The new job has officially staked its claim in my psyche. This was determined when I came out of a dead sleep at 5 a.m. realizing I hadn't done a thing for a thing and immediately threw on some jeans and made a run to the office to do the thing for the thing.

And hey, new discovery. East-bound traffic on Paseo is surprisingly heavy at 5:20 a.m.

It took the better part of a year of employment at the Journal before I was struck with that sort of panic. I don't know if it's a difference in duties, or a difference in maturity levels or what, but there I was at 5 a.m., cruising into the office in dirty jeans and a hoodie, startling the night crew. "You could have just called. We could have done the thing for the thing for you," they assured me. And yeah, I could have and they could have, but it seemed important to own the panic. Also, I couldn't remember which thing didn't have the thing done to it, and like hell was I going to be on the phone with a coworker I don't know saying, "No, not that thing. Try the other thing." That would have just cemented my reputation as a flake with those people.

New jobs. Ah, aren't they a gas?