I have reached a point in life I never thought I'd reach: I'm tired of my job. For years, I've enjoyed it, looked forward to it each morning, and tried to do it well. On occasion, I would hit a slump: too much to do, a big matter requiring lots of time, or something else -- temporary -- that would bring me down. This time, however, it feels like a significant portion of my give-a-shit has just shriveled up and died. I really don't care about it anymore.
There are bills to pay, however, so I trudge along. (Is this what all the corproate-cubicle people feel like all the time? How does Dilbert do it?)
Observations, rants, and plausible
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
The Village
I AM WRITING!
My Screenplay -- Draft Three
I'm currently reading:
On my Kindle 2
I'm listening to:
iTunes Radio
I'm driving:
The Honda FCX Clarity
