South Park Self

why, why are we at this horrible party?

Oh, lord, it's orientation season. Close on 500 bemused first-years are wandering the campus in small herds, being corralled in a large lecture venue at intervals while I harangue them on the mysteries of curriculum design. With Powerpoint. Yesterday was an 11-hour day. Today was better, being only a 9-hour day, although it provided varied interest by being wall-to-wall orientation all morning, and then wall-to-wall briefing curriculum advisors all afternoon. There's a subtle, surreal dislocation in briefing the same curriculum structures from opposite ends only a few hours apart.

Tonight I should have been allocating advisors to registration sessions, but my subconscious, with unerring accuracy, leaped salmon-like from the depths and kiboshed the sending of the necessary files from work to home so I could work on them. (I know I pressed "send" on the email, but it never arrived and my outbox is innocent of it. Aetheric bears appear to have eaten it. Most mysterious.) I was practically forced to spend the evening reading fanfic instead. Today I have discovered Sherlock/Firefly crossovers, Sherlock/Star Trek crossovers, and a Sherlock/Winnie-the-Pooh one that I've actually refrained from reading on the grounds that my sanity is fragile enough as it is. At least the Star Trek is explicable on the grounds of Vulcans.

All of the above being the case, I'm completely buggered but surprisingly low on stress. I have, it appears, reached a point of familiarity and facility with the large-scale logistical demands of my job that I simply drift along doing the necessary in good time, properly, with only half my attention. So far no wheels have fallen off. It is also pleasantly cool and rainy this evening, mitigating somewhat the tragic fact that today has felt like Durban, i.e. a sort of muggy soup. I am now going to bed, on the grounds that I'm dead and also mosquitoes are eating my feet. Please confidently expect me to return to normal human function, like socialising and interesting posts, somewhere around March.

Subject line is from Magnetic Fields, "The Horrible Party", which sounds like something Edward Gorey should draw (actually, given the lyrics he probably has already.) Fields are still the flavour du jour in my car music buffet. Love at the Bottom of the Sea is their latest album, it's slowly growing on me as it ambles through the rotation for the umpteenth time. My dear, it was heaven until they ran out of champagne.