I think my conscience about work fades daily by degrees. guilt or apprehension simply doesn't register these days. as I'm leaving early, coming late. writing personal notes all day long. choosing not to call or feign good reasons for being absent all this morning, having decided it was more vital to have breakfast with visiting ny friends than to be present in the office. making a breezy, flimsy excuse when I saunter in at noon. being handed no reproach. maybe it's clear what's going through my head. come on. why don't you fire me. I dare you. not much to do, I guess, with that one.
an article I volunteered to write is due tomorrow, and I have wholly lost interest, and made no preparations, since it was assigned. is it the summertime, I wonder, that makes me uninclined to care?