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Argh. Braincrash. ARgh.

Today was Not a Good Day.

First, Sis called Before Eleven. I work evening shift. Before Eleven is still sleepy-sleepy time for tired Lunatics. Then she came by and perkily made noise about wondering if I wanted to join her in packing stuff. Um, no. 12:30 = shift start.

Then, it transpired that my bitchy rant after having dealt with a Phone Goon who copped an attitude with me had not, in fact, been pulled out of my paperwork prior to my turning it in one day fairly recently. Ooops. That was cleared up, though, and fortunately none of the people who saw it were the person in question, and we had an opportunity to go into what, exactly, does not offend me, and how while I act all uptight and serious, this is generally just a front so I won't freak the mundanes.

After this little interlude followed a long, long, long, long, freakish day, wherein notes were not given, or given wrong, or hidden somewhere (especially by Rev. Nice Super), and I wasn't even done with my paperwork by the time phone goons went home.

I didn't even have time to e-mail FatherSir to wish him a happy birthday.


Tired. Grouchy. I'm not sure I'll make it through tomorrow. I'm hairtriggered and excessively bitchy. I hope I can make it through at least half of the shift tomorrow.
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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