A friend at work has become alarmed at my behavior. I get here early, earlier than everyone, to avoid disturbances of exactly the sort that my friend provides. But eventually he rolls in, to find new ways to distrupt what he perceives to be my excessive regimentation.

Lately this has consisted of him selecting, on his smart phone, tunes of the most excruciating cheesiness to earworm their way into my brain. This has caused me to preselect a counter-tune on my computer to retaliate and defend myself with. Volume knobs are turned. I have bigger speakers, so I win. Size matters.

But his alarm with my behavior has to do with what he sees as an unnatural, (I think he used the term inhuman) inflexibility of my routine. He claims, and I have no grounds to dispute it, that depending on the time he arrives, he will already know which of my four (always four) rough sketches I will be working on, and even when there will be a sheet on my drawing board with only an empty box and me turned around consulting information on my computer. It is this last that scared him. That he knows, TO THE MINUTE which way I WILL BE FACING. My only defense on this is that my routine is efficient, but that defense is really just another reinforcement of his accusation. He has come to suspect that I’m a robot machine of some kind. If he read my blog posts, he’d know about my assertions that robots can do our work for us now, and how very right he actually is.