2.5 hours more till I have to wake up.  The rat race is painful so far, only made bearable by the nicest colleagues and a very smart boss.  I yearn to learn.  Yet work is odd somehow.  When I trod along with all the rest of them in the train stations, shuffling along escalators and covered pathways, I do not feel good about myself.  I have been cast from a mould, twisted and shaped into comformity.  Perhaps it's just the routined manner, that I cannot fathom.  I haven't properly gotten down to doing actual work, hence it is my dear wish that actual work will excite me and cause me to leap out of bed at 5.45am, earnest for what the day brings me. 

For now I am grim.