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Sunday evening: went shopping with Sis, got stuff including work shirts and purses for both of us, as both of us have been having "Erk, nothing professional to wear to cover my boobies!" moments as well as purse-disintegration/overcrowding issues.

Stayed up until 5 in the morning, then crashed out with alarm clock doing the white noise generation thing, which made me sleep the best I've slept in maybe a month.

Got up earlyish (noon), did computer stuff before work. Went to work. They put me on the phones, on the new professional fun survey. The dialer was slow. Reverend Nice Super was having a religious debate with some person whose education about other religions was appallingly lacking, but whose faith was strong enough to make up for that lack... (*eyeroll*) It was an interesting discussion, though. I'm pagan, but I adore religious debate. The primary topic was whether God or Man had made up Time; Rev. Nice Super brought up the role of the human as observer, and commented that, you know, there is only time when there's someone to observe it. The other fellow was stumped, but rallied nicely when I finally contributed my reference -- Genesis, IIRC, where God divides the night/day.

Poor Loren was having a shitty day. Hope tomorrow's better. There was a mysterious vanishing/reappearing bus pass. I was looking the other way when it popped out of nowhere.

We finished up the professional job for the day, and we got to sit and wait while the chick who was quite rightly thinking that the souls of Moslems who had been raised to believe in their religion should not be eternally damned for not being Christian and the random atheist sitting closer to me finished up their surveys, then we got to sit and wait, and then we got to do BTS.

There were funky computer things going on, and the upshot was that Loren and some chick down at the end of the row on the other end were getting calls, and none of the rest of us were. So there was gossip, random gossip.

Bottle Blonde Old Bat was next to me, and she's the sort of co-worker whose theme song is the Dead Milkmen's Conspiracy Song. (IIRC, BBOB is the bitch who bitched to me about our former mtf co-worker using the ladies' room, but I can't be 110% certain. It's more her style than it is the style of Shy Bottle Blonde, and Shy Bottle Blonde is the other person who might have done that. (I sort by hair color, often...)) Bottle Blonde Old Bat has a belfry full, all right, but she's definitely interesting to listen to. The story on the former employee who was intimidating a staff member has grown from just cornering Tiny Super and being intimidating to slashing some tires, and so monitor reports don't have the monitor name on them anymore.

I started writing down the snippets that were coming out of my head with some prophet/mystic stuff: translation, the skills, the divinitory stuff, and how it is that the translations of a divinely inspired text can remain divinely inspired. Note: include the parable of the wine glass. Somehow those who maintain that the holiness of any given holy book is uniform across translation seem to figure without free will and the translator's williness to be a conduit for the holy spark, which also doesn't figure in translation skill and any errors in publication such as typographical issues....

That, of course, blended into a lecture on divination and how to deal with the universe when it starts talking to you, and when that may be a little too much. I have it on paper, and I'll type it up and put it in my Magicgeeking 101 file. It will require some shuffling around, because after trying to organize it in my head and put it out on paper in order, I finally said, "Fuck it!" and wrote it out in the order it was damn well going to come out anyway, and later relaxed so the words I used were the words it was in originally in my head. I can add the polished and stiff tone later. Pompous, me? Fuck yeah.

Things finally did get straightened out with the calls, and we started getting numbers. I got one survey with a lady who thought she might not have enough time to do the survey. Turned out she did user education. We giggled and talked shop a bit. Good Lunatic with good rapport. 10 years apart is enough the same age for all adult purposes, almost. She sounded like someone I'd like to interact with outside of work. It's rare to meet those on the phones.

There was thunder outside, and the smell of fresh rain coming in through the a/c.

Finally, work over. Got sidetracked through school; hung with the Lab Fag. Much fun. Almost waternosed at the mental image of Dubya in platforms and associated clothing. Eeew.

My parents have evidently returned from dance camp. This is good. No one had checked the mail in too long; I'd been too keyhidden and too zonked recently. Stuffed mailbox. One of Sis's old workbuddies, the pagangeek fellow from the one bill collection place, was over helping fix0r Marx's poor computer.

Lunatic reading August 2001, and getting all reminiscent. Things happened. What could have been a big fat hairy disaster due to my improper understanding of Darkside psych at the time and my attempt to game it turned into a good thing. Instead of getting screamingly jealous of my big bro, Darkside wound up actually getting to know and getting to like my big bro. This was good. Thank gods for sensible best friends who short-circuit transparent and blatantly plotted attempts to make them jealous. Note to self: it didn't work then and you were fucking lucky it turned out so well. Nevereverever try anything similar now that you know better to start with. You've gotten him to trust you. You cherish that, and keep cherishing it, yes. If I ever catch you doing anything to fuck with how he trusts you, I'm going to skin you and use your labia minora for earrings. He doesn't hand out his trust to just anyone. "And somewhere along the line, trust became more important than love..."

Poked around and cleaned out my necklaces. I found my binary necklace! Yay!!!

Lunatic crash now.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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