I feel like one of those guys on the subway that sleeps on the way to work. I meander to my car in the morning. I listen absentmindedly to the radio during my commute as I occasionally drive by an exit or two. I slowly walk towards the building entrance as I nonchalantly wave my access card towards the access door and shuffle to my cube for eight to ten hours of sloth filled work. I look up from an hour trance, involving staring at the ceiling or reloading the same web page over and over, and realize its quitting time. I shuffle back to my car and run the morning commute in reverse. If only I had to punch a time card, and a whistle blew at five everyday signifying quittin' time. I'd pick up my metal lunch box, tuck in my blue denim work shirt, leave my hardhat on the hooks by the door, then punch out and head home as I pass the evening shift workers. "Evening George," I'd say. "Evening Mark."

On a related note: looks like we will be selling our house and taking a long vacation. Australia and New Zealand first, and then maybe Rome or France. Its all in the infant stages, (or, for Matt, infant station) but the planning has begun, and god damn am I excited!