Looks like my time at work is drawing to a close. My replacement is eager to begin, and I frankly wouldn't mind having the next couple of weeks off, though I hate to do without that lovely paycheck. No matter how much time I put in to packing after work, it just doesn't seem to make much of a dent. So, I'll live. I have three more tricky itineraries to sort out before I'm willing to give up my access to the system, but after this week it's all going to be done. And I, well, I've already started living in California in my mind. So it's for the best.

A young, muscular Federal Express delivery man drops off several interesting packages at our office. I glance at him and then get to the good stuff. The other women ogle Mr. FedEx, bursting into a giggling frenzy of speculation after he leaves. They solicit my opinion on him. Gay, I reply, busy opening a promising-looking box. They argue with me. I look at them with insouciant weariness and bet them a zillion dollars he's queer. Next time he comes in, he's wearing a wedding ring. See, see, they chorus. I quirk my eyebrows and sign for the boxes. He smiles at me in conspiracy. The two of us look at the others, for one moment in perfect charity with one another. Afterwards, I collect my zillion dollars: two cinnamon bears and a quarter.

An old friend writes to me, asking me to draw up his ideas for New Yorker cartoons. We'll sell them and split the proceeds. I think about having the leisure to spend as much time as I want to doing something fun: drawing, writing, designing things. I've put in my hard labor in the office mills. Isn't it about time I made money from things I enjoy doing anyway? I write back: yes. Let's do art.

I hate eating in restaurants I've never been to. I know this is a paradox but I still feel wary of trying new places on my own. I'll try almost any food once, on the other hand. I've eaten gazelle, sea urchin, ants, and turnip greens, all voluntarily. I cannot eat meat that looks like the animal it once was, though. I'd no idea I was squeamish about it until someone once lovingly prepared lapin for me and I could not, *could* not, put even a bite of it into my mouth. I like dim sum. I love sushi. I loathe pot roast.