Day Two of Five

I can only aspire to such humor in death. This man is my new hero.

My final week stretches out slowly like a Bataan death march. Short-timer's syndrome is infecting me. All the little quirks of my co-workers are magnified to the point of obnoxiousness. I have forsworn all meeting invites. I am starting to bequeath some of my cube detritus to my co-workers, including a unintentionally funny book on corporate change that a friend gave me when he left the company almost two years ago. Now he's back and I'm the one leaving. Figure it makes sense to return the book.

Bedtimes with Alastair have become something of a game of Russian roulette. One night he conks out after about 15-20 minutes of fussing. Then Sunday night he wailed for over an hour. Last night he totally crashed out the minute his head hit the pillow. My crazy baby. He likes to keep his mum and dad guessing.

Well, guess I better go do something that resembles work so I can claim to have earned my last paycheck.