While I don't like to write about work on this site, I'm going to break the rules and mention that today I was informed that I became "regular." I won't go into the intricate definition of what that means, but suffice it to say that making regular at the post office is kind of like a promotion. It's kind of like making the varsity squad, or more accurately, like becoming a made man in the mafia. It means, more or less, you're fully fledged, matriculated, a lifer.

How do I feel about it? Well, for this, I defer to the master:

After three years I made "regular." That meant holiday pay (subs didn't get paid for holidays) and a 40-hour week with two days off. ... Each day would be easier. I could begin to cultivate that comfortable look.

Somehow, I was not too happy. I was not a man to deliberately seek pain, the job was still difficult enough, but somehow it lacked the old glamour of my sub days--the not-knowing-what-the-hell was going to happen next.

A few of the regulars came around and shook my hand.

"Congratulations," they said.

"Yeh," I said.

Congratulations for what? I hadn't done anything.

-- Charles Bukowski, "Post Office"