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Guess it wasn't fiction after all, eh?

Mark Hemingway describes the weird reality underlying Frederick Forsyth's awesome novel The Dogs of War. RTWT; can't decide whether to tag this WTF, laffo, history, or what. It does remind me of the notion of sending Blackwater or some other "military contractor" to Darfur to sort things out there.

Closer to home, I failed miserably at leaving le demesne Edminster* at anything like a reasonable hour, which meant I got home around 0100 and didn't actually get to sleep until 0200. The delay was mainly due to tossing and turning until I gave up and double-shotted my leg pain into submission with Tylenol and ibuprofen. Surprisingly, I didn't make too many dumb mistakes due to sleep deprivation today.

Looks like I'll pick up the CircAids in Annapolis on Wednesday, if the vendor calls back tomorrow, or Friday, if they don't. Thursday is right out since that's payday and there's no way I can take half a day off.

*Oddly enough, edminster himself was nowhere around, although his sister and older brother were both on hand. Everyone was pretty vague about what was going on with him, but nobody seemed happy about it. Hope he straightens out soon.