Found

Stepping out of my car last night, I found someone’s debit card lying on the ground. I picked it up and figured I would try to find the person or, at the very least, I would just drop it at a bank branch.

A little Google razzle-dazzle, and I found him. He hadn’t even reported it lost yet. We’ll do the hand-off later today. It makes me feel good that I can do the right thing here and not, say, try to buy a bunch of electronics at Best Buy to pawn and then go play the slots - because, let me tell you, that option probably wasn’t too far down the list if I intended to keep gambling. It lets me know I’m not completely broken inside.

Tomorrow at the office, there is a fun “sport” tournament during the mid-day lunch hour. I wrote “sport” in quotes because it’s akin to a potato sack race championship but it’s silly and amusing, and I’m glad it’s happening. But there will be beer there (yes, at work; tres scandaleux).

I always feel weird drinking at work anyway because … it is weird. For most of us, those two things don’t belong together. At these occasions I tend to only have one anyway. But, given that today is really on day 3.5 for me as of this writing, I’m even more hyper about it. No one will care if I do or don’t and, if history is any indicator, I’m highly unlikely to get blitzed and dance on a conference table.

I think what’s really got me worried is that I want to go back to basecamp tonight, glug a bottle of red and zone out on some schmaltzy romantic comedy. That’s where I get into trouble: drinking alone at home.

The day is young. Plenty of time to talk myself out of that plan. Or into it.