Them Bones

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I look at that little calendar on the right column and I see that I’ve been remiss in my posts. Much as I try, I just can’t snatch the time to get my thoughts down into the blog. I am constantly sidetracked. Yes, work gets in the way. Yes, real life intrudes.

Work and life are at a clash lately. And when I say life, I of course mean the life that is outside of work, who I am outside of the job that boxes me in just so. I’d like to be always careful in what I post here, since I realize that I could be held responsible (so adult!) for work related blogging. Sigh.

Lately though, I can feel the demands of this job choking the life out of me. And it’s not even the actual tasks or the extent of the responsibility, I’d like to believe I have a firm enough handle on all that. It’s the little itty-bitty things that do me in: the demented politics, the subtle whoring, the boxing in, the subtext that is there for me read. Apparently, to me those things are not of little consequence after all.

It’s debilitating—when you understand how these things must work, when you know that what’s being done is not just, is not right—when it goes against your gut and yet you are expected to play along.

This kind of play tires me, it eats me up, it becomes a malaise that goes straight to my bones. Them bones, they complain to me, they are tired of being bogged down with such nonsense.

Gawd, the things you have to put up with to make a living around here.


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