Night in the Laboratory

Does it count as a dream when you're tired enough that you could be asleep?

I'm training on a brand new piece of equipment at work; started a trial at 3 that should have been done by 530.  Naturally instead it took till 5 before I was even ready to begin the run, at which point the machine began spraying bleach all over the place; I was thoroughly misted from chest to face and then spent forty minutes hunting down the teeny tiny screwdriver needed to redirect the errant diverter.  On the plus side my eyeballs have never been cleaner. 

My friend Gretchen who religiously wears goggles and a lab coat would have said "I told you so" if she wasn't so nice.  After I got the situation under some semblance of control, I stopped by Wednesday Night Beers, the social group over which Gretchen has benignly and excellently presided for over a decade.  This week our merry band met at Ravenna's Third Place Books.

I restored my blood sugar to operating levels with chicken confit, virtuously declined an alcoholic beverage though I Really Needed One, and have now returned to the scene of the crime.  My desk looks like a mad scientist was murdered here.