Time is of the essence around these parts. My employer has foisted the burden of work deadlines upon my shoulders. They are asking me to - gulp - work eight hours a day. Eight!? There's posts to write, read and naps to take. This will have to be a quick entry. I can spare no more than 20 minutes. I'll have to ration out the other 7+ hours thusly: 4 hours of work, 2 hours of chatting with co-workers over coffee complaining about the amount of work I need to complete, and only one hour and forty minutes of my normal, extended super-sized two hour lunch break.
This is absurdity at its highest level. I have had weeks to complete my projects. My employer should know that I would wait until the last possible minute and then scramble to finish in time begging for extensions along the way. I have a track record. In exchange for a paycheck, they are making me suffer very reasonable expectations.
I won't be able to post about the record setting Limbo run last evening. Or the smashing 2:30 800's I recently ripped off. Mainly because I accomplished neither. But had I done so, you would not be able to learn about it.
And who's fault would that be? Mine? I'm trying to cram 4 hours of work into an 8 hour day. I'm not Superman. I am each of those root words individually but not as part of a conjunction.
My twenty minutes are nearly up. I'm a hunt and peck typist as you can tell. My employer is handing out paychecks today and, one can only assume, they expect some services in exchange. I will not play the fool to anyone. But I need race entry fees and shoes, so this monkey is going to dance for the grinder.
Let the work begin! I feel a work PR today. Mmmmm, I love the smell of dusty keyboards and coffee breath in the morning.
Thanks for the ear bud tips! A certain brand of Sony bud seemed to be the most popular. I will need to check those out. During last evening's budless run, I caught myself visibly less angry and - dare I say - enchanted by the sounds of children's laughter from a nearby park. As a result, the sneering glance I shot their way was half-hearted at best. This cannot continue. I need some hard driving tunes to drown these mushy sounds out and restore my healthy, righteous indignation. Good day.