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measurement I’ve stopped counting the weeks at work, which can only mean that I am no longer a total n00b. Actually, it also means that I lost count and am too lazy to figure it out.

A charming and funny coworker saved my sanity during the all-day quarterly offsite meeting today. Despite dealing with an illness and the effects of antibiotics on my already-compromised system, I managed through the entire eight hours (with minimal breaks and a 20-minute lunch, which I find barbaric).

I’m not sure if it’s wiser to knock these types of meetings out all in one go like that, or to break them apart into half-days. Have there been any studies on the efficacy of all-day meetings? Surely people tune out parts of the day as energy levels wane. Regardless, it’s not up to me. If it were, we’d have all offsite meetings in Golden Gate Park on topics like ambient findability.

… losing track of days, of time, of edges of things, of what I meant to say versus what I did, of people whose hands I should not have shaken, of iconography, of fonts, of which ink works best in which pen. Which is to say: now that I’ve given J. Herbin’s Lie de The a second shot, I shouldn’t put it in another pen. Though the color is lovely, like writing with a mocha, it bleeds through. And there’s been enough bleeding through.

I have touchstones I need to touch more often.

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