The email system at work has been down for 2 days now. You'd think that would make a person happy, but no. No email also means no contacts, no calendar, no access to those messages I was storing until 'later when I could get to them,' which of course is now.
Essentially, I'm stagnated on the important stuff and have access to only the back-burner items. Weird. Bottom line is that it could well be that the pile of approval forms stacked on my desk will get to archiving today, and perhaps that 60-page document that explains all the new company benefits might get read. After that, it's anyone's guess as to how my time will be allotted. Many a hallway conversation might be in the near future, and that would also be weird as this company tends to live on email. Face to actual FACE with someone? Perish the notion.
I LOL'ed yesterday at this:
Passive agressivness FTW!
Last week, on the first leg of our journey north, something amazing happened that might well be a normal part of how the day passes to night, but I don't think so. We were flying at sunset, a gorgeous time to be in the air, and as the sun was going down we were still above the clouds, so sunset took a gloriously long time. The WAY it set was extra-special, it seems, because as it slid over the edge of vision it left behind a horizon-wide rainbow.
Seriously. ROYGBIV from the bottom up, stretching as far as the light was wide, reaching up into black night sky. Not your normal sunset, at least not like those I've seen as a ground-based unit.
The spectrum persisted as long as there was light, and as time went on it became deeper and more burnished, until all the colors ran together into umber then faded into a slice of light right at the edge of the earth. It was spectacular, and then it was night.
Don't think I'll ever forget it, and even if that sort of show gets put on every day at 35,000 feet, my opportunity to see it is so limited that this might have been my only chance. Best to not take it for granted.