Would I have stayed if he had asked?
In all probability, I would have, but then, you see, he didn't.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Work
It is only when I write that I can distance myself from the vagaries of work, its apportioning of guilt and credit, its frantic bid to be the most important thing in my life, its burgeoning sense of its own significance.
It is only when I write that I can forget my self pity at long hours and an indifferent boss, at the positive peaks of stupidity that the human mind can reach, and at my own sense of insecurity.
It is only when I write that I convince myself that, for all my faults, I am probably not as bad as I think.
At other times, I feel like a terrible techie. A failure that I, and only I, am responsible for.
God save the client.
It is only when I write that I can forget my self pity at long hours and an indifferent boss, at the positive peaks of stupidity that the human mind can reach, and at my own sense of insecurity.
It is only when I write that I convince myself that, for all my faults, I am probably not as bad as I think.
At other times, I feel like a terrible techie. A failure that I, and only I, am responsible for.
God save the client.
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