Spinning

He stood spinning in place, rotating, revolving around nothing, corners at every turn. He could do nothing for it but count: count the seconds, count the days, count the number of times the guy next to him dropped his wedding ring on his desk. Yes, he counted everything to a point of compulsion. Sticky notes could not hide the time, nor could ear phones drown the drone of a cycling humidifier that came on every 147 seconds. The 68.75% of usable time he spent in the chair was filled with counting, and all he could do was spin.