Training classes are sometimes fun, sometimes useful, sometimes boring. I suffered through five days of stuff, of which probably only 1/5 actually applies to my current job. The rest of it was installation, backup, and restore/repair, which I will never actually get to do. No matter, though - I understand the concepts, and I could probably wing it if I had to. Now I'll have to spend three days trying to catch up on loose ends - those things I couldn't do administratively from my remote location. October's almost over. It's maddening.
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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