If the last few posts sound like I’m “emotionally processing” that is because I am.

I had a really discouraging and humiliating week, capping a season and a half of joyless, stressful, tedious cranial labor.

I’ve been breathing sour air of ambient dislike. I’m covered all over with pin pricks and paper cuts inflicted by that polite open contempt practiced by corporate lifers. Chaos and formalism have joined forces to purge chaos of all freedom and formality of all order. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go read some Kafka.)

I am where I shouldn’t be, trying to do what I don’t do, and I’ve lived too long to believe this is my lot.