Got home. Angel was mowing the lawn, so I went and holed up in my room (still no working repeater) and did my admit H&P from this afternoon while listening to Chicago. Fixed Meeta's PDA. Felt accomplished (it was only 8!) so I tried a few more things with the repeater.
Dlink had better fucking well get back in touch with me soon. E-mail support should at least give the courtesy of a "we got your e-mail" e-mail, right? Tomorrow, if I have still heard nothing, I will re-send. And make a fucking pest of myself. There's a good place in my room to work - but I have to choose between talking to Angel and doing work...and Angel wins every fucking time.
I feel like crying. I'm so frustrated. And after a day that (despite the disappointment of learning that yes, indeed, I am supposed to work one day of two per weekend) was pretty damn decent.
I walked 5.3 miles today, according to the Avandia pedometer. Go me. Maybe I will make headway on my bra size, currently a catalogue-only 40H by the most recent measurements.
I am going to get my Nelson's, and read about stridor and asthma. Right now. Because I have to know for tomorrow.
...after I talk to Angel, and quit flipping out.