u235

Maybe Bowie could turn a poetic phrase to describe a festering hell... but me? I just work there.

It's fascinating how in the span of a phone call the fate of the world can seemingly rest solely upon your shoulders, and the task you're burdened with becomes of the utmost, frantic, diamond-hard focus. You are the nexus, and time passes only in relation to you and what you have left to accomplish.

Planning is garbage. There is no planning, only speculation, which by some essential law of the nature (yet undocumented but well known) MUST be wrong. What time was budgeted was far, far to short for the herculean effort at hand for so many reasons it could fill an ocean (were each reason a single drop of water).

The situation gets more poignant as the sun goes down, and coworkers head off for the weekend (naturally this happens more on Fridays than any other day). People cheerfully getting into their cars, happy to even sit in a traffic jam because they don't have to think about work for the next 48 hours.

{unfinished.....}