I released myself today on my own recognizance, recognizing my own achievement. Today marked a day when software of my very own was released to the client, something for which I not only sculpted, but quarried the intellectual marble. It had, quite quietly, been years since I had done that, since I had been there for the finish, and I found it as satisfying as it sounds.

It's always good to know that you still can.

The festival of completion, however, was marred by one nagging duty, so I turned my wheels toward my home office rather than any of my homes. The rule of my profession is that if you do well somewhere, you're wanted to do it again somewhere else, never mind whether you enjoyed it right where you were. To move me on to the new thing, I needed to move myself back to base, and perform a duty for which I had no fondness.

My previous client required of me urine for a drug test before they would let me begin, and the one which may be my next is requiring a headshot photograph for their newsletter. (If this invasive behavior keeps up, soon I'll be having to get tattooed before I can start a new gig.) So, my duty was to pop by the office and get my picture taken; open my eyes wide, and think of England, I suppose.

Still, I didn't let it bring me down; I roved the halls of my company like I owned it. I could have grabbed a desk while waiting for our photographer to come free - we're mostly transients there, so we're set up well - but I preferred to be ready to move on as soon as the shutter snapped.

As I'd not physically been there all year, I saw many I'd not seen in some time, chatted around a bit. Walked around, saw who had changed desks, generally got the feel of the place again.

I always forget, though, about that one blind corner where the main walkways intersect. I was moving pretty quickly when she turned the corner and we collided. Her of a height that put her nose against my sternum, and a build that ensured her nose wasn't what made contact first.

I'm gentleman enough to catch a lady when I knock her over, and we managed to untangle the situation relatively gracefully. We stood for a moment, as one does at these times, looking at each other, examining for any injury. Usually, I'm also gentleman enough to apologize and claim fault in any such situation, but this time, I opted not to speak first.

I thought I'd let her show me a little employee handbook behavior instead, and swallow my own good-day reflex to just flip her a gallant thank you for the moment. What with her being our human resources director and all.

(When I was in my twenties, I spent five years working for a university. A fellow white guy friend of mine there flipped a lady a quarter once in the office's main lobby, in response to her request for spare change. His poor luck - it landed in her cleavage. His poor judgment - he laughed nervously about it, right there in front of witnesses. When the administration wanted him fired years later - a story in itself - it turned out that the incident had been documented, with multiple female witnesses, yet not discussed with him until the stated reasons for his firing were being read to him in his final meeting. Since then, I've regarded any contact with human resources to be a professional error, especially if it involves body parts.)

My collision partner minimized the situation with grace and good humor, and moved on. Far more of a textbook example than I ever expect. She left me standing, musing on the quality of the people that I work with. Everybody, really, is pretty damned good.

I guess I'll have to trust them, and participate in their current plan. Even though I have decades of experience that tells me, any plan that requires my face is doomed.

I feel sure the photographer caught me smiling.