Fun fact: in the penultimate stage of my anger, I cry. Not sobbing or anything, but leaking around the eyes, sniffling, and constricted voice. The effect gets worse the harder I try to reign the anger in. In the past this has lead to some interesting misunderstandings--namely that I'm not about the beat the fuck out of you. Also, as humiliating as it is to cry when you're angry, I bet it's twice as humiliating to get your ass handed to you by someone bawling.
Yesterday morning at work, I was reminded of this fact again and again as I tried to keep my cool. I did keep my shit together with a supreme effort. Then I did what I should have done in the first place: I fixed the problem without waiting for input or blessing from my boss or project management. That took until three this morning, and it felt like I was twenty again and all this was new.
This morning as I'm slung out in a pair of running shorts, I find that I'm not still twenty and that I've been doing what I do professionally for nearly a decade. Then, I would have been up and scrubbed and ready to join the fray again. Now, I'm hunched over a bowl of yogurt and granola, listening to a mash-up of Blondie's "Rapture" and "Riders on the Storm". I've just finished watching the latest episode of Entourage. I alternate between looking at the computer and reading the book perched on my knee, the latest edition of Guns, Germs, and Steel. None of this is out of the ordinary for me, but the fact that I dread going to work today is the big change.
For a few weeks, when I was skunk-working this project with another engineer that was cutting code when I was cutting my first teeth, it was magical again. I was in love again. Then management got involved, and they stole my joy.
They stole my joy.
Another interesting thing is happening at work: the new, cute receptionist and the new, cute, married project manager go inordinately out of their way to come visit my office or speak to me. Even I'm not dense enough to miss the signals. But beyond any other issues, I learned that you don't eat where you shit the hard way a long, long time ago.
I am a little baffled as to why they'd flirt with me--giant, pale, pudgy, looming goon that I am. Then again, a girl told me: "I was attracted to you even when I was calling you high maintenance." So what do I know?
As I was getting dressed, iTunes played "I Disappear", "Leaving Song (Part 1)", and "Redemption Song" in a row. Thanks, iTunes. I needed that.
Yesterday morning at work, I was reminded of this fact again and again as I tried to keep my cool. I did keep my shit together with a supreme effort. Then I did what I should have done in the first place: I fixed the problem without waiting for input or blessing from my boss or project management. That took until three this morning, and it felt like I was twenty again and all this was new.
This morning as I'm slung out in a pair of running shorts, I find that I'm not still twenty and that I've been doing what I do professionally for nearly a decade. Then, I would have been up and scrubbed and ready to join the fray again. Now, I'm hunched over a bowl of yogurt and granola, listening to a mash-up of Blondie's "Rapture" and "Riders on the Storm". I've just finished watching the latest episode of Entourage. I alternate between looking at the computer and reading the book perched on my knee, the latest edition of Guns, Germs, and Steel. None of this is out of the ordinary for me, but the fact that I dread going to work today is the big change.
For a few weeks, when I was skunk-working this project with another engineer that was cutting code when I was cutting my first teeth, it was magical again. I was in love again. Then management got involved, and they stole my joy.
They stole my joy.
Another interesting thing is happening at work: the new, cute receptionist and the new, cute, married project manager go inordinately out of their way to come visit my office or speak to me. Even I'm not dense enough to miss the signals. But beyond any other issues, I learned that you don't eat where you shit the hard way a long, long time ago.
I am a little baffled as to why they'd flirt with me--giant, pale, pudgy, looming goon that I am. Then again, a girl told me: "I was attracted to you even when I was calling you high maintenance." So what do I know?
As I was getting dressed, iTunes played "I Disappear", "Leaving Song (Part 1)", and "Redemption Song" in a row. Thanks, iTunes. I needed that.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
I think Mr S may be right.