Some days, you work and you work. And you feel guilty because you've made a student cry. And you come home and work at not having a panic attack. And once the panic subsides, you work some more, grading essay exams, which turn out to be much better than you'd anticipated. But still, the panic is there just below the surface. And you try really hard not to give in to the urge to pick up the phone to call your ex-boyfriend. You just want someone to talk to, but you know that calling him will bite you in the backside in the end. So you just keep working. And all of a sudden the exams are graded, and it's 6:30. So you order a pizza with feta an artichoke hearts. And you watch Empire Records, all the while unable to remember if you've seen in before. And you think how you love this genre of cheezy, high school hijinx movies, all the while telling yourself that maybe tonight's the night to start that "thing" you've been meaning to write. And you hope that bed time comes soon. And you hope that once bed time arrives you'll be able to sleep. And the phone never rings.