Work is good. Fufilling. Imagine that. Monday was my first real day. Began with a page, “Mr. So-and So had expired. Saw to cadavers in my first hour and somehow suddenly I wasn’t so anxious anymore. I spend my days with people who call me dear and tell me about how they met their husband in the war, married it would have been fifty seven years now if he hadn’t died, but I’m ok, I’m ok. People tell me things and I verge tears. People tell me things that make me laugh and either way the days fly by.