Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

canary yellow

"Five minutes to nine", my watch said, with that certain insouciance with which it would converse, if only it could converse. I clicked on "file", then "print", then "OK" and watched the last document of the last waning moments of my Thursday evening at the office wheel its way into the tray. I got so much done today. It's perhaps a good thing to realize when something actually got done.

I remember a time when working until nine, while not a mainstay, was more a matter of routine than now. I remember with a shudder the 56 hour stint without sleep during a busy work time, years ago. I'm older now, and if not wiser, then perhaps more realistic about what a body without sleep can do.

I didn't like missing the return of Dr. Carter to ER, although ER, like most television series this year, just seems so darn tired. I lately have a fantasy of being an ill guest on ER. I knew a woman whose boyfriend got a guest spot as a patient who died mid-show. I'm concerned that I'd get some hepatic condition that made me canary yellow.

Things are a bit more ravenous right now, I suppose, although it may be that I'm just pondering, weak and weary.

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