Yet another work crisis looms. I've managed to avoid doing any work this afternoon. All motivation has left me. I went and talked to Dave, and he convinced me to go to Fifth Avenue.   The whole Fifth Avenue thing is beginning to pale. I can dance the night away, and get nowhere with anyone. By now this shouldn't surprise me. Optimism is a finite thing. It may give out soon.   It rained on the way back. I felt very poetic, walking through the downpour. I also felt very wet. This is the usual result of rain, of course.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.