06.10.03 - 9:10 p.m.

Had a good meeting with my boss today. Got a story idea approved that I really wanted to do. One story out of twenty eight ain't bad.

Burning myself out. Tired of getting up at 6, working for an hour, going to work at 8:15, working till 7, coming home, working for another hour. I realize this is nothing compared to the hours put in by investment bankers, lawyers and even my friends at PWC in the busy season, but I'm a low-level editor at a checkout mag. This is not brain surgery nor life-altering. It's just all about the profit for the publishers.

And none of it gives me the least bit of self-fulfillment or sense of a job well done.

Tried to get Dan to babysit a cat for three hours today so Amanda and I could go to a Wet Hot American Summer cast reunion in the city. Until we realized the reunion was yesterday and it was but a mere screening of the movie tonight. Was a funny phone conversation, not worth repeating verbatim. Only here as a memory place marker.

How will I look back on these days in a year? Where will they fall on my scale of apathy and depression? In relation to the magazine project and Walden, they're probably not so bad. In relation to waitressing and newsroom reporting, they're most likely worse.