In a little bit, I'll go off to my job at the retirement home, where I'll make sure old folks are safe and well fed. I'll change incontinence briefs, give meds, and listen smilingly to senile babble from people for whom 1950 is much clearer than 2007. While I'm there, I'll ponder whether this is the reward of life.

When you think about it, in many ways, life's a crock. You grow up with the cruelty of children, graduate to a job you have to go to every day, even on the days you dread doing so and would rather do something... anything else, and then, one day, you end up in a home like the one I work at, babbling to some kid who could care less about how wonderful Glen Miller was.

Which is, admittedly a rather dim view of things, but hey... it's how I'm feeling today.