Saint Pat

So here it is Lá Fhéile Pádraig and I won't be getting anywhere near a bar or a bottle tonight. That sucks. Work brought me down to Santa Clara where I now sit on the 5th floor of an office building -- a famous office building, I suppose, since if I googlemap Santa Clara and type in the TLA for it, it appears on the map. Huh. Anyway, I'm pretty much done for the day and have a three hour drive home to look forward to, in traffic. I could stop somewhere -- me old Scots-Irish friend in CV, for ex, or one of the two British pubs in downtown Sac I'm familiar with, both of which are a great time on SP Day -- but you know? I don't really feel like it. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a week, and I won't over the weekend either, so what the hell. Tonight's it. I oughta just start driving.

Hell on earth, getting from the South Bay up past the East Bay any time before about nine o'clock. Kryst. What was I thinking?

I was thinking to do my job, is what. Tuesday me and a couple guys delivered a training on the architecture of the hardware. Wednesday we slept through a training on the architecture of the software. Today the tables were turned and our victims became deliverers of a training on the architecture of their wireless modem product. It was all quite fascinating except my email started ringing off the hook about how wrong a technical document some of us are preparing for another product is turning out to be, because the architects were cutting and pasting from earlier versions and the results were somewhat inconsistent. Actually, I noticed the inconsistency and like a damn fool said so, hence wound up with a bunch of questions to ask, answers to absorb, and docs to recompile. Or as we used to say when our first-born would make that sudden sound of a rock-slide in his diaper, He who detects it, corrects it.

I've done enough correcting. It's the end of the day, evidently, and no one's answering email or IM, so fuck it. We're done. I might as well hit the road. Pull out my phone. Seems most people I know are somewhere near the road between here and home. Pick one.

Ah, I made the call. CV it is, whenever I get there. A few drops of the Irish -- well, he says all he has is Scotch, but that's not to complain -- to ease my way home. Slán a fhágáil!