It's been a while since I last wrote my work log. I've been writing in my notebook, more because I'm not finding the proper inspiration for public writing rather than for the need for privacy.

In the last entry I wrote I was debating wether to go to a Jazz Festival, and I promised to myself I'd go the next day. I did, and it was worth it. When the monotony of daily life is a burden, a modest event like this carries more weight than what is apparent at first sight. I simply chatted with some people and enjoyed a Glenlivet watching a live jazz jam session, not worth writing about except for the fact that it was worth doing.

The next day was a Saturday, and I had my Saturday break. I had borrowed a book when I went to Grand Biblioteque, and this Saturday was its return date, so I biked over there and returned it.

While at the library I decided to visit someone whom I ran into the first time I went, three weeks ago. I was visiting a special collections section when I saw a bald man in his fifties browsing old newspapers in a microfilm machine. I approached him: "Good afternoon, I'm curious as to how these machines work, would you mind me looking at how you work for a while?" the man stammered something about being busy working, and I recognized him being in the autism spectrum, if only because I recognized a part of him in myself. I told him not to worry, I'd ask the staff at the library, and went on my way.

Later on, I was in the locker room and encountered the man again. He awkwardly apologized and told me his name. I awkwardly apologized and told him my name. Then, by coincidence, we left this section of the library at the same time. Since he was friendly, I asked him if he had time to chat a bit, he said no, but that he'd be there next week. He was nervous. I shrugged and said don't worry.

I knew my interruption had caused some distress to this man, who only wanted to be left alone with his microfilms. When you are isolated, events like these blow out of proportion, and I knew this because he also created an impression on me, and a slight sense of guilt because I knew I had disrupted a routine for someone who depends on it for a sense of stability.

So I went inside to look for the man again. Again, I found him at the microfilm stations. He had a notebook next to him, his writing was large and strange, looking more like a Runic Alphabet than normal handwriting. I passed by and said "Hi, do you remember me from three weeks ago?", he assented. "I was just passing by and wanted to say hello". He seemed surprised "just to say hello, not to disturb right?", "yes, I don't mean to disturb you, I just wanted to say hello". "Okay, hello". "Hello! Have a nice day".

I sensed completion in this encounter, a circle is closed, and the man is now out of my mind and out of my karmic responsibilities. I am tracing my own larger, longer circle with the work I'm doing here, and even though in the beginning I thought I would not be able to complete it, at this time I'm certain I'll do. I'm glad I stuck around (not that I had an option) because leaving without closing the circle would have been a disruption in my psychology, I would have had to do the same work, making peace with my grandmother, but without her being present, which is even more difficult.

Leaving work uncompleted is more work than finishing the task.