Numbers

Like many people, I'm watching the Olympics right now and thinking about the training, the accomplishment, the honor and pride, the disappointment, everything that goes into the games and makes them gigantic and global. There's no shortage of dedication and discipline at the Olympics, even for those who don't qualify (this time). I've never watched before, and I'm glad I finally have.

Because when compared to real life and this shitty job, there is a real drought of inspiration.

Everything about the Olympics is fast and precise, and a lot of attention is paid to numbers. A tiny number will decide who becomes a champion and who will have to try again another time. Events like downhill skiing and speed skating take place in relatively small amounts of time. Athletes are training for the most important minute of their lives.

Minutes last forever in a shitty job. And nothing happens. The numbers don't matter because you are the numbers. Scrooge McDuck was walking around my office during my lunch hour today, probably expecting all of us to be at lunch. I was still there, working on personal things that required the computer. Since we're moving, they're bringing in all these people to look at the office. But the bosses are still whispering about it and being pointlessly discreet. Kind of like talking about an elderly relative dying while they're sitting across from you at Thanksgiving. Anyway, McDuck says, "There are like 22 of them." Not "We have [an exact number] of members in our editorial staff." Just "like 22 of them." Like desk chairs. Or piles of crap. "We have like 22 piles of crap."

As numbers, we have nothing setting us apart from the other. We could produce and produce and produce, and they'd say, "Good - we've met our goals." We are simply part of the machine, and the things we produce are useless, empty, inconsequential. Working in a horrible job is probably the exact opposite of the Olympics. Instead of fighting and training for the perfect timing, precision, and zazz, we just fester. I seek the satisfaction of creative victory outside of work, but work is where I spend the bulk of my day, and there is no avoiding that until I can find something new. I can fight and train for another job, but as long as I'm at this place, the fight will never have my undivided attention. Nothing can. The best I can do is give what I can before collapsing into a glob of eyestrain and lack of sleep.

What a fucking downer. Plus they fired our IT guy. He was this perfectly friendly guy who vaguely reminded me of my dad. But if something is going wrong, it's always the IT guy's fault if he can't fix it immediately. He was a sweet guy. I hope he realizes that this was the best thing that could happen to him. He will surely find better work at a better company, and I really, truly wish him the best. He was at our beck and call every waking moment of the day, and got so much shit if he couldn't rectify a situation to their liking. Fuck them, IT guy. I am sending positive karmic vibes your way. Godspeed to you, and may you find something soon. In the meantime, enjoy your time away from this fucking shitheap.