My class has ended. I'm sitting in a Panera's typing this, an infallible signal I've returned to the real world.
Although it's just early afternoon, I feel drained. I want to go home and sleep for three hours. The last assignment we had in class was a challenging one for me and I feel a bit raw. One woman in class that I walked out with was getting in her car for a 2 1/2 hour drive home and I envied her. Two hours alone in a car to decompress with the radio to drown out thoughts sounds just about right. Instead, I've commandeered a square table and spread out the pages of research I'll need to write my article. I need to have a working draft complete by 5PM and I'll have to block out all distractions and focus to get it done.
I'm sipping a caffeine-free Diet Pepsi that I didn't really want but felt obligated to purchase, given my plans to hog a table for the next 3 hours. The manager who I know from his days of managing the branch on Lawndale in Greensboro, is having a sit down talk with a young female employee who from her crossed arms, wide eyes, and leg tapping, is obviously upset and defensive. I'm not close enough to hear the specifics of the altercation that's led her to be called to task, although I did hear her start her end of the conversation with a benign, "I don't know why you all lie so much."
No more putting it off. Mutant genes and epileptic dogs and genetic research call to me to put their story in some semblance of order. Banzai!