There's nothing like the smell of spring and the LoveSounds of Justin Timberlake in the morning: Vignettes of a crazy person.

I get very bored on my walks to work in the morning. It is the same broken sidewalk, the same lanky sweater-wearing dogs, the same Volvo for sale over and over again. So occasionally I mix it up with a soundtrack of songs not listened to frequently. I went through a period where I listened to Hanson and laughed the whole way, thinking, if today is the day I get hit by a car, will the paramedic look over my mangled body and notice my iPod beating with those delightful teenyboppers-turned-indie-poppers and laugh his ass off? Today, however, I rebelled against a Monday morning by listening to Justin Timberlake, which surprisingly inspired, along with hip gyrating, a healthy bout of laughter. The woman who walks the freak dogs must think I'm a lunatic.

Seldom but sometimes, I unwillingly run into a familiar face. If I catch Christopher, it's at the corner of Peachtree and Fifth, wearing the typical black t-shirt and headphones. He smiled at me today and pulled off his closest headphone, so I reciprocated the gesture. Out of curiosity, since I was still amused by my own music choice, I inquired as to his. U2. Of course, I could not hold my tongue, and shouted "Mine's embarrassing!" He was in full-fledged agreement with that. The thing I enjoy most about running into Christopher is that these encounters are always peppered with interjections of "it's too early" and so I have come to know that either he knows that I hate abhorrent morning small talk or that he too hates abhorrent morning small talk. It wasn't long before he saved both of us and ducked into the bookstore, only after a considerate parting of ways.

At work, I was faced with a loss of power. My least-favorite-person-turned-semihero trained the Chinese post doc how to use the demon machine. It took so long before I gained control over it, I even went through the process of naming it, and then I watched my glory vanish in minutes, very much like the infamous Surface. Not really. Despite my anxiety and jealousy of being ousted, shown most obviously through nail biting, I knew I was being utterly irrational. I don't even need Black Jack at the moment. Not to mention, I've been blithering on about my philosophy regarding jobs: A job is a job and it's going to suck no matter what so I might as well put my energy toward things non-job related, i.e. knitting. I remembered this mantra and went back to my nails. Everybody wants some sort of power.

Around lunchtime, I ran into another character, the Wacky Welshman. I call him so because his most endearing quality is a similar social awkwardness to my own. In a rush he was telling me about his missing money and his broken car and then he was gone. He later found me in the copy room, and apologized for being rude. "You alright?" Sure, I said, just bored. "Well you should think of ways to mix it up." Good thought. And yet how? I could go to the chiropractor on Tuesday instead of Monday. I could go with the default of dying my hair. I could get another tattoo. I could apply for a job in Bermuda. Maybe I'll just buy a hat. And listen to Hanson.