And to you who never need, fuck yourselves, I need some more room to breathe

Trying to enjoy Bob Dylan's John Wesley Harding, but the shitty harmonica playing is not only a distraction, it's assaulting my eardrums with it's high pitched tinniness. Sometimes I can tolerate it in Dylan's music, but for the most part, I wish he would have threw his damn harmonica in the trash.

Ann was talking to Sharon about her father having a mild heart attack. I debated whether I should say something, offer some kind of condolence. I didn't want to interfere, though. It seemed to me that this matter was teetering between being private and open to discussion. I didn't want to teeter the wrong way and thought carefully about what I should do. Because she was speaking to Sharon in a normal tone and doing so only a couple of feet from my desk, indicated to me that she wouldn't be adverse to me joining in the conversation. She'd probably think I was being sweet for showing some concern. But.....

But she might also think I was butting in. And that's something I really try to avoid, especially in the workplace. I determined that most likely Ann would be fine if I spoke up, but by that point it was too late, the conversation was over; Ann had left the room. I think tomorrow, if I'm granted an opening, I'll inquire about her father. I'll risk coming off as being nosy, and that's worse than butting in sometimes, but who gives a shit really? All I'll be doing is asking her how her father is faring. It's not like I'll be asking her if she ever tried anal, or something equally as vulgar. Ah, trying to do the right thing can get rather complicated, even when it comes to something seemingly minor. Such is life.