Cleaning Up After Murphy

Damn, it's been a fast day.

I kinda thought of that title phrase sometime between when I left the office and found myself stumbling out of the car, almost dead to the world but conscious of the little pattering that signals rain, or at least conscious enough to haul my oversized arse up the stairs and into the apartment. A drenched Ox is never really a good one (this week, I doubt any day will make me a good one) but I can't work if I'm sick, you see.

If by this time my readers (yes, hello again, you three) haven't figured out who Murphy is, lemme enlighten you. This is the same Murphy of the sacred Law which says, (well in simple terms anyway):

"If something can go wrong, it probably will."

True to form, Murphy visited the office today like the Bloody Head Fairy visited Ren and Stimpy (try and hunt down which episode that came from, and I promise a dinner treat) only instead of leaving a couple of coins, he left a couple of nice bombs that very nicely brought us all into condition FUBAR.

Fucked. Up. Beyond. All. Recognition.

We have two days more or less before D-Day, and if this were NATO, we'd be in Defcon 4 right now (or something that denotes some similar form of danger). So until further notice, I'm jacking into the Matrix that is my office-space and I hope to surface again sometime next Monday. There's too much to detail without being pedantic, and I can't do that to my readers now can I?

Wish me luck, guys, and I hope I'll be able to see you when I'm back.