Lynn Gold (figmo) wrote,
Lynn Gold

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Fatigue Poison

I'm running on less-than-adequate sleep. I've been stressed out, and it's showing.

After a while it gets to you. Eventually you get...Fatigue Poison.

Today's shift at the radio station was hectic. I walked in and discovered the start of a three-alarm fire had roughly coincided with the start of my shift. I called the fire dept. and got information on it.

There was an air show going on at Moffett Field. This is a major thing, yet we had nothing on it. Our producer was out getting sound on a story where the tape was garbled. IMHO the story was barely worth running, whereas the others affected more people. Nonetheless, he persisted.

The toner in the printer in the KLIV studio was running low, and there were no new toner cartridges in sight, so I did the old "toner for Mecca" trick where you hold the toner cartridge at arm's length and bow with it like you're praying towards Mecca. It looks silly, but it works. I tried showing this trick to the other anchor and the producer; the anchor was mildly amused, but the producer wouldn't even turn his back from his effing web surfing to look.

He also kept giving me copy with pronouncers written incorrectly. For example, we had a guy whose name was pronounced "BOH-zoh" as in "Bozo the Clown." Instead, it was written as "bow-ZO," which in AP style would be pronounced to almost rhyme with "calzone." He kept doing this with people's names, and it was rather annoying.

A few hours later, just after he left, we had another multi-alarm fire. I didn't have enough time to realistically gather and cut up sound on it, and given that the fire was barely contained at the end of my shift, it wasn't worth gathering sound that would be stale by the next morning.

After my shift I went to visit Warren. He really wanted me to come by, and I missed him, so I did. I was under the misunderstanding that we'd go and get something to eat (he knows I need to eat dinner when I get off my shift!). Instead, he was barely up. He didn't look good. It didn't help my mood any that he was watching one of those awful "action/adventure" movies with way too much violence for my comfort level.

I was also barely able to stay awake and he realized it, so he sent me home. I started realizing I had a bad case of fatigue poison as I was driving because of the stream-of-consciousness of my thoughts:
  • What should I have for dinner? Maybe pizza would be nice. Nah. I'm not hungry enough for California-style pizza, and I don't want to have to deal with leftovers. Besides, how would I call out for it? Oh yeah...there's a phone bolted into the car. It even works...but if I call the order in I won't get points. Nah...I want my points...but if I want the points I need to either go home or find a cyber cafe, but most cyber cafes want you to have an Airport card, and I don't even have my laptop unit on me....

  • Maybe I feel like something with fruit. Yeah. Forget the part about protein; I'll just have a piece of fruit pie, or maybe some fruit something-or-other. Wait...where am I supposed to get fruit something-or-other from? I don't have it at home. I don't feel like buying a whole pie, but wait...if I want to buy just a piece of pie, I have to either drive through a yucky burger joint or go to a pie shop, get out of the car, wait, decide...which is hard to do when you can barely think, then get it home without having it fly off the seat if I have to make a sudden stop. Nah...I don't think I want pie...but maybe I want something sweet to knock myself out all the way.

  • o/~ Oh it takes Fluff, Fluff, make a Fluffernutter
    With Marshmallow Fluff...and lots of peanut butter o/~

    Darn. Why can't I get that jingle out of my head? I haven't heard it in years. Sheesh. MM was squeamish about bringing two bottles of diet Birch Beer in a suitcase across country; he should try bringing two jars of Marshmallow Fluff and see what happens when one bursts in mid-air, getting marshmallow goo all over your luggage. Dang. I used to love Fluffernutter sandwiches except when Susan Zwirn used to get hers all over her face when she'd eat it in the 5th grade. That was really gross. Besides, they don't sell Marshmallow Fluff on this coast. Forget it....

  • o/~ Oh I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Weiner
    That is what I'd truly like to beeeeee
    'Cause if I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner
    There would soon be nothing left of me o/~

    That sure was a dumb jingle. I never understood why they expected kids to want to sing it. Who the heck would want someone eating you all up? Besides, hot dogs are ucky anyway.

  • Do I want to take 280 to 85, or do I want to take "the Guad" (Guadalupe Parkway, aka Hwy 87 between 280 and 101) to 101? Wait...the Moffett Air Show is going on. Hwy 101 will be a mess. 280. No brainer. Do I want to get off at Saratoga Avenue and hit the Lion Asian grocery store? Nah. I already have enough Asian groceries right now. Do I want to get off at Wolfe and maybe buy something to go from the Asian shopping mall? Nah. It'd mean I'd have to get out of the car and think, and right now I'm not up to that. Besides, something spicy enough might wake me, and I don't think I want that. Do I want to get off at El Camino and go to Albertson's? Nah. I have all the American groceries I need. I'll just boil up some pasta. Yeah. Pasta...with cottage cheese (old Slovak dish). I wish I knew the Slovak name for it. Oh well; I probably wouldn't be able to pronounce it if I did. Even Mom never used the Slovak name for it, so it's probably harder to say than "styuzhi nyinhah" (sp?). On the other hand, styuzhi nyinhah is gross stuff anyway. Eeeuw. I never understood how Mom could pick at those pigs' feet. Hmmm...maybe I want pierogies? I don't have any in the freezer; I'd have to drive extra to Piazza's to get them. Nah...not worth the hassle.

  • There's my street. Do I take it, or do I say "screw it" and go to a taqueria? What the hell am I thinking? I don't want anything spicy now! I want bland now. No quiero wakeup. Quiero get home in one piece.

  • Ah. Yep. That's my house. The one with all the strange cars in front of it. I wonder who all those strange cars belong to. They're not mine. Oh well...if it makes a thief think I've got company, good. Besides, the lights are on. They're on so the dog can find her wee-wee pads, but maybe a burglar looking at the house thinks I've got company and if so, that's good. I wonder how Lady would feel if she knew she was getting spayed Monday. Why do they call an ovo-hysterectomy on a puppydog or kittycat "spaying," anyway? It makes it sound so much more friendly than what it is. She did go nuts over that male Bichon on TV, but on the other hand she refuses to walk on a leash. You can't show a dog if she won' t walk on a lead, and nobody wants to breed their stud with a dog that isn't a show dog these days. Stubborn bitch. She is cute, though. Dang. I still have to put the comforter she piddled on in the washer. Must do. Now. Ick. There she is; I hear her behind the door. How do I pet her and start the water for the pasta?

  • How do I boil water in this state without burning down the house? Must put on timer. How long? Hmmm...ten minutes or so ought to do it. Must check phone msgs. Must pet doggie. Mustn't step on doggie. Doggie leave surprises? No; good. Good doggie. Give doggie treat. Must decide which treat to give her. Uh-oh; that involves thinking. AAAAAUGH! Must. Think. Screwit; grab the first thing from the treat bag and give it to her. Done. Good. Happy doggie.

  • Buzzer off; time to add pasta. How much pasta to add? AAAAUGH; must think. Huh? Just dump; let bag decide. When pasta stops falling out of pasta bag I'll stop adding it. Pasta clumps in bag halfway. Okay; done. Set timer per instructions; can do. Doesn't involve thinking. Lie down. Uh-oh; phone rings. Must arrange garlic festival excursion. Must three-way. Easy; doesn't involve thinking. Can do. Push buttons; we're good. Buzzer goes off; let the parties talk while I take care of food. Cool. Drain pasta. Add ingredients. Too watery. Uh-oh. How to fix? Screwit; just pull the pasta out and leave the "watery" behind. Done.

  • Eat in dining area or bedroom? AAAUGH. Decision; must think. No brainer; dining chairs put my legs to sleep. Bed. Must Keep Dog Out Of Food. Done.

  • Must finish typesetting TTTR stuff. Done. Why was that easier than driving home? Oh well.

Must go to sleep. Now. No decision needed. Just stop writing and post LJ already.

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