update

It's 5:55 in the p.m. I can hear the janitor replacing garbage bags out in the hallway. I work in a school; several, actually: an elementary, a middle/high school, and an ad-hoc alternative school. A lot of people love working in schools. I'm not sure. Schools are full of things like tardy passes, hierarchy, loudspeakers, personalities, drama, favorites, soda machines, gymnasiums, science rooms, cafeteria trays, schedules, staff meetings. I'm a visitor in this school, the itinerant reading teacher. A strange position to be in, and one that leaves me often struggling to retain authority, never a strong suit. Tonight I'll go home, make dinner (the hardest part of any day), probably watch a movie if my DISH network is working again, read old issues of the New Yorker, listen to This American Life, maybe write a letter. This has become my routine, and it won't change until I get the books I ordered, when old issues of the New Yorker will be replaced by Tom Wolfe's first book or Scoop by Evelyn Waugh. It's not a bad lifestyle. Alcohol should probably play a larger role in it. Saunas have been recently introduced. No chance of romance.