Scribble, Scribble

Class is over. I briefly sympathized with Concepcion when I learned she commutes through New York City to get to work. Then she leaned on me and all sympathy vanished.

I am acting weird at work. I don't know what's going on. I am worried. Am I coming down with a cold? Should I be working longer hours to get the work done? Is it a bad sign that some grunt work that I might have been forced to do is being outsourced to the departed employee who used to do it? All I can think to do is to go to work, sit down, and put my nose to the grindstone until it's dark outside.

Why do people decide they have to confide in me? It's the face, I know, the doughy, innocent, baby-at-52 face. Yesterday, someone in the class who had been boasting about his teenage son said to me, "Just between you and me, he's the only reason I go home." Oh, man. Don't tell me this.

Re: weirdness at work: Could it be that I've been knocked off my stride by seeing Boy Wonder for the ruthless climber he claims to be, as well as getting a pretty good view of what True Boss is, um, truly like? It could be. However, the only answer to this is to suck it up and get over it.

I've been going to bed at 8:30. Once dinner is done, the house is tended to, and I've read for about an hour, I can't think of anything else to do with myself. So I go to bed. Surely this isn't right.