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Today's my 6th day at work in a row, and I'm more than ready for something that resembles a weekend. I may not even attempt to come in on Thursday, because that's going to cut into my much-needed rest and relaxation time.

The advent of school means that more nifty office supply things are on sale. I scored a few small cubes of Post-It notes, in eyewatering magenta, lime, and cyan. This, of course, means that I can play post-it tag with co-workers. (The game: Write "Tag! You're it!" on a stickynote. Do what seems natural.) If only there had been black, I would have gotten some of those (if only for "hee, hee, I have some" purposes in the general direction of grifyn) -- but alas! There were none to be had.

My hair is almost behaving itself. I had to trim a goodly amount off the bottom, because there were split ends causing tangles, but now that the split ends have vanished, most of the tangles have too. (I still need to re-stock on Knot Forgotten conditioner, because I'm so very out.)

Today's workplace excitement involved a woman accidentally taking a double dose of her blood pressure medicine and nearly passing out. She pulled herself off the phones with great efficiency, and we had her sit in the office where someone could keep an eye on her. She wound up calling a ride to get her to the doctor. May the gods of health and clerical errors look favorably upon her.

Today just feels like all magic, all the time, and somehow I got sucked up into the current of things that work and keep working and always have worked and forever shall work. It's an intoxicating feeling, which is why I've become very wary. But today deserves dancing. I've already been singing.
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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