Running two computers with no connection between them is hard enough. When the Boss can't make up his mind what documents he wants printed, and the documents are on one computer and the printer is connected to the other, it makes for a wild and woolly Monday.

Anticipating this problem, I've already ordered an external Zip drive for Fidelina. I found it at a drastically-reduced special price with free shipping, so I didn't think anyone (that is, the Boss, who'll end up paying for it) would mind. We'll see. What's done is done, and I need to be able to move files back and forth on something a little more efficient (and a lot faster) than a 3-1/2" diskette.

I'm still in the honeymoon period with the new computer. Everything is groovy, even the weird little quirks that take me by surprise every now and then. Windows wants to update itself automatically, and who am I to argue? It wasn't easy, but I managed to reinstall the corrupted font I mentioned yesterday. In uncorrupted form, that is. It wouldn't make much sense to install a corrupted font now, would it?

Some people do this all the time. A lot of people. I know that. But for me it's like being given the keys to Disneyland, except that I have to figure out how all the rides work. The ones that run by pushing a button or pulling a lever are fun, but anything beyond that is more of a challenge than I'm comfortable with, at least until the point where the wheels start turning. Once I've gone through that first tunnel and come out the other side, I'm probably going to be all right.

Not that I've ever been in charge of anything as vast as an amusement park, but I did get lost alone at night at Knott's Berry Farm when I was thirteen. So obviously I know what I'm talking about when it comes to panic attacks. If I'm a little more cautious than absolutely necessary, that's probably part of the reason.

I finally remembered today to tell the Boss that I'm taking Wednesday off. Mom and I are taking the bus down to the Curran Theatre in San Francisco to see "The Tale of the Allergist's Wife," fresh from Broadway with Valerie Harper, Michele Lee and Tony Roberts. I didn't tell him all that. He asked what the play was, and I told him the title and that it's a comedy. I doubt that he knows who any of those big stars are.

The Boss even sort of apologized to me for throwing another typing job at me a little before four this afternoon. ("Sorry," is what he said. I guess that's more of an actual apology than sort of one.)

Does he think I shouldn't have to work after four? Or, more ominously, does he think I believe that? The fact is, I willingly embrace work-related activity at any hour of the day or night.

That might be saying it a little too strongly, but the point is that I consider every new task and every new project a sign that I'll still be employed at least until I finish it, and that if I do it well enough I'll be given more chances to stay employed doing the same thing.

It's not that I'm anxious about my job. Not exactly. Okay, a little. But I'm always encouraged by being part of the momentum that keeps the company moving forward. If it does well, and if I'm helping it do well, then I'm doing well.

The sky was hazy today, but with smoke and not fog. Even in the city, fog doesn't smell the way the air did every time I walked outside. I know our weather has been affected by the fire along the Oregon-California border, but this was thicker smoke, so probably much closer. Half of downtown San Jose seems to be on fire, but I don't think that's had time to get this far north. Something's burning in the hills west of here, and we can only hope it doesn't develop into a rival of those other blazes.