Gee. Take away my access to my short-term digital scratchpad, give me conflicting verbal instructions for two jobs where the four digit order codes only differ in one number, and be surprised the second time I get it wrong and tell you to fucking write a Change Order, boss. In as many words.

Nothing 'resting' about my bitch face today.

Oh, but I'm *MUCH* faster without soothing distractions like my phone to keep me wasting processor cycles on being 'nice'. I've already filked a song for the Korps, plotted a course of action for the doc I meet in a couple of hours, ordered a high-temperature mastic to seal the ventilation system that's poisoning us every time we cut Acetron on the laser, burnt most of my abbreviated day workload, and checked with the ex-biker at work about the usefulness of quicklime in rapidly disposing of bodies. (It tends to preserve 'em, don't bother.)

Mm. Break's nearly over. Have a good one, all.