At Work...Failure...

I'm at my desk. My legs are shaking. I occasionally glance at the taupe fabric of my cubicle walls. My head is often supported by my hands. I often forget what I'm doing: moving my mouse across the screen to discover I don't know which of the 40 windows I was seeking, or why I was seeking it...(quick aside: I had to step away, came back, and discovered my head in my hands again). At other times, I sit staring at the screen, just quietly sighing to myself and just...staring. Sometimes, I sigh loudly enough to be heard by other cubicles, and they'll sigh a sympathetic sigh, which has been known to set of another sigh. A sigh chain: the sound of small implosions of the soul. We often walk bent over and discuss the failures of our efforts and how much we wish we could do more than just enough, and how it wouldn't matter if we worked 40 hours a day, the work to be done would just bubble up and so we would continue to fail. Unstoppable, immense failure. The daily tasks are just the tip of the monstrous iceberg of...failure waiting for us weeks, months, and years from now.

A last note: one of the senior folks stopped by my desk to chat at the end of the day. To quote:

"Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck".

He was suffering the effects of, yes, you guessed it, failure.

What Goes Bump

I have a terrible habit. A horrible, terrible habit. When parking, I often tap a vehicle - sometimes the one in front, other days, the back, on particularly confusing days, both. Very sad. Well, recently one of my wee nightmares came true: there was someone in the vehicle I was..tip, tap, tapping. Bonk! "Hmmmm, harder than usual....misjudged the distance...is that a head I see..oh shite, it is..".

I felt awkward, sheepishly waved, paused, thought better of it, hoofed open the door, stepped out, looked at the SUV behind me, and mouthed "I'm sorry", and the woman behind the wheel looked friendly and awkward on my behalf, and all was good.

Two things wound out from my brain. First: fucking excellent. This is exactly how it should be. Bit of a dumbass, sincere apologies, accepted, and...moving on. Second: if this had been an SUV with rims, and mildly retarded tattooed moron behind the wheel, the process and experience would have been a total opportunity for huge heaping piles of shite smeared across the day.

The moron woud have popped his/her head out the window and started woofing and barking his/her conviction that I had insulted them - distracted by the flashing of their rims and the pretty pictures adorning their skin, attached to the pulsing patterns of their psychosis, they could and would not be able to slow down their manic fever to pause and realize there was no ill intent.

Your Own Worst Enemy

Alright, so, what happened today? Too little, too much. I watched part 2 of the Doctor Who special in which the current doctor died and was replaced by the horribly bouncy new boy doctor. I cried like a baby when he collected his reward - i.e. visited those closest to him, saved a life, made a massive difference to a few lives, and then died. Poor frickin' bastard.

Then, well, went for dim-sum (Imperial) with a friend. She discussed her world and the developments rumbling through. Then she asked me why I didn't write a blog. I teared up. Choked up. Had to skip the conversation off onto another track to keep myself from cracking up and having a few massive sobs. Why? Well, because I'd like to write a blog, but I can't because I don't have time. I can't make the time. I can't put the effort in. I just can't - and that's the theme. I want to, but I can't. I desperately want to, but never choose to.