The meeting this morning went on all day.
There's a new project.
A BIG project.
Security's an important part of said big project.
There's a meeting tonight that I'm missing due to being on the train, but I left them with several pages of neatly organized questions (gods, I'm getting frighteningly good at this documentation thing) and there's another meeting on Monday.
That they might want me to head.
The used the words project manager a few times.
Those are big words.
Project managers are sometimes housed in the Montreal office.
They're still mighty big words.
There are hundreds of pages of documentation (not counting the several megabyte document that we elected NOT to print) that need to be read over the weekend, and more questions written from them.
I might skip out on the Parc Asterix thing on Sunday.
There are hundreds of pages of documentation to read for tomorrow morning, those will get done on the train, as per usual.
By 6am I'd better be un-jetlagged and ready for three more days of twelve hour madness on an entirely different project.
I'm hopping the train in a half hour.
I ought to pack.
Call the locksmith and verify my insurance.
Call my electric company to tell them I won't be here when they come to check the meter.
Remember to give Fabricia my RIB so that she can pay me at my new bank.
Give her the receipts from the hotel and restaurants and places so that she can pay me back for those too.
The little scribbled I-should-really-get-a-palm-pilot list in my pocket just goes on and on.
The m�tro this morning was far too familiar. Half-asleep my feet followed their own way to the D�fense, the way they do every day, without question.
Looking up from more documentation, there was a man, like there always is, three cars down, staring at my d�colet�, waiting for me to look up so he could bore into my eyes.
I still haven't learned to not look up.
It's raining out.
It's raining in.
I wonder if it'll still be raining in Limoges.