There's Busy... and then there's busy.
Interesting projects, brilliant colleagues, challenging work, great leadership... but sometimes you can have too much of a good thing. Too much work and too little blogging make Crabby very crabby. I never thought I'd be in a position to have nothing to say, or to be too busy to say anything. If Mr. Crabby or Albino Gator are lurking, they won't believe it either. But lately, I've had nothing to say.
I declined a job offer earlier this month in order to stay with Crabby Corp, where I have been working for a full and happy seven months. Since then, Mr. Crabby has had occasion to say "do you regret your decision," because things have been rather tense at work. Here I sit, on December 23rd, and my colleagues are being worked like farm animals. My boss asked me to invite everybody to a wee get-together in the boardroom, if they had time, and if they would like to partake in some holiday cheer. Most of them returned my invitation with a terse glare. They report to another, less festive boss. They are overworked, given the time of year. It made me sad. So I had a glass of wine in each of their names.
So things have been busy. I have nothing to say, because I have too much to do. I went to bed at 7:45 last night. I may have lost all my readership (is that a word?), but I promise to do better. In fact, I promise to:
Blog more.
Drink less (during the week).
Fit into those pants.
Be more patient with (stewpid) people.
See more of my friends.
Write more poems.
Launch a poetry reading series at a local pub.
Take more naps. Yes, more.
Finally make a damn decision about getting a damn dog.
Also, I plan to cook more wholesome and freezable foods on weekends, so there is always something at the ready on hectic week nights. Why are weeknights hectic anyway? It's just the two of us. No kids, no problems, just crazy work schedules I guess. Anyway, if I can distance my cats from their relationship with the Holy Chow delivery guy, I'll declare success and go home.
Go home. Sounds like a good idea.
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