Work is going well. Mr. Bitter is not there, and King of Birdbrains is not there. Both of them made me want to hit them. I don't think I currently want to hit anyone at work except for the young man who was mouthing off to our friend with the long hair and the blue-green shirt. And he can be dealt with just by mouth. We do look taller than him when it is me, and it is not good for someone I could break in half to get in my face, so I do not think he will.
The rather clueless broad and I do not intersect. She has damped down the broadcast and is not a threat, though she is still a loose cannon and someone else must eventually give her clue or shut her down so that she does not cause interference. It is fortunate that this job is not a stressful one for her, or we would all be going nuts around her.
I wanted to give that bleach-blond horror at writing group the time of day, and rather a bit more, but I was restrained. It seems the center has policies, or so they think -- and they do not want my mouth to make all of us get kicked out. Though the horror deserved it more.
The little Catholic cafe they go to is nice, and safe. No skeezy waiters macking.