Tuesday morning I made a midnight run to Roanoke wishing I was smuggling weed, delivering homemade sourmash, or doing it for some other reason than my corporate responsibility. I stood there in the mountains as the sun crested wondering why I was here and remembered to smother such notions lest I go insane and begin to think that somehow my job makes a difference. The moment we think out job matters is the moment we set ourselves up for pain. What happens when the job ends? Do you still matter? Yes…No…Why…Why Not…

Such questions deserve more chemical inducement than I could lay my hands on at 5 am in the Blue Ridge. Smother away amigo…smother away…

Back in the ignoble world of company time now…I’m supposed to be working. Obviously I’m not. The radio is on, the mind is full and the fingers are click clack tapping their way through the day.

Upper, crusty managers are coming in. They’re setting up power point presentations as if anyone will give a shit, or listen, or remember. The power is in their misguided belief that this horse shit party accounts for an iota of relevance beyond the making, saving, and spending of a green piece of paper. Yes, I need the green paper. So do you…but seriously…Do we really need to put “our hearts” into it? Do we need to “give it our best”?

My heart is busy with a wife, four kids, and few friends still around…

My best goes into providing, writing, drinking, laughing, joking and my own twisted version of commuter karaoke…

Eleanor Rigby just came on. A reminder…no doubt.

Ah, look at all the lonely people picking up the rice of their life hoping someone will catch them darning their socks and maybe, maybe somebody will be saved…this time…

One of the upper, crusty managers came in and requested my presence. The green paper calls…

Time to give the quarter of my best the job deserves….

-John.

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