“You want to get the mail?” “Sure!” I took the huge janitor ring of keys Ken was holding out. Getting the mail is one of the highlights of my workday. Not much of one, but when you have a job with negativestress levelslike I do, any variation in the normal scheme of data entry or book packing is welcome. It’s not like the rest of the day is awful, just… uneventful. The first day I took a solo trip to the post office, Ken asked me if I wanted to take my reliable (for the most part) automatic sedan or…
I took King’s X out of the CD player and am now listening to Bach. Let’s see, it’s Concerto for Two Violins. Before I left to come to Virginia, I ransacked my family’s collection of CDs on a whim for everything there by Bach. Which evidently was two CDs, because that’s all I found when I went searching through the box I brought them in just now. I’m listening to Bach, instead of George Winston, Matthew Sweet, or King’s X, for a specific reason. Today was Thursday and so staff dinner night. Bart, the other intern, gave an “oral report”…
As I was replying to a message from one of you lucky corresponders last night, my hostess came and tapped me on the shoulder. She had to perform this motion because I had my earphones on listening to George Winston at a rather high volume because there was some “light” jazz junk on in the room and I hate “light” junk. Perhaps because it reminds me of waiting in waiting rooms to see doctors or dentists. Not that I don’t like doctors or dentists, I just don’t enjoy the inevitable wait for them. So as George Winston was drowning out…
[Ed. Note: While this was written on the date indicated, it’s refering to events much earlier.] Dr. Berry made it quite clear at the beginning, “late outlines will not be accepted.” (We used to have to outline each chapter of, freak…what was the name of that textbook?… So one day, I had Snow White and the Seven Dwarves in the morning, so I didn’t go to class that day. I still had to turn in the outline, however, which I had yet to type up. So I went home, typed it up real quick, and sped to school to try…
Okay, nothing to worry about. It’s all taken care of. I explained the oil predicament to Joanne as soon as she and Doug got home. “Probably nothing to worry about,” Doug said, “How farabove the safe line is it?” I held up a thumb and forefinger. He shrugged. “Doug,” said Joanne in that voice all wives have of saying their husbands’ names when they think they ought to do something. Doug looked up. “What?” “She’s got too much oil in her car,” Joanne stated the obvious. “Well, then, she needs to take some out,” answered Doug. He looked at his…