The Operation:

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Bad things: ammonia leak just up the street. Ecchi-chan got a phone call saying omg leak stay inside. We went out for dinner. (I misunderstood where it would be and passed the miscommunication along, but we all got where we were going in the end.) Dinner was a whole lot of fun. There was a Spill Zone, and the waiter was cute but not up to par. But. Beating Wasabi! I need to learn to make potstickers.

I got the call that the spill was no longer an immediate hazard around 11:20 or so; stay inside if you have breathing problems. Fun!

There's a thing that my brain is going through right now. I never used to have to calculate mine/yours. Now I do. It gives me a bit of a jolt each time there's something him that's part of me now.

MySpace is the very devil. I have it on the highest authority, though, that I am a Google-stalker and not a MySpace-stalker. This makes all the difference. This is the modern equivalent of waiting by the phone.

Yay work where I write up lengthy reports on "why this system is on crack"! Yay meetings at work where I start coming to terms with the idea that yes, that little spreadsheet app that I whipped together is in fact shaving from 1 to 1.5 hours off the nightly paperwork and cleanup on my team. ("That's marketable," Dad says.) I did let them know that my return to the team was under question, and that I'd keep them informed. We're changing treatment of sample for the win. Yay work e-mails wherein I make slightly sarcastic commentary that slides under the noses of proofreaders!

Yay happy conversing with roommates! hcolleen did the "Gosh, that sounds familiar!" thing when I started describing the Quintarian religion (I wear pilgrim's ribbons, of the Bastard, at cons), and it turns out that she's read The Curse of Chalion. I asked if she wanted to read the sequel, and at an answer in the affirmative, gleefully pointed out the appropriate location on the shelf. Oh, and if you see Ethan of Athos lying around, it has m/m UST in it. Tasty!

Yay talking to Darkside for 39 minutes! (My timing was off the first time, but it was dead on the next time, and we had a good chat. Warned him that I'd be at the con next weekend, so I might not call. I will probably find time anyway, though, and be all full of bubbly cheer, but it's good to let him know beforehand.) Called my parents, and had a good long geek-session with Dad, and got an interrogation from Mama.

Work was full of me angsting and banging my head on things and making beautiful graphs to discuss why things were going badly. I attempted to post by e-mail, but it wasn't recognized as valid. I'll try and re-do, attempting to preserve the random pretty pictures. (I censored everything specific that I could think of with cunning application of Paint.)

I went for a little walk while I talked with the parents. That was nice. I should probably shower and hit bed, because I want to be up bright & early to start work and then get out in a reasonable amount of time to go give plasma. While what I told Mama was true, I am pretty much in budget, there is not exactly much room in said budget. But I am a proud Lunatic most of the time, and am attempting to Make a Point as well as live simply.

Dad cautions me to not give too much notice and to have someone trained to fill my shoes when I do leave work. That is a good idea. He also says that beware of getting into the kind of technical management position where you are just doing backups and fixing things, and don't actually have time to make anything or experiment or innovate, because that is deadly boring.

In the spirit of decluttering, I took an old calendar and shuffled over the old data to my Google calendar. I like to have that sort of data. It makes my life tidier when I want to look back on it and see what was happening. Reading Cyteen at an impressionable age made me want things so that I could back up my mind at a moment's notice. Hooray my mind, eh?

Here I go attempting to pack a full work week into 3 days. I am only marginally insane, and may come in for a few hours on Thursday. (Then, I might not.)

Don't drop your iPod in an airplane toilet. Via slashdot.

One of the things I really want to do is take good photos of the places I go, the buildings I deal with, the plant life, the landscape, the sky. I want to remember how these things look for after I leave. There are so many photos of the people, and I write so much about the events -- what I want my eyes to remember is the lay of the land, the way that building sat right in front of those trees, the way the little mountain was, the rocks, the crack in the sidewalk...

What I'd really love to do, if I were feeling particularly irresponsible and cheery, is take photos of the beats I walk, then put them on Petridish with Google map link complete with satellite photos and exact coordinates. You could find the places I stood, years later, with a GPS and my photos for a guidebook.

... That's what I'd like. A mobile device that knows where it is at all times, GPS and compass in one, complete with camera and upload system. Take photos, tag them with location, date, time, direction, people, keywords, commentary.

In the discussion about memory technology in the Harry Potter universe, there was a comparison between Obliviation (and similar things) and rape -- and the follow-up that rape is more vandalism, desecration, and invasion than it is theft, really. A physical assault is an attack that "takes" feelings of security and safety, yes, but it accomplishes this by creating traumatic memories that override previous experience, rather than actually removing events that had led to the feelings of safety. An Obliviation takes away memories, rather than creating new memories that change emotion.

Tangent much? Yes. Sort of. I've been puzzled by the intense feelings of traumatic violation I get when someone or something has messed with my data. I pride myself on my memory, but I know my good memory is an illusion, carefully crafted by the fact that I keep very detailed records of what I'm doing, where I've been, who I know, and who I am. I keep my memories on my computer. An invasion of my computer is not only an invasion onto a personal body part, but risks damaging my memories. Keep your memories in your shoes.

I read Cyteen too young, I think, because once I'd read it, I started hoarding information about myself -- not quite the way an obsessive and mentally ill person might save old pizza boxes and assorted garbage, but with a disturbing dedication and fervor. I want immortality, but I don't think I'm going to get it in this body. I want to be remembered -- more than that, I want to remember me. I want some girl in the future to be able to look through my memories, look through my eyes, and use where I left off as a point where she can leap into places where I won't be able to reach quite yet, but I can almost see if I stretch hard enough...

TheFerrett writes about the guy who couldn't stand to see couples touching; I reply with some stuff from my experience. One of the most difficult-to-write things I've ever written.

Thette on the "I know it when I see it" search strategy, with input from me.