Surrealism

October 19, 2005

I find that my sense of the surreal in all of this is increasing. At my employment engagement we are engaged in a week-long series of meetings to "clarify" various points of the application to be designed and built. The conversations are often long and drawn out, with multiple perspectives and opinions from all corners of the room. Then, when all is said and done, it is decided that the word "custom" should be changed to "other." Until someone objects and the whole situation spins out of control again; finally coming to rest on the word "additional."

And all the while in my head there is a voice screaming "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ARGUING ABOUT? THIS IS ALL MEANINGLESS. IN FIVE YEARS NO ONE WILL CARE. HELL IN TWELVE MONTHS NO ON WILL GIVE A SHIT!"

While I may regain my ability to understand the meaningless drivel and minutia that fill in for truth in my job, for now I am unable to comprehend the words individually, much less make sense of the higher order sentence construct in which they are participating.

I am simply moving through life now, like driftwood on the ocean, carried uncaring by currents, tossed and turned by wind and waves, and all the while being carried relentlessly away from the familiar shoreline of my life with Michele by the ceaseless tide of time. I can't even get worked up what shoreline the tide is taking me towards, or even if there is another shoreline for me.

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Mark H. Nichols

I am a husband, cellist, code prole, nerd, technologist, and all around good guy living and working in fly-over country. You should follow me on Twitter.