Ah the nuances of the daily grind that erodes at the essence of my soul. I fear this job is making me boring... or maybe just making me rash.
Few enjoy stirring the pot more than I do. Nothing satisfies me more than opening a can of worms and watching the havoc follow. But what I relish in is the understanding that follows, the growth that takes place in this fertile thought-soil. It feeds my soul, and in this barren landscape I try to create such opportunities probably too often and too bluntly, where as I think they might come more naturally and more effectively if I had dwelt in a more edifying environment, and was more consistently exposed to my comrades-in-learning. Ah yes, this rare growth needs to come more often, if I don't grow I rot, and I have too much rotting of late.
Ever thankful am I for those with whom I dwell, whose rare natural curiousities, empahties and passions for life water my soils almost daily.
I want to share their wisdom, and facebook is my forwarding option. I drop bombs to clear the way for their sensibilities, and they sow some pretty great seeds.
Boo. I am dispassionate because I love to learn, I enjoy competition, I enjoy being challenged. I spend 8 hours of each day despondent and bored and tired of being bored, and 2 hours trying to get to and from it. My enthusiasm and optimism could only take so many beatings, so many disappointments. Now I am just adjusting to the terms of surrender. I work, I try, I even go the occasional extra mile, I also earn some pretty good money, and I suffer. However the smile I come home to makes it worth the while, at least, for now. It gives me life. It is my life.
That.
And starcraft.
I'm allowed to write these in advance, right?
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