Work was thankfully pretty short yesterday, with the only real major activity being the command potluck. It was shifted to the right a bit to accommodate the announcements of the folks selected for advancement, but even then we were done before noon.
Took the opportunity to cut everyone in the department loose for the day after that and headed home myself.
Got home and took the girls out for a walk, came back and poured myself a drink and tried playing more Assassin's Creed III before the dated graphics and gameplay bothered the shit outta me. Changed it up for a fresh playthrough of Valhalla before going into the garage and finishing the revised laser etching of the transfer plaque for one of the other Chiefs.
As I stood there, I got a text from one of the folks at work. They were asking about a specific tasker to help out the command holiday party, and per my normal "everything is an emergency" protocol, I sprang into action reaching out to those I thought that could help.
Of the ones I hit up, responses were far too sluggish for my taste.
I got anxious.
I got angry.
And then I felt a distinct zap in my brain.
I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. Another zap.
I was freaking out.
At this point, it was time for another walk with the girls. Got up, put their harnesses on, and we were off.
And per the norm, every goddamn rando we ran into on the walk decided it was their right to try to approach and interact.
I quickened my pace, pulling the girls along, until we were safely back at home.
Laser etching had finished. Reattached the parts I'd had to take off for the engraver, and decided I wanted to make potatoes au gratin so I could binge when my mouth wasn't as ragged.
Pulled out the mandolin slicer, grabbed the first potato, and...
Sliced off part of a fingernail and a bit of fingertip.
Wife came in as it happened and I showed her. I side-stepped her and calmly but quickly walked upstairs with her in tow.
"Don't follow me," I told her, "You'll only make me freak out."
Grabbed a band-aid and some neosporin.
Patched it up.
Went back downstairs and finished slicing the potatoes.
Started making the cheese concoction but got impatient.
Pot boiled over.
Smoke detector went off.
Dumped it into the Pyrex dish over the potatoes and put the whole monstrosity in the oven on top of a pizza pan.
An hour and a half later I took it out, thankful it'd only mildly boiled over.
Changed the bandaid out and the blood was still coming. Clutched a wad of tissue tightly and elevated my hand.
Passed out watching YouTube.
Woke up this morning on edge and angry.
Took the girls out for their walk. With each step, a new zap.
Got home, girls decided they didn't want to come inside.
Yanked them in, gave them treats.
Looked for car keys. Wife had gone out for karaoke last night and didn't put them back in their place.
Got irrationally angry.
Found the keys.
Started the car.
Shower. Shave. Got dressed, headed out.
Traffic was agony.
And here I am.
Hoping for a short day to launch into an extended weekend.