I haven’t seen the FedEx girl since Wednesday. If I close my eyes at night, I can see her perfectly. During the day, with all the other distractions, her image fades from my mind and gets so distorted that she doesn’t seem real. Whenever that FedEx truck pulls into the parking lot, it’s all I can do to not run out to greet it, like back when the ice cream truck chimed through our neighborhood. When she hops out of the van, it all comes back in a flash of warmth. She’s a goddess.

Those cigarette breaks are the best part of my day.

I haven’t seen Janet at the racquetball courts since the time we played. I keep hoping to see her so that I can give her a gift that I got for her. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to spend much time at the gym because I’ve been working late. Most of it isn’t actual work. I’ve been monitoring other workers’ internet habits, which is an addictive time sink. I’m getting to know my co-workers.

I called Bertha a few times to apologize again for suggesting that she should lose weight. She hasn’t returned my calls. Here’s what I meant to say — her telling me to fix my problems by going to therapy was as stupid as someone telling her that she should lose weight by being dragged in mud behind a jeep. It’s actually a good analogy if you think about it. Both techniques may or may not work, but they definitely involve humiliation that far exceeds any benefits. The problem is that she took it personally.

And I shouldn’t have called her names. I used one name that rhymes with her real name — if her name were Trumpet, it’s as if I called her a strumpet — and I called her a savage dictator. She shouldn’t have called me a “wretched thief” and a “mealy slug.” I need to get thicker skin to cope with these lovers’ quarrels.

Isolation score: 5