Boss Lady at Circlet was wearing the one-panel t-shirt version of this when last I saw her.

The main production Macbook at Circlet has had some sort of hypothalamic stroke. It has been thrown into paroxysms, rebooting over and over again. Every three seconds it resets itself and proclaims "Now I am awake for the first time".

The backup Macbook suffered some sort of chronological failure, and would not even connect to Google until its clock was reset correctly. Evidently it was not willing to accept security certificates from the future.

So this is fine.

My phone has decided I don't really need a screen all that badly anyway. It turns on about every third time I try. Sometimes it works correctly, sometimes the video driver is misaligned with the video memory, and the bottom third of the display wraps around to the top. The active touch areas are still in the normal positions, which makes it a challenge to figure out exactly where to tap to activate the correct displaced icon. The keyboard technically still works, but the screen does not refresh if the phone is slid open, so I have to type blind and then close it to see how accurate I was.

The Blackberry tablet has ceased working at all. I suppose I can't expect too much out of a thing I got for free when a deadbeat tenant abandoned it in the living room closet.

This is fine. All fine.

The weather is mad. We get four seasons every three days, in no particular order. It fell 30°F and several inches of mercury in three hours, last week. The honeycomb of defective sinuses in my head will not stand for this. I'm trying to wear my glasses as little as possible, because the eyestrain is less ruinous than having their weight on my nose. I await the inevitable migraine.

A stripe down the top of my right foot has gone numb. I Googled this, because I am the only person in the world who is comforted by WebMD. It's in the wrong place for peripheral neuropathy, so the differential diagnosis is that I have inadvertently compressed a nerve somewhere around the femoral head. I take this to mean that my shoes are awful for me and that I have spent too many craft projects kneeling on the floor lately. It is neither fatal nor permanent, so I'm ignoring it. I expect it would right itself faster if I stayed off that foot, but we all know that isn't going to happen.

Still fine.

One of my volunteer positions has recently changed procedures. The details are unimportant, except that I am assured both that this will absolutely not interfere in the job I do, and that I am no longer allowed to do an important part of my job. The only possible way they could think that both of these statements make sense is if they have no idea what I do there, even though I've been doing it for years. I am also assured that they value my contributions, which I question, since they don't appear to know what those are. The people the work actually benefits are universally confused and/or angry on my behalf. One of them, when I coincidentally met her in the T and told her what was going on, informed me that she had been headed to a party, but that she was going to detour right now and buy me a drink.

I have complained. I have pointed out why I am complaining. I have gotten nowhere. I am very angry. I may already be fired for complaining. I have Schrödinger's Volunteer Position, right now. I have no idea. I have not checked that email address. As I write this, I am not due in to do-but-not-do my job for several days, so I am not yet required to care. I'll check before I go, mostly because I don't want to trek down there if I'm not welcome. This is a volunteer gig, which is paid in camaraderie and the satisfaction of a job well-done. If I'm not allowed to do the job well, and I'm not listened to when I point out what the problem is, then I'd be quitting in any case.

I realize that "I cannot work under these conditions," is the traditional motto of the diva, but in this case it happens to be literally true.

Fine! Fine. Absolutely fine.

I am at the library right now, because Comcast is angry at us. I miscalculated both when they would get angry about overdue bills, and also when I would be paid for a gig. It took us a while to work out why the internet refused to internet. Normally when Comcast is angry with you for something, they hijack your DNS and redirect all your HTTP requests to a page explaining exactly why you are not allowed to get your email, but in an ironic twist, their error page doesn't quite work.

I can't do any Circlet work from BPL. In accordance with federal regulations, they filter the internet connection these days. Circlet is blocked for obvious reasons. Tomorrow I can take more trains and hike about a mile to a university library, where no one cares.

But this is fine. Fine. Fine.

So I guess I'm taking the night off? This seems like it might be a good time for Xanax and whatever I can get for $5 at CVS on the way home.


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