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Sure, they're cute now, but in a second they're gonna get mean, and they're gonna get ugly somehow.

Posted on 2006.08.15 at 13:26


dreamkatch at 2006-08-16 16:06 (UTC) (Link)
This is sounding like things at my work. At least your boss seems to be a little bit understanding of the situation. My boss insists that I'm not trying hard enough. I work like crazy here, and then I work overtime, and then I take the rest home. I just can't do it all, every day I have a pile of things left over from the day before, as well as a whole new pile. And every time a little more gets carried over and carried over, until I'm handing in proposals for work that was completed by another company a month ago.

My boss is micro managing lately too - going over everything I do, double checking, pointing out if I forgot to capitalize a word that should have been capitalized on an invoice. Who cares. The problem here is not a typo on an invoice, it's that I have 500 more invoices to do and no time to do it!

Priorities, people.

Anyway, I empathize with you. Sorry to vent on your venting entry.
ehowton at 2006-08-16 19:22 (UTC) (Link)
You've hit the nail on the head. And there's nothing that can be done about it. No course of action to take. We just keep doing what we do.

And for the record, you're welcome to do absolutely anything on this blog you wish to. No one will stop you. For example, I sometimes say things on other peoples blog I would never repeat on my own. So consider my space a tool, if you will, to use as you see fit.
leonardii at 2006-08-17 07:04 (UTC) (Link)
I like to vent on other peoples blogs too. :)

I'm thinking - "I should be writing this stuff on my own blog."

But then, it's all about just getting it out there, isn't it.
Tomas Gallucci
schpydurx at 2006-08-24 21:11 (UTC) (Link)
To be or not to be–that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep–
No more–and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to–'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep–
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin. Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And eterprised of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
leonardii at 2006-08-26 21:31 (UTC) (Link)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
Tomas Gallucci
schpydurx at 2006-08-26 21:32 (UTC) (Link)
Tomas Gallucci
schpydurx at 2006-08-24 21:03 (UTC) (Link)
I will keep that in mind: you are a tool
Tomas Gallucci
schpydurx at 2006-08-24 21:01 (UTC) (Link)
this is called "tyranny of the urgent." It too shall pass.
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