Tuesday, November 15, 2016

♫♪ I'm checking in! ♫♪

With thanks to The Simpsons and Robert D.

I woke in abdominal fury, a full abdomen cramping that riddled my body with pain.

It was expected; a normative outcome the day after a severe anxiety attack—and that's only just one delicious way anxiety manifests physically in addition to placing you teetering on fight (slash) flight or sucking you into space outs.  

But I'm swollen with work even as I am swollen inside. I'm not at risk of public blowout or a leg shart; it's not that kind of IBS. So, fuck it, I'm checking in. If worst comes to worst I'll just go.

Besides, I'll get to lose myself in deep positive work that transports me from the mundane into art and that keeps pain at bay. Fucking art; and I get paid to do it.

WFTW.

UPDATE: I got a hug hello from a former tiger team comrade upon entry and nailed some tasty work, getting effusive thanks for speedy delivery. I also worked out how to get metrics to back a business case that promises a gain in capability.

I'm a fucking machine. 

Double secret WFTW. 
 

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