I know I was supposed to remember some things from Wednesday. I told them to grendelsmere who wrote them down, in real writing. Unfortunately, she's not been in touch to remind me what they are. Having a distributed memory only works if every part of that memory is willing to work with the main, or else the system falls apart.
Then again, given my head recently, nobody's surprised at that.
Too much to do, both sorting new things and fixing old. Too much to say, hunting people down to remind them of things or correcting for where my insanity-addled mind has caused me to chow down on foot tikka masala. Too much to organisetoo many disparate graphs and diagrams and ideas in my head.
And when I get home I've got two and a half K to write. Unless I can start patching things up instead, fixing the problems that are at least in part causing this whole mess.
Roll on Monday. And the vodka I'll be drinking once I'm done tonight. Calming with other alcohol doesn't work half as well.
I should have gone for Inspector Fuckup rather than Bernard. At least then I'd have more of an excuse for being such a meth.