7:55.

And almost time to go. Funny, how little like work this job feels. And strange, how loath I am to miss a day at the new day job. My only complaint is that there's never enough time for all the things I want to be doing. But that's a complaint I can live with, especially seeing where I was psychologically and spiritually this time last year. November used to be a bittersweet month for me, as it was the month I started working for the Harvard Medical School as a bonafide employee (the library had hired me as a temp - shadily I might add - the May before that, back in 1998). As the years progressed and my interest in the job waned, I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life every time that anniversary came around; and as my managers became asshats and made my working day a living hell, the approach of November would make what I was feeling even a notch worse.

Well, no longer. Isn't amazing, how much can turn on a dime? A year ago I wasn't writing, a year ago I hated my job, a year ago I was afraid I'd made all the wrong decisions as an adult. Now look where I am. I'm writing, I'm loving what I do for a paycheck, I feel like I'm on track - on many tracks, all of them promising - and I have a beautiful daughter as well (and a lovely, encouraging wife who's also a spectacular mother!).

Well, time to go. Peace out!