First of all, let me apologize for the brief absence. The hotel was fated not to have easy internet access, and in the interest of domestic tranquility, I opted not to bring along the laptop. It was an anniversary weekend where the gap between "doesn't taking the train sound romantic" and "this train ride is so romantic" was the sum total of a two-hour late arrival (making the trip take twice that of the same one by car) and the aforementioned Cliff Clavin of the rails.

But let me save the discussion of the train experience --- and don't worry, it's not all bitching --- for later. The trip was in danger of being overwhelmed by my tension at having put in my two weeks notice at work. I've been there a few years now, and seen it grow from six employees when I started, to more than twice that in the good times, and now back down to nine after recent layoffs. The first round of downsizery began at the beginning of the year; the last round concluded a couple of months ago.

My actual resignation turned out to be really poorly timed. When I got in that morning, a coworker (the one that I assumed would be groomed to be my replacement, and who was the overwhelming favorite to be the next to be let go) asked my opinion of the angry letter he had sent to the boss. My initial opinion was, "You really couldn't have picked a worse time to do that," but I put it more diplomatically. Anyway, that kicked off the day with some personnel tumult, and my quitting almost cost this other guy his job in the ensuing anger.

Then Friday was a vacation day, so I was really dreading going in today. It looked like I was going to get the silent treatment for my remaining time, but then after lunch the boss (who, let's just say, is not good in face-to-face communication) stopped by to ask a friendly-toned question, and that kind of broke the ice. Now my job is to train the almost-fired guy to do what I do, which is unfortunate, because I'm afraid that a lot of what I do is at a more instinctual level than I'll be able to teach. We'll see.

In future installments, watch your less-than-completely faithful (to wit, the largish gap in entries over the weekend) diarist mull over his options. Hear him wax affectionate for railroad workers, and for boaters' bare asses. See an uncharacteristic sympathy for the People Trapped Down the Well story.... Until then, as James McMurtry once told me, be good.