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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

No place like Gnome

Back home. Tired to the bone. A lot of good information, lots fun stuff, lots of network and catching up with friends.

Would like to talk about it all, but see that tired thing. Tomorrow is the day job. I guess the village has also been a buzz this past weekend as people finally get that we're going to ask them to change their government in a big way (well, not really, but because it's NEW they don't think it's good). I guess there were many phone calls this weekend.

So for at least the next two days I'm going to be dealing with Night Job stuff.

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