My brain hurts

By the time today is over, I will have taken part in 17 hour-long team meetings or training or computer troubleshooting sessions.

That's over HALF my "work" time spent in meetings.

What's worse, in a good chunk of those meetings I was expected to have something useful to say, some nugget of evidence of my productivity to offer up to the project managers. In some of those, I was the ringleader, guiding the other participants toward a common goal of progress.

In the other meetings I was busily doing work for other projects and keeping only half an ear on the phone for any mention of my name or group name, so as to at least respond with a "what was that?" when I unmuted the phone.

I ask, you, with a schedule like that, when am I supposed to be getting any internet surfing done? How am I to perfect my Chuzzle-playing skillz if I don't devote time every day to sharpening my hand-eye coordination?

This crazy workathalon must stop soon, or I might become a true office drone and begin to think that working every single minute I'm in my office is the way things are supposed to be.

That thought makes my brain hurt.
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How do women put their hair up in those Gibson-girl-type poofy buns?

I saw a woman the other day who had just this kind of "do," and I couldn't figure out how she did it. The bun was perfectly round and cute as a little button on the crown of her head; the hair was a smooth corona surronding the bun that stuck out at least 3 inches from her scalp all the way around, and it looked like the whole thing wouldn't move if she was facing into a gale-force wind while being whipped with icy sea-spray, even through there was no visible means of support.

I suspect this is a talent she developed in Southern Girl school, and something that, because of my immigrant status to this region, I will never be taught.

Again, that thought makes my brain hurt.

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Also, even though today is Thursday I'm wearing Friday clothes to work because we have been given tomorrow off in obervation of Good Friday. An odd misnomer, some might think, for such a grave (no pun intended) day.

I was reminded last week, while visiting my brother's church, that Pontious Pilate didn't really WANT to sent Jesus to Golgotha. The Roman senator was pushed into it by a crowd of locals who had been whipped into a self-righteous frenzy by the religious leaders of that region, and Pilate didn't want to stir up trouble in an already troubled region, so he caved when they shouted to let Barrabus free and to crucify the peasant preacher. This is the same crowd that, no doubt, laid palms and fine cloaks in his path as he entered the city on the back of a young donkey just a few days before.

And even though I'm not terribly religious and don't subscribe to any particular theology, this also makes my brain hurt.

Or maybe that's my heart.

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I'm enetered into the "Carnival of the Mundane" this week, as a tipoff from mariemm3. I bit the bullet and sent in a link to a recent post. Can't wait to see what DaisyMae does with it. The results will be posted tomorrow.

It tickles me to be able to join in the fun. And it was easy - they didn't ask for security clearance or a sample of my writing or a drop of blood or pound of flesh or a pinky promise or 20 silver ducats or anything. Free! Whee!!

This, thankfully, does NOT make my brain hurt.

Though it might tomorrow, when the mocking begins.....

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And with that, I must go get ready for meeting number 16.