FUCKING WORK

An old Trivial Pursuit question: What is considered the coward's weapon?

At age of ten, I responded – Poison.
Made sense to me. Inject a beef stick with a deadly toxin, go to work, come home, mop the floor, get a bag of lime, wheelbarrow, shovel, 4x4, …mission accomplished.

The printed answer is the gun.
I assume because long distance and ease signifcantly reduces accountability as well as the risk of personal injury.
Still, in my opinion, way way too personal to make the call that it’s a more viable option than poison for the faint of strength. Though much quicker, the gunshot, not that easy to clean up, or watch happen
(the first I've seen true; therefore, the latter I'm assuming).

I’d like to submit a potential question of my own.
What is considered the coward’s confrontation?


My card says- hands down- Email.

Aside from those written to eliminate relaying bad news in person, “howdy” fluff, or intercontinental love connections, email reigns sovereign as the best tool for one-sided defensive agitation. Only problem is that the fear of physical discussion usually tends to produce those tedious, lengthy 7 page messages that the addressee usually skims and deletes, or skims and retains a specific negativity mentioned (normally out of context) solely for harbored ammunition.
No matter how it ends. Or why it began.

An effective, rent-free storage for logging one’s unheard grievances, the coward's relief and sent folder proof pacifies the inability to see that the arguement outgoes one-sided because that is the only one there is.
It’s as much wasted as it isn't fun. The absence of paperwork completely eliminates any opportunity to prove how highly flammable bullshit is.
I'll admit, the delete icon is slightly quicker than torching shit,
but I keep my lighter pretty close to the mouse...
just in case.

Not today though.
I was the first to receive one of these at my job.
At my job.
I responded to the question.
Got another even longer response with no regard to my answer. 6 pages.
Didn't read it, walked into my boss's office and told him were having a meeting TODAY.
I replied back then with the meeting time, explaining that we were all going to sit down, find out what the fuck is the(/your) problem and to stop these emails right fucking now. (though not verbatim, the last six words are quotable).
Meeting, over. No more.
Good for me.
Good for us.

9-10-04
That is, however, until I learned there was another one sent today.
Not copied to me this time, so, cool, not my problem anymore.
Then I was told it was sent as an attachment.
As a .pdf file.
Very unfortunately, I was a little hasty earlier in using the word "unheard."
A slight pat on the back for knowing instantly and telling my boss,
.pdf means it's now everyone's problem.

Fucking work

Therefore i googled...

I am reminded of all the shows I stage managed.

Too many wonderful blogs slipped by these last weeks as they often do. A real shame this time though. Yeah, we always say we'll come back to them, but I know better.

A lot of crazy and beautiful pieces I have lived recently have almost evaporated completely. Nostalgia stealthily snatched them one by one faster than they could travel from eye to hand. All stolen before I had the chance to hold them. From a string of fantastic events only distant flashes remain. I keep straining to focus them, not for escape or to replay so not forgotten, but to remember that I felt that good just so short a time ago.

It has been a year of extreme highs and lows. I have learned to look for their balance whether potentially there or not. I have yet to be denied leveled scales this year, every single time, gift or price.

Even with this fortune, it is still very hard to trust that the next one won't be the first.

My fear a blindfold, I outstretch my arm and wait.