1999 October 1


Well, turn out the lights. Show's over. Move along, nothing more to see here. The weasel has popped. The fat lady has sung. Sha-na-na-na hey hey goodbye.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

It felt weird leaving Stanford today, on what may well have been my last day of work there. I logged off of plage, collected my pens from my desk, and looked around the darkened office. It felt like a significant moment. Not precisely sad, or frightening, or exciting, but some strange combination. Like the roller-coaster has been cranking to the top of the big hill and you know it's going to be a wild ride but there's that moment when you get to the crest and time slows down and the pit of your stomach drops out and you wonder what the hell you're doing there but it's way too late to get off.

Well, not quite so intense as that -- in a roller-coaster the whole ride is compressed to three minutes or less, while I've been cranking up to the drop for more than a month, so I get flashes of the butterflies drawn out over days. The real ride starts either Sunday, when I get on the plane, or Monday, when I actually check into boot camp.

In the meantime, I've been got the first problem set at least half done already.

. . .

I hope my tomato plant lives long enough to produce its tomatoes. It's definitely sick, with a fuzzy white mold kind of thing that's growing on the leaves and killing them. This is an unfortunate turn of events.

I know I'm going to be away and was going to miss most of the tomatoes anyway, but there's the principle of the thing. I put a bit of work into growing that thing, and I'd like it to produce enough fruit for it all to have been theoretically worthwhile. And it's a bummer to have a sick plant.

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