There are two other requests, however, and I get to write up the training documentation on this procedure. I'm delighted, and there's no sarcasm there: I really do like writing up training documentation, it's an exercise by which I reexamine everything I take for granted. I force myself to review a rote procedure with fresh, unknowing eyes and flesh it out until a complete outsider, a total n00b could come in and do this job if, for example, I'd been killed in a political protest.
Today is so nice, in fact, that I have Queen in my head. "Bicycle Race" is reverberating triumphantly throughout my skull, though I couldn't tell you the last time I've heard the song. It's just these strident chords loosening channels of endorphin down my neck and into the big glowing furnace in my chest. I can hardly sit still: I want to go out and punch out a moon window into the side of a building!
Hmm. I hope that if I did somehow develop the ability to shoot plasma bolts out of my arms, I wouldn't automatically go on a spree of rampant destruction. Obviously no jail could hold me, but I wouldn't want to have to constantly glance over my shoulder for government agents or snipers. I'm really not clever enough to be a super-villain, I have absolutely no sense of strategy.
"Nulla dies sine linea."