January 3, 2003
I slip back into routine, wearing it as easily as my favorite robe. It is armor of a sort, though, the links of its chain mail carefully constructed of deadlines, to-do lists, phone calls and memos, decisions to be made and those made for me. Yet routine cannot protect me from the occasional reflection upon the conversation. I cannot pretend any longer that I am as others. If the Wizard believes me to be a strange creature from his own not-the-norm vantage point, so be it. It is time to acknowledge my extreme differences and stop trying to minimize them.