things I'm not doing

[radfrac_archive]

O the undead data file has come back again.

Some months ago, I was given this file and told to do to it a thing I didn't know how to do. Not a hard thing, just unfamiliar. And all the people who knew how to do the thing, all the learned scribes, were away to Canterbury.

So I did the thing. Wrong, obviously. If They had checked it at the time They'd have realized. Ha. Did They bollocks. Instead they left it for weeks, until I forgot all about it. Then They leapt out in confusion and dismay wondering what had gone wrong with Their file, which was lurching about and screaming for brainsss.

By then the learned scribes had returned from their pilgrimages, and I asked them what to do, and the thing, it got fixed. Giddy with success, They asked me to do this other thing I didn't know how to do. And lo, the learned scribes who know things didn't know either. And I should've looked on Google Groups, but friends I forgot.

So I did the thing in that crap-assed change-it-by-hand kind of way that you know surer than your own name will bite you on the ass, but you do it anyway.

Wrong, obviously. And here it is again. And They're all so perplexed as to how it went wrong and I'm sure They think I'm a dink, and really, I see Their point, but it would have been lovely for me as a human, and even helpful to Their purposes, if I had been, for example, trained. Or even had They worked out the parameters of the task They were setting.

I see that They put their trust in me, and I grieve for them. I just can't understand why.

Um, what else depressing can I talk about?

Suddenly it is a week until the Measure for Measure essay -- no, let's call it the piece, because that makes it sound like it's for publication instead of merely or 30% of my grade.

[Pause]

Just a second. I think I might be having an asthma attack.

[Goes and gets puffer from satchel. Puffs. Looks surprised. Removes cover from puffer. Puffs.]

Yep.

Awesome.

I've been talking about how much I need to write the essay, but not so much writing it. Writing in general is stuckish this last week or so. Ecept for two good pages to the NMG on how he is exactly like carbon monoxide.

Unsent, obviously.

I may be a tick antisocial this weekend.


{rf}