" no dreams, no reality "

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sleeping is important. if you don't sleep a fair amount of eight hours a night, you ain't good to a god damn thing in the following eight hours. it's just a fact.

work is not fun. it is not forwarding or savvy or enjoyable or any of the things that one can consider a beneficial challenge. it is hard and toilsome, wretched at times, hurtful and most of all, time-consuming.

although i cannot completely poo-poo the whole thing as a lump-sum sort of event; "this job," "this year," or "this period of employment."

there are too many inexplicable facets of this job that no one will ever understand; to say that we have a successful show going on and on and on, is a credit to the core group of professional unprofessionals in our office.

you think about the fact that 9-11 of us run a show, cooking contest, production house, office, paperwork, accounting firm, delivery service, internationally broadcast dual-language program, along with the personal affairs of our common boss, and you begin to see how amazing people really are, and how much normal people in rare situations can accomplish many things beyond the considered "day-to-day" or "9-to-5."

there is no middle management, or management structure for that matter. for all purposes of analogy, we work in a bee hive or an ant colony, except there are no babies to kill things for, or winged variants within the ranks. we are without rank and dignity is produced by the bucketful.

and sleep is very important. it is the down-time one needs in order to be able to wake up. as of today, it still feels like i was cheated out of a week of sleep, going to bed at 4-5am every night and getting up at 8-1pm depending of if i give a shit. and i don't really, i mean about the job.

it's so abstract a description, it's not the job i find offensive, but the construct or lack thereof which pushes all of my buttons simultaneously. and i'm sick of seeing grown people cry for no good reason. every form of psychological abuse comes to the forefront of my mind like a moon-beam through a black forest.

instead of confirming the things that i find i am capable of doing, rather it defines the exact thing(s) that i never want to do ever again.

limits are defined and redefined, and yet i'm still here. i'm out of time for myself; out of like, out of love, out of umph and chutzpah. no more delusion or self-help or unnecessary moments of patience.

i've got to edit out this glitch. i've got to perform career-surgery to remove a malign job description. i've got to fill in the hole in the sand that has become my empty promise.

but let's see what tomorrow brings.

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