Yesterday and today: Quartermaster for High Adventure Training. Six hours on Friday, 13 hours Saturday. Thirty adult leaders, plus staff. Kate arose from her sickbed and put together a lunch that was awesomeness itself: grilled cibatta sandwiches and a baked potato bar, plus her trademark fresh chocolate chip cookies. I took care of coffee and uninterrupted munchies; I won an argument with the coffee maker, and I think it's older than I am. Left all the leftovers for a Jamboree patrol that managed to ignore all the messages they got about bringing food for the weekend; with eight boys and sixteen(at least) parents, none of them could read their emails? Amazing. Well, they got some damn good sandwiches for supper, at least.
The penalty for being on my feet for 19 hours in a 26-hour period: everything hurts except my bald spot, and it's freezing. This is not the night of choice for insomnia to pay a call. *gah* *bleah*
Oh, and my brain hurts, too: Rudy Guiliani, who has made eight years of capital based on "MAYOR OF NEW YORK DURING 9/11", is claiming now that there were no domestic terror attacks during the Bush administration. Apparently September 2001 no longer follows January 2001. And there are people who will accept this.
Who was it who said, I'm a schizophrenic: one of me is paranoid, and the other is out to get him. I am so there right now.
