when is a weekend not a weekend?

I spent most of yesterday reading D. M. Cornish's Lamplighter. It's book two of a planned trilogy--the first book, Foundling, came out in 2006. I liked the first book, but the second one is way better. I started reading it on Saturday night, read it for most of Sunday, and am now on page 450-ish. I tried to do some other things, but it didn't really work out. For example, I watched the first ten minutes of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence. But I didn't even get past Old Jimmy Stewart because I kept thinking, you know, I'd rather be reading.

I find work so disorienting sometimes. I mean, I get here, and it seems to take so long for me to remember what I am supposed to be doing. As in, Aaaaah! What is my job? Does that happen to everyone? Especially after weekends. The only thing I am really intellectually equipped to be doing this morning is making photocopies, and I already made all the photocopies that need to be made.

Also, I like it here, but I would kind of rather be at home so I would be there when the mail arrives.

Everyone whose twitter stream I subscribe to seems to be talking about the iPhone. I should knit a fake one and then use it to check my fake email on the bus.