February 10th

Dear Diary,

A new birth! A new day! I woke this morning, the sunlight trying its noble best to sneak through my bedroom blinds, to the world anew. Indeed, yesterday is over, and a new life begins.

If you feel that your memory must be refreshed, dear diary, then I suppose I will cater to the need. As you may or may not recall, I decided last week that I would live for the weekend no more. I would be a slave to the machines no longer. I would quit my job. The idea struck me like the sent of a skunk to my fragile nose as I was standing in my place at the iced tea bottling assembly line. Why on Earth, I said to myself, do I settle for this meaningless work? Why do I willingly come here to spend hour upon hour screwing the caps onto the bottles of terribly produced dirty water that even the most liberal of tea fans would be hesitant to call it iced tea in reality?

I decided I had had enough. Come that Friday (because I hate the idea of working half a week, it seems so uncivilized), I would march into my boss' steam room of an office and shout: "Mr. Donkin! I, Colin J. Horriburt am sick of this menial existence! I want to live, don't you see? There is so much to the world, so much to me that is unconfined in these barely recyclable glass bottles. And so, sir, consider this my abrupt and declarative resignation!"

And so I did. The weekend was a blur of emotion. Monday I was too exhausted by my own elation to even get out of bed. And so today came, the first real day of my liberation! The opportunities were thick in the air.

In short, I spent the day job hunting. We will see if any of this proves fruitful.