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Backlogged on comments still/again. Inbox is sitting around 110 read-and-queued messages, not all of which are urgent, but none of which I've actually had the time to address.

Sunday is my Friday.

Sunday may also be my day where I say "fuck it" and go off to Mesa and bother Darkside. (If he'll let me.)

Today had some Technology Moments. Computers lost their desktop wallpaper. This led to at least two people coming up to the bullpen and declaring "My screen turned blue!" One of them was the One-Man Bald Nudity Crusade. I helped him shut down the computer and gave some cheerfully practical advice, like pointing out that that's the desktop, and as long as there's a little Start button down there, it's all good. This was evidently an invitation for him to unload a flood of bitterness about his own PC that stopped working all of a sudden and how computers should be designed to keep working, and he would have to PAY MONEY to get un-hostage-ized the stuff he had on disks, to the tune of $20 for printout, and so on and so forth.

I sat down at my desk again with shaking hands, and I told Comic Pirate Super that I really really wanted to hit someone right about now.

Comic Pirate Super was very understanding. (Comic Pirate Super brightened up my morning by saying "chu'" rather than "Activating!" in DIvI' Hol when he was setting up things on the dialer this morning. Did I mention that I adore some of my co-workers a whole lot?)


Rev. Not-So-Nice Super is plotting some cooking exploits (I was looking up the ingredients and methods for gelatin the other weekend, good gods) and conducting a sociology experiment. He hopes to write it up in paper form and publish, and then run for President on the platform "Homie G Super thinks I'm a nice guy!" I told him that if it didn't get taken as a paper, he should market it as comedy, and honestly, his plans for a reality show were totally unnecessary. In point of fact, I went on, he should just have somebody follow him around with a camera, and that would be reality show enough.

He was honest-to-goodness flattered by that. He and I are brothers in thrall to Thalia, see.

I'm thinking that informing him that his exploits are already entertaining portions of an interesting crowd online might be not such a good idea. As encouraging as it is to him, it might be a little too encouraging, and furthermore, that opens up the whole "work is a regular selection on LJ" can of frickin' worms.


I was sharpening pencils Friday night and Rev. Not-So-Nice Super entered the copy room. Sharpening pencils is noisy, and puts one's back to the door.

"BOO!"

"Waaaigh!"
He departed snickering. After my pulse un-spiked, I fell over giggling. Just on general principle.


Called the Darkside this afternoon after bidding farewell to the 9-hour shift. He was busy working on the computer. I called back two hours later. Still busy. (This sounded like a value of "working on the computer" that involved re-installation or at least heavy maintenance rather than an actual personal or work-related project.) I've been consciously referring to him as a man rather than a boy, at least when I speak, and especially when I speak to his mother.

Still need to ask him about the renfest.
Still need to poke him about a regular meetup. (And get a response. Somehow. I keep poking from time to time, and he keeps evading.)
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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