Monday, December 05, 2016

Walked it off

Our building's sclerotic network landed causing no end of frustration—the price you pay when all your work is done via a network. At one point I yelled at SharePoint and that, combined with a brain-hurting email, meant I had to walk it off.

So I walked it off. It didn't help that much but the break at least short-circuited the anger build up so I went back to frustrated mode instead of under-the-breath muttering and sotto "WTF?" reactions when the fucking computer didn't do what I wanted it to.

It was an insane Monday with a fuck ton of work; but the work I did was good, hearty fare whose effects will last a long time.

WFTW.

Saturday, December 03, 2016

Fate

I went to the end-of-year fete in spite of the noise and crowds because, well, it was the fucking end-of-year fete.

I medicated as much as I could then slid in to enjoy myself.

It was my fault. I should have known that the fire engine display behind me would of course display its horn. It blared, sudden and loud, in a sonic wave aimed it seemed at the back of my head.

My body entered fight (slash) flight and I yelled brightly "gotta go!" and then headed with speed for the car. I re-entered the school grounds only to be assailed by a massed choir armed with ukuleles, their assault on musical reason adding a fat dollop of panic as I made it out the front only to be re-assailed by a screaming two-year-old whose uncaring and unhurried mother was glacially pushing that child along in a stroller.

I made it to the car but until the child was gone I couldn't unclamp my ears to get to my keys to open it and get to the ear muffs in the glove compartment. 

I babbled with rage about ineffective parenting to cover the screaming before I could risk going for keys, door and muffs. 

Then I spent 20 minutes with the muffs on surfing the web on my phone while I waited for the others. 

I love the end-of-year fete; it's joyous. But to go a place with children, noise and crowds is to expose multiple triggers to a deep pull—though admittedly it was a fire siren that triggered me; I was fine until then.

That's what it is to have this; that normal life is interrupted. But you can't sit in your house with ear muffs on; the world won't let you. You have to risk these things to get as much of life in while you still can.

So that's also what it's also like to have this; to have tasted death so closely it reminds you you're alive.

WFTW. 

Thursday, December 01, 2016

Got a door fixed

Not only did I get the door fixed I got a story of how it got broke—and how to fix it for next time.

I had to sign it off with my finger. 

Later I pressed the button to see it sproing open and marvelled at my minor accomplishment.

Mikey see bad, Mikey order fix.

WFTW.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

A messenger scene

The arrival of a messenger is a literary tradition in plays going back to Grog grunting at Snark about Sniznar's message from the Beast People. Shakespeare has a bunch of them I am sure; protagonists reacting to messenger-borne news.

My friend dropped past. He told me of ill and it's the second time he's done it. It's not his fault—it was on topic—but I realise now he's the messenger in my dramedy. I would have said "drama" except while I suffer I make light of it—leg sharts and all.

As he left I got lost in a whirl of work, skipping, diving and prancing to fix the fuck out of this and to fix the fuck out of that; a perfect answer to a rotten tale.

WFTW.

Monday, November 28, 2016

An electrifying battle anthem



"Danger! High Voltage" by Electric Six.

Fingers flying

After a late start from a medical I hit the keyboard with fingers flying with just human physicality getting in my way because I could not type as fast as I could think.

I've fucked off worrying about typing noise as well. I'm in countdown mode and to work as fast as I need to I cannot be pecking a key at a time.

I finalised a project then threw it up the chain. It was one I started, got resourced then ready for implementation. A shovel ready project that could be completed in 10 minutes once the go is given. 

If I get that up then I'll have won no matter what happens next; it's a gaping hole and it has to be filled. All I need is the permish to fill it. 

That's the technocratic way; get as much done yourself as possible then give a cheery "action" at the end of an email which simply says "just say yes and I will action".

That's how to get things done; assume control then do them.

WFTW.

Friday, November 25, 2016

Named self

There is magic in a name—and it's a theme in fantasy books whose best exemplar is Earthsea. Name a thing and have its power.

I didn't mean to; it slipped out. But when I said it then it was a perfect fit.

Consultant.


WFTW.

New white goods; not all white

We finished our refresh of white goods, gone the goods that helped when purchased new some 20 years before. 

A handsome stainless steel finish job is the fridge and the mini-freezer energy sucker has been replaced by a bigger, less-energy intense effort. 

The new dryer is up on the wall—and lowered by a centimetre over the last one which makes it easier for a short man like me to use. I had to go on tippy-toes and each time I went up I risked a spasm or lock from my over-developed calf muscles—they look like a snake ate an avocado.

Twenty years on and all twenty in Canberra. We came here to study and we built a life. 

A life that's had a total white goods refresh.

(strokes new goods; purring).

Love felt

I had two colleagues tell me they loved my work. Two. In a single day.

Tickets on self justified

Gots to love the love.  

UPDATE: Previously when I received praise I'd deflect; praise others who contributed and big up their participation. The other day I finished a project and I put my fucking name on it and mine alone. False modesty = out the door.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Full speed ahead

I have to be ruthless with my time and it's tough because I like being the Swiss Army Knife and fixing anything someone wants fixed. And I've still a bunch of projects being juggled because that's just how I roll. 

But to be needed and to work with value is an incredible thing; it's technocratic joy. Deep down I like to think I always knew that I was this awesome but scared to admit it due to self-loathing. 

I've shed that. There is no more of that shit; never again. Never again will I feel wretched of self or that I do not contribute. I've won my life and I'm still winning.

So, yes, I shall be ruthless with my time; but I'll be laser in focus, conscious that I'm a valuable resource who needs to determine when, where and how he will be the most valuable.

I have fucking tickets on myself—and deservedly so. Beats the fucking shit out of thinking you are a failed human being because for most of your life that's how the world looked at you. The world still looks at me like that but I reject its scorn with smug self belief.

I shaved my beard back—it had gone a bit ragged—which is good because we're getting near Christmas. One Christmas a bunch of fit, taller-than-me young men walked past and one of them sneered to his mates that I was Santa; because I am portly and had a shaggy grey beard.

They walked off in their perfect posse of most-health, laughing at their japery at the expense of my apparently pathetic person. 


What a pack of fuckholes. I bet my trusty groat not a single one of them will have achieved but a tenth of what I've done before they snake it into the grave.

I'm Mikey; I'm still fucking here and I'm still steaming full speed ahead.

WFTW.