Work sucks. That's all there is to it. Just once, just once, I'd like to be able to tell a user what I really think without being worried about losing my job. How many times do I have to tell this guy that we a:) Don't have an IIS server and b:) Neither want nor intend to get one? How many times? How many times do I have to tell him I am not going to create an internet solution for his piddly problem that could be handled in a better, more cost effective, more secure way? Can't I just beat him soundly ?!
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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