Please, Mommy, Not Another Meetin'! [Where the Hell Was I?]

January 25, 2005

Please, Mommy, Not Another Meetin'!

Oh man, am I scrambled.

I had one of those long, looooong meetings after-hours at work tonight.

(Well, 'after hours' for most people. When you roll in around ten or eleven most days, you tend to have a slightly skewed notion of what the workday entails. One schlub's quitting time is another schlub's lunch bell, and all of that.)

Still, when your first significant accomplishment of the day is managing to survive a two-hour meeting, your first thought is not: 'Gee, I sure hope we can pile another couple of hours on, after five. Golly, Beav, that'd be ever so swell!'

(And that first marathon session happens every week, people. Week! Not once a month, or bi-annually, or when Jupiter's moons line up just right with John Goodman's fat ass -- I'm talking week.

Is it any wonder I've started bringing an eye-poker to work on Tuesdays? Now the only question is whether to use it on myself or others. Hmmmm...)

Anyway, it wasn't so much the timing of this last meeting -- or even that it came on the heels of another, as much as my bitching ought to make it so. No, the worst part about this damned meeting was that I had to think for it, and frankly, at that point, I simply didn't have my thinking pants on any more. I barely had pants on at all. I was a mess.

So, we went 'round and 'round over all sorts of high-level conceptual stuff, and worked out scenarios, and agreed that we had all of our bases covered... and then, in ten minutes after the meeting, one little 'can I just clarify? question from a co-worker unraveled the whole damned thing in my head. By the time I left to come home, drooling and slack-jawed, I didn't know what the hell our plan was, or ought to be. On the S.S. Minnow of life, color me Gilliganed. If anyone needs me, I'll be banging my head against a coconut tree on the other side of the lagoon.

Of course, it's not all that bad -- on the way home, I went back over some basics, and convinced myself that I understand some of what we ought to do. I started small, with pure, simple facts that I knew to be true -- like, 'the data loader has to handle redundancies' and 'our damned deadline is next week' and 'I have a penis'.

(Had to look that last one up, just to be sure. And I nearly swerved into a Volvo. Remind me to check my penis before I get behind the wheel next time, would you?)

Anyway, I worked from a few basic premises up to more complicated notions, and I think I talked myself back into a plan before my head began throbbing from the exertion. So -- assuming I remember any of the bullshit I fed myself tomorrow -- I should be ready to hit the ground running in the morning. Running off a cliff, perhaps, or headlong into a den of rabid, chatty Golden Girls afficionados, but still -- running is running. Who cares which direction 'correct' is, right? I'm just happy to have my mental sneakers on again.

But, I have to admit, all of that building-up and tearing-down and building-partway-back-up again has left me all tuckered out up there. The old brain seems to have shut down early for the night -- I'm having trouble focusing on the screen, and I think I'm drooling on the keyboard -- more than usual, even. Plus, my short-term memory is lapsing.

(Speaking of which, hold on...

Yep! Still got that penis. Just checking. Can never be too sure with that thing, you know. Slippery little devil.)

So, before I talk myself back out of understanding that shit from work tonight -- and before any of us has to endure another peenie perusal -- I think I'll call it a night. Sorry not to be able to hit you with a real topic tonight, but hey -- having your brain blended into a pink frothy goo by four hours of meetings will do that to you.

(And that's how I know it's bedtime -- I just let 'pink frothy goo' go, without making some lewd, unnatural sexual innuendo. or even whipping out the old Homer Simpson 'Mmmmmm... pink frothy goo... *nnnnnggghhhhh*'

See, a perky, well-rested Charlie would be all over that, like Oprah on Nilla Wafers. But not right now. Not me. And that's sad.

But it's not like I'm dead, fer chrissakes -- I can still make an effort: 'Mmmmm... 'Oprah wafers'.... *nnnngggghhhhh*' Howzat?)

Okay, it's time we wrapped this puppy up and scuttled off to dreamland. I'll see you kids again on Hump Day. G'night!