Work is very weird right now. We didn't have to kill ourselves on $evil_project. There are cool/interesting things on the horizon, including a potential project that would be reviewed by biologists of all types, chemists, and philosophers. I'm getting a new title, starting with the words "Director of..." My team rocks. I'm still vaguely dissatisfied, but it's settling into that more constant vague dissatisfaction that is part of my background, rather than the "things must change" feeling. I changed things, so, you know, all good. Sort of. It moves me from a place where I turned my weakness into a strength (difficult to motivate without deadline, so deadline-driven job=good),to a place  where I have to deal with my weakness (a lot of what is now on my plate has no deadline).

Today we went through the budgets of the submitted version of $evil_project, and also skimmed the proposal. Let me say that they should not have turned down our offer to copy edit. Let me also say that the left hand and the right hand? Well, okay, maybe left ring finger and right pinky? Anyway, not so aware of each other's movements. As for the changes from the last one we worked on, they consist of real improvements in concept and concrete plan combined with moments of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot??! And, um, where did that $800K go from $_section?

Anyway, I gave the team pizza and beer to ease the pain.

Tonight, tonight I edit prose written by someone who is very good at what she does, but writing? not so much. toxicfur drafted support letters (including one for a US senator, so she officially rocks), based on notes from the project director. In more than one section, the sentences were so badly constructed that I could only figure out what they meant because I'd heard the director talk about them. And that's the base I'm given to work with.

Also, tomorrow, the $web_conferencing vendor is going to meet Dr. iGrrrl. (Long story. Short version: Dude, listen to my admin. She doesn't lie. All we need is an informational quote to justify the budget, not a demo. We're in get the money mode, not make a purchase decision mode. You have wasted all our time and pissed off me and the project director, not to mention my admin.) I don't haul the title out all that often, and I generally have to be pretty annoyed.

In better news, I was the Mystery Reader today at MJ's preschool. I brought in the Gaiman/McKean book The Day I Swapped my Dad for Two Goldfish. All MJ wants for Christmas is a nutcracker. Seriously. And some Lincoln logs. (Keeping your kids away from commercial television is a goooood thing.) I wish I could capture the funny things he does. All I can remember right now is that on Saturday morning he arrived at breakfast and announced that he was joining us from the barn. He was a pig, and he wanted a pancake. Another morning he was a kitty, and put socks on his hands so he'd have paws.

Little K is at the top of her class in first grade Spanish Immersion. She rocks at math in both languages. She wants karate lessons for Christmas. And some Lincoln logs.

Last Saturday we had a gig I forgot to announce. (While I'm thinking about it: We're playing Christopher's for New Year's Eve.) The guitarist's friend brought one of her co-workers, who is from Kenya. He brought his room-mate, also Kenyan. They've been here under two years. As I was walking past them, back up to do the second set, they asked if they could touch my hair. Of course I said yes. Hip length blond hair is unusual in the US, and really strange to them. I let them play with it for a few moments, then popped up on to the bar stool, took my hair in a ponytail, and laid it over one of the Kenyan's head, giving him shoulder-length blond locks. There were pictures.

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