It's rare that I get in a bad mood at work anymore. Sure, there are days that I'm tired and not very enthusiastic, but it almost never happens that I wished I'd stayed home. Today, that happened. I don't even think it was the job's fault, actually. And - the feeling went away by mid-afternoon.

The alarm clock woke me up in the middle of a very vivid dream, the details of which I instantly forgot. I had a tough time waking up. I sat on the living room couch for a long time before I found the strength to get up and take a shower. After Phillip left for his bus, I sat down on the futon to put on my shoes, and had to fight the urge to lie back and fall asleep.

I got to the bus stop and looked at the headlines in Seattle's two newspaper boxes. One said something like: VOTERS WILL DECIDE FIX FOR THE SONICS. The other said something like: SEATTLE MAY CLOSE 12 SCHOOLS. I thought about the competition that existed between those two headlines, and I hoped that Seattle's voters will make the right choice. Then I remembered that the people had voted against building a sports stadium, not too long ago, in favor of building new libraries, and I felt optimistic. Then I remembered that the city government went ahead and built Safeco Field anyway, and used the money the voters had allocated for libraries to build it, and I didn't feel so optimistic.

Thursdays are always early days for our clinic. Patients are scheduled starting at 8:00. It isn't right, actually, since the front desk doesn't open until 8:00, and in order to check those early patients in, someone has to start work early. Since the clinic doesn't pay overtime, that means someone is technically working off the clock every Thursday. That someone is almost always me. I don't mind, really. It's not so bad, actually. I typically just ask the patients their names, and put the paperwork together as I open up the front desk. Besides, I figure I can always use Thursday mornings as leverage if anyone ever complains that I'm not working hard enough.

This morning, two patients showed up at 7:40. I hadn't started opening up the front desk yet. I hadn't even logged in yet. I asked the first patient his name, and told him he could have a seat and that I'll check him. "I was told I had to sign some papers," he replied. I logged on and discovered that the patient had never been registered in the hospital system. So I registered him. It's not a difficult process, but it's time-consuming. I had to assign him a hospital ID number, take his insurance information, find out his employment situation, his veteran status, his mother's maiden name, his father's name, his religious preference, and ethnic identification. Then I had to have him sign a care agreement, financial agreement, and privacy acknowledgement. Then I had to check him in. Then the next patient stepped forward, and I discovered that she had never been registered, either. So I had to go through the process again. While I was registering her, my coworker arrived and opened the front desk around me.

The reason I get to work early is so I can start out my day relaxed and prepared. This morning, I felt like I had hit the ground running. Ordinarily, I'd feel privileged that, unlike the two clinic I'd worked in before, I actually am able to register patients, and am given the responsibility to do so. But this morning, I was cursing the Patient Care Coordinator under my breath for not only scheduling two patients at the very start of the clinic, but two brand new patients at the start of the clinic.

By 9:00 this morning, I had registered three more new patients - a total of five. Later, the Patient Care Coordinator came out to the front desk to ask me why two of those new patients had not been asked to complete the Labor & Industry claim forms. Because, I replied, no one - not even the patients - had told me that there had been on-the-job injuries involved in their visit. So I had to undo those two registrations, and fix them.

But, like I wrote earlier, I went to lunch, and when I returned, all was right with the world.

I often wonder: Why are so many people offended by the question of their religious preference. What do they think is going to happen if they answer "Catholic" or "Sikh" or "No Preference"?

The song stuck in my head this morning, for no apparent reason, for the second day in a row, is Oye Como Va, by Santana.

Every once in a while, a geocache comes along that just doesn't thrill us. Maybe the location is just nothing special, but mostly the cache seems somehow more trouble than it's worth. I logged on this morning, and I learned that a new geocache had been hidden in the neighborhood between home and work. It had been found once already, so I'd lost my chance to get the First To Find, but I wanted to find it. I walked to work this morning, and set out early. I didn't bring the GPS receiver, because I'd looked at the location on the map, and I also figured I'd see something special when I got there.

I got to the location and found nothing special. It was a sidewalk by an ordinary apartment building, in a neighborhood full of sidewalks and apartment buildings. I looked around the trees and rocks in the landscaping. The problem was, there were people leaving from work, coming out of the apartment buildings all around me. The thought hit me that I must have looked like a burglar scoping out the area, waiting for people to vacate their apartments. I gave up the search and continued on to work.

I wasn't going to post a Did Not Find, since I'd cut my search short. I checked the Geocaching web site later in the morning, and saw that a fellow geocacher had posted a note. He, too, had stopped by on his way to work. He, too, did not feel comfortable searching the area - he wrote that it was because of the "No Loitering" sign nearby. So I posted my own note.

Later in the day, the cache owner posted a new hint for the cache. I stopped by on my way home, started another quick search, but my heart just wasn't in it. Someday, I may look again, or maybe not.

I feel kind of bad about it, since it was the cache owner's first hide.

Sometimes I find myself suddenly on a focused quest for knowledge. I might have read something, somewhere, about the 1941 film The Maltese Falcon. Or, maybe something made me think of it. I turned to the Internet Movie Database, and read up on the trivia: The 1941 film is the third film based on the novel. It's almost word-for-word, scene for scene, the same as the novel. George Raft was originally cast as Sam Spade. Gutman's phrase "By gad..." was originally "By God..." until the censors disapproved. I read up on the goofs: Although the story takes place in San Francisco, the firemen all wore Los Angeles uniforms. The fake elevator at the very end doesn't work if you look cloesly enough.

Then I read Roger Ebert's review. I read that it's considered to be the first film noir. I read about how it changed Humphrey Bogart's movie career, and launched Sydney Greenstreet's. I read about the astonishing camera work, and that unbroken 7-minute tracking shot.

Then I pulled the film out of my collection of VHS tapes, and watched it yesterday afternoon.

Next, I started wondering about Dashiell Hammett's novel. I searched on the Seattle Public Library's website, and learned that it was on the Capitol Hill branch's shelves. Phillip and I had computers reserved this afternoon. I picked up the novel while waiting for our computers to be ready. My library computer turned out to infested with adware. I reported it, and Phillip seemed surprisingly willing to cut our computer visit short.

When I checked out the copy of The Maltese Falcon, I was informed that I had a hold ready to be picked up. It was my turn for the DVD of Eraserhead.

I watched Eraserhead as soon as we got home this afternoon. I knew that the film was unconventional, but I was unprepared for what I saw. I don't know how to take this film. It seems to be about something. I'm sure the symbolism means something. There was story - at times straightfoward, at times not. Or maybe the story wasn't the point. It seemed to be a well thought out film, deliberately put together, and beautifully photographed. (It was obviously meant to be seen as a whole, since the entire film is one DVD chapter.) I can't say I didn't like it, and I can't say I liked it, yet.