As life usually has it with me, had some potential Pulitzer prize winning ideas to blog about till lunchtime today and then some quirk at work caught me up in an energy sapping whirlwind and left me a gibbering idiot. This post hence should be taken in the same vein. Preferably not as by a gibbering idiot but by a work-induced-energy-sapping-whirlwind victim.
There comes a time in one's life (or maybe it's just mine) that one realizes that making plans is a terrible idea. I often get asked why I don't like open-ended plans or run-time schemes or just some unforeseen incident turning my extracurricular life into jeopardy... Or why I don't take off holidays into some unknown uncharted land, or even a known charted one with a backpack and a hitchhiker's guide... Or why I eat and relish meat when I shouldn't be (but that's a digression).
The point of this of course is my work. Over the past many days, months and year I've begun to realize that the near-anal precision with which I (like to) plan my time outside of work is essentially a reflection of the helplessness of trying to preempt what a typical work day would be like. There is no regularity to things, no monotony that I can take for granted and tell old friends, new friends, girl friends and ex-girl friends that I'll be able to meet them at a particular time and place.
How do I deal with it? I blog and rant and rave and crib. And I'm done now.
More on the joys of life once I come to terms with the day.
