in which i become a bit unstable
I am in full dissertation-stress mode and am just about ready to kill the dog whose owner puts it out before the sun rises to bark for 30 minutes every weekday for the last three weeks, thus stealing two hours of precious sleep from the rest of us because who can go back to sleep after that kind of serenade.
(Seriously. If I had a twelve-gauge, city ordinances be darned, that dog would be lying in a shallow grave. I don't care that it's someone's precious little pet and friend anymore. We are not morning people here at Texas in Africa. We work late, and we don't get out of bed before 8am if it can be helped. If the Serious British Earplugs* and a pillow over the head can't drown it out, it doesn't need to be in someone's home, especially when that someone lives in close proximity to thirty other people. You know it's bad when people are yelling, "Put your dog in!" and other, more profane selections out their windows in the pre-dawn hours and you call the office and they say, "The dog?")
Anyway, posting today will be somewhat limited from the looks of it. In the meantime, you can:
- Check out Brant's Festival of Judgment
- Be glad that Texas legislators may no longer be allowed to vote twice with quite so much ease.
- Thank the good Lord that you don't have newborn octuplets. Mercy.
- Learn about when "the Gitmo detention facility" wasn't synonymous with "breaking the Geneva Conventions" and the ICRC was actually asked to help set things up.
- Marvel that the ICC is finally trying a case.
- Wonder why any conceptual artist's tribute to the Holocaust would involve Legos. Liebeskind he ain't.
**I do not recommend stocking up on anything prior to security at Heathrow, as they tend to get picky when you carry things in bulk. Like, say, the medication you need to stay alive while living in the Congo. I actually had to work up tears for the chief of security to get my meds through once because he couldn't understand why one wouldn't pack a long-term supply of medication in one's checked luggage. I avoided the temptation to ask if he'd ever been to an African airport, cried a little, mentioned that that was my flight that was being paged, and sprinted through Terminal 4 to the gate without getting my customary stop at Boots. Thankfully, I still had earplugs left from my prior trip through the airport. Because I am a picky, picky traveler.
***That said, British security screeners are a thousand times more professional, polite, and competent**** than the TSA will ever be.
****With the exception of the women who were not even looking at the x-ray screens at Terminal 4 in January 2006. It reminded me of nothing so much as flying through Athens.