The season has definitely changed. All over the West End the vine maples are gone red.
I didn't get the part-time reference job I applied for. Librarying has been what I care about for my whole life, and continue to care—so I feel unplugged in a drifty sort of way which I do not like. Meanwhile I continue on at the tribal library on a volunteer basis. Where, I have to say, the inability to get twitter for two days caused me more sense of being cut off from my profession than my employment status does.
After work at the tribe yesterday I darted back out to Rialto to look for the washed-up bird I'd mistagged on my COASST survey on Sunday. Couldn't find it. Perhaps this means no other COASST volunteer will re-find it either, and my having bobbled acknowledging it for science won't matter. As I was happily dodging the incoming tide on the way back to the parking lot, it occurred to me that the tagging oopsie probably won't matter anyway. The worst case is someone in COASST would refind it but record it afresh because its tags were gone. So the little featherduster corpse would count twice. Bad science in an exceedingly small way, but in fact that same small bit satisfying from an anthropomorphizing point of view.
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