Long Day

Oh hurrah, pasta with lemon cream sauce is delicious. Mmmmm. So’s wine. Wine’s tasty too. I’m feeling much better now.

Last night’s swearing at W via the radio tuckered me right out. I overslept my alarm and had to drive at a dangerous speed in order to make it to work in time to lead my meeting this morning. On my way to work, I heard on the BBC that the US evidently attacked an Iranian military base in Iraqi-controlled Kurdistan. Brilliant, George. Fuck up one war, and go start another one, this time with a nuclear power. Thanks. Is this guy missing his precious bodily fluids or something?

I got through the meeting, despite the coffee not kicking in until about half-way through. Then I had to try to finish proofreading an index from hell. Honestly, this freelance indexer must have the most retentive anus in the history of retentiveness. He indexed absolutely everything in the entire book, twice (that’s not good). His sense of organization is frankly bizarre, and I spent days trying to get the blasted index to make logical sense before I could sit down to do the three-hour job of proofreading the thing. Of course the project’s drop-dead date is tomorrow, and lateness will not be tolerated. Just as I was cussing the indexer out for his dumbassness, the freelancer e-mails me about his payment. I didn’t answer.

While giving my brain a break from the drudgery, I came across a very bizarre little piece of news. Canadian coins, it seems, are bugged with movement-tracking software. Since when does James Bond live in Canada? What’s next, Q, and even more groovy gadgets? Seems like a strange way to spy on people, but I have hopes that Canada has plans to liberate us from W. Canadian Bond, help us out, eh?

I stayed late to try to finish the index, but my eyes were starting to cross, so I’ll finish it tomorrow. I came home and made lemon cream sauce instead. And had some wine. Everything is right in Sundryland again. I haven’t turned on the radio, and I don’t have any Canadian money.