonic light bulb.
On the other side of my desk are two uncomfortable chairs in which I've only sat once, separated by a table holding a frosted-glass chess set (I've played one full game with a coworker and half of one game with a 10-year-old girl), and a Scentsy wick-less candle shaped like a tiki man. It currently is burning the "thunderstorm" flavor, but it smells like blue soap.
This is where I spend 40-70 hours per week.
But I do have a window, and I'm the only person in this building with a window that has a view of the parking lot, so I can see every person who comes and goes, which is what I spend a lot of my time doing. I also only have cell-phone reception in my office when my face and the phone are pressed up against the glass of the window, so this makes for interesting conversations.
My walls have decor ranging from a cactus-shaped santa hanging from chili-pepper-lights to an autographed Victor Wooten poster.
People call my office "crazy" or "weird."
I call it the best thing I can think of to distract me from the fact that I'm here, and not at home with the wife and kid, or on the road to another gig at a place I've never played.
so it goes.