It seems that I have literally killed the Fiery. Yup. Nothing loads past the blue screen o’ death. Yay. Go me. Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that particular error message before. Again, go me.

Lesse, what did I do last week? Um, stoopid teecher cancelled class on Monday but didn’t bother letting anyone know about it. Heh. Should have been the day we were to count our bacteria colonies, but more on that in a moment. Anyway, barely missed the production meeting, which, according to ruebert, sucked, but I want a nifty light-up pen, too! Then went to Mom’s to hear that E.’s husband had to have a quadruple bypass, which was a Bad Thing, but at least he waited until he was in cardiac ER to have his heart attack. So far he’s fine, but they’re keeping him in ICU for a while.

Tuesday was nothing memorable, besides there being no orchestra, though we did dinner, and stormyserenity gave me more Ocean Girl to watch, which I have yet to do, though tonight’s a possibility.

Wednesday was spent counting my bacteria, which by this time had congealed into one big smear, (I swear there were some tentacles forming) all by myself because neither of my lab group showed up. Yup. 12 dishes of stinky bacteria all for me. Blech. And got my test back, which wasn’t as bad as I thought, though I could’ve done better. Then the team meeting (new and exciting term: task saturation) in which it seemed to have finally occurred to D. that showing us the numbers we’re never going to ever meet might not be the most motivational of things, so we suffered through a session of round-robin brainstorming on what skills, knowledge, and talents the “perfect” team member would possess. I so wanted to mention the ability to surrender any and all personal dignity and be flexible enough to bend over and… but the day had not yet arrived for my plans for world domination (or destruction, as the case may be) to be revealed, so I think I spewed up something about organization.

Thursday… A little sleep, a little work, and much thought into the preparation of my resume. And I entertained thoughts of what irony it would be to stab someone to death with their own cellphone.

Friday entailed accidentally sleeping longer than I had intended to and barreling down Sierra street with Rossini’s William Tell Overture booming from my speakers. Strangely enough, it seemed fitting.

Got off work Saturday in time to join Mom in shopping for the baby shower she had yet to tell me I was invited to. Went to B&N, but, alas, this was only a “grab-n-go”, so I didn’t even get a chance to browse. While Mom occupied herself with picking put a couple of chewable (i.e. cloth) books, I picked out a couple of Mozart effect cds. More original than the ever-popular matching outfit gifts (poor thing had twins), and I refuse to even go into a baby boutique. At any rate, the shower was kind of a bust, because the guest of honor had gone in that morning to have a c-section, but there was food, and that was the only shower I’ve gone to where I haven’t had to play any stupid games, like guess the baby food. My poor aunt was about ready to cry, though. This was the second time that she’d planned a shower and the kid just couldn’t wait. For the record, the kiddies are fine, though a little underweight. She named the boy Tristan and the girl Calista. Well, at least it wasn’t Tristan and Isolde, though the only Calista I’ve ever heard of was an incredibly hard to kill baddie from Xena, though I didn’t mention that.

Today will be spent getting something for my dear aged P, as it is his birthday. (Well, it was actually Friday, but the shindig’s tonight.) Then I have to write up the lab at some point, and I want to set some of the stuff running through my head down, though I don’t think I’ll get a chance. And the DMV had better send me my registration papers soon, because my plates expire in April.

Y'know, after listening to Rue, it just occured to me that angst should be considered a controlled substance, and regulated accordingly. You get a cheap thrill or two, but you're addicted before you know it.

Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here,
as what you do after you arrive.
-Lois McMaster Bujold*

*Makes a lot more sense if you're at all familiar with her Miles Vorkosigan series.