Something I can't explain...
Feb. 13th, 2002 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexpgp...is the only way to explain my having gotten up in time to get to work. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Eugene M. was assigned to interpret at yesterday's MMT, a weekly telecon of the Mission Management Team involving high-level managers from both U.S. and Russian sides. The telecon finally let out around 9:20 am, and by the time I'd "handed over" my shift (i.e., told him about what had happened during my shift), it was 9:30.
At that moment, another interpreter, Olga D., came by and the three of us spent a few minutes gossiping, which was ironic, seeing as I had spent the last hour or so of the shift reading don Miguel Ruiz' The Four Agreements, which hasn't much good to say about the practice.
By the time I'd gone to the bank and gone home, it was 11 am or so and I went directly to bed and slept reasonably well until 4 pm. When I got up, it was clear I am still not a well puppy.
Although my throat doesn't feel sore any more, there are still moments I can feel it is raw, due to the coughing and hacking. Whatever I have seems to have settled into my chest. My energy level is low.
In any event, I cooked something to eat and then lay in bed reading The Angry Hills, by Leon Uris. Upon finishing the book at around 8 pm, I turned over and went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that my alarm was set for 10:30 pm.
I awoke at 11:25, which is two minutes before I have to be out the door of the Pearland house in order to make it to JSC and my work place by midnight. (I was out the door at 11:32. In the end, I still beat the Russians in to work.)
Coffee. The cells in my body seem to be crying out in unison: "Coffee!... coffee!" It is a cry that must be heeded.
Cheers...
Eugene M. was assigned to interpret at yesterday's MMT, a weekly telecon of the Mission Management Team involving high-level managers from both U.S. and Russian sides. The telecon finally let out around 9:20 am, and by the time I'd "handed over" my shift (i.e., told him about what had happened during my shift), it was 9:30.
At that moment, another interpreter, Olga D., came by and the three of us spent a few minutes gossiping, which was ironic, seeing as I had spent the last hour or so of the shift reading don Miguel Ruiz' The Four Agreements, which hasn't much good to say about the practice.
By the time I'd gone to the bank and gone home, it was 11 am or so and I went directly to bed and slept reasonably well until 4 pm. When I got up, it was clear I am still not a well puppy.
Although my throat doesn't feel sore any more, there are still moments I can feel it is raw, due to the coughing and hacking. Whatever I have seems to have settled into my chest. My energy level is low.
In any event, I cooked something to eat and then lay in bed reading The Angry Hills, by Leon Uris. Upon finishing the book at around 8 pm, I turned over and went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that my alarm was set for 10:30 pm.
I awoke at 11:25, which is two minutes before I have to be out the door of the Pearland house in order to make it to JSC and my work place by midnight. (I was out the door at 11:32. In the end, I still beat the Russians in to work.)
Coffee. The cells in my body seem to be crying out in unison: "Coffee!... coffee!" It is a cry that must be heeded.
Cheers...
