As far as birthdays go, this one was no gem. Maybe I expected too much of others, but very few people seemed to remember. My best friend didn't even drop an e-mail, and neither of my parents called. I know that Orkut would remind some people (because a few people did send me well-wishes), and I was hoping that a few of the people on LJ might have had some flag or something.

The worst part wasn't about anyone else, though. I was the worst part. I could think of nothing better to do than come home and watch TV. And eat. I ate an entire large pizza for dinner. There was something else I could have done this evening, but it would have meant being in a larger group of people, some of whom I've come to feel don't really like having me around. So I chose to stay home and hypothesize, rather than go out and risk being wrong. Or right.

To paraphrase a recent strip from my Get Fuzzy desktop calendar:

There's a fine line between genius and insanity, and mine is getting more and more perforated.

I'm on my sixth or seventh can of caffienated beverage already, after less than six hours in my chair. Not counting the 30 minutes or so that I fled the office after finding out that one of the machines I need, a machine that had been sitting untouched over a week because no one told me it was in place and hooked up to our net, I'm not to use after all. They'll have a different one lined up for me, "probably within a day or two".

This project is already launching a full-frontal assault on my sensibilities. It's proven to me beyond a doubt that I will in fact respond to "Jump!" with "How high?", despite any illusions of self-preservation or self-consideration. The worst part of it all, is this: by actually getting what they want into their hands by the deadline, I'm just guaranteeing that they'll do this to me again. After all, it's not as though this is the first time.