Again, because I like the song. A lot. I have one more day of full time RadioShack monotony. Today, the monotony was interrupted by an entertaining spiel to Robert (aka Bob), my protege, so to speak. I have one more day of insane hours and biting my fingernails waiting to make commission. One more day of ridicule, one more day of false humility, one more day of giving away free knowledge, one more day as a salesman of stuff and one more day until I'm a salesman for ideas. And for a thirty-minute commute up the coast, I hope they buy. Because I'm looking forward to a nice compie and cubicle, all my own. I'm looking forward to doing something I love. I'm looking forward to the cash, and looking forward to say that I got that cash from something I don't even consider work. I have to work three full weekends for Lydia at the Shack, and that means I work every day for the next three weeks, but I won't mind, because rolling balls down ramps and compressing air inside of syringes won't feel like work. Rewriting the lab instructions so that students learn what they need to won't feel like work. It won't feel like work when Elizabeth's reminding me of my occasional intellectual clumsiness. It won't be work making that beautiful drive up the coast, feeling the breeze and looking forward to where I'm going. It won't be work to get out at 4:30, like the rest of the world. It won't be work to have finally earned the job I've got with the agonizing education I've struggled for. My new job won't be work, and I can deal with a weekend at the Shack because this will all feel like a vacation. But, until then, one more day. One more ten hour day of selling, of humility, of bending to customers on a full-time basis. One more day.