Work And The Girl In The Black Converse ( Pomodoro 20170223 )
Been a long time.
Yesterday morning a boss snuck up behind me and caught me reading a football article. I didn’t even have my work up. Nothing came of it. I played it off as still getting stuff set up after updates were ran on our computers. He came back, but what lit a fire until my ass was the deadline of a week from tomorrow. I worked all day yesterday, no POM breaks, even put in some time after work yesterday evening.
Today though, sitting down at my machine, I just wanted to cry. I couldn’t do it again and I’m not sure I can. So I figured I might as well do a POM break. Force myself to even, hopefully make myself feel better.
I have made progress for the project for him, but not as much as I would like.
I’m worried the whole thing won’t work, but I keep plugging along.
That was a quick POM. Had a meeting in between. Sort of a weird mathematical coincidence that their was time left after the meeting was over on this POM. My worries continue but I will reach out to some bosses tomorrow and explain my concerns, worst case I’ll have to do a bunch of stuff over again but at least they’ll know where I’m at.
Weather is supposed to be rolling in, perhaps causing me to have to work from home again tomorrow, I’m really hoping against that, I’d really rather speak to them in person.
I try really hard not to just journal in these things, part of the reason is that it doesn’t really do me much good, the other is that it makes my journal at the end of the day seem repetitive and pointless.
So, what then is the point of all of this? I don’t have project data collection to write about often, I don’t have
Away from the keyboard for break number three so this is actually break number four.
I feel somewhat better, but things keep piling up in my mind, worries waiting in line to stress me out.
I thought about going in a completely different direction for this entry, just start writing fiction for no reason, something to get away from the usual boring post.
After that first sentence I pondered why I do this at all. No one reads this, and why should they? A chronicle of some guy whining at and about work. Couldn’t be more boring.
I put out a blog on my more public blog. My blog I actually share with the public, that my friends and family know about. I emailed a bunch of people, felt pretty sad and pathetic. “Please Read My Blog”. That’s not what I said, but that’s what it felt like I was saying. I was really proud of the finished product. My stepdaughter re-read it to me aloud because she likes to read to me and I was thinking “wow, I MADE that”. The long point I’m trying to make is that even the public, contact everyone I know blog, the one everyone knows abo-
What I was getting at was that I got about 40ish hits total. But that wasn’t the point of this blog, or at least I keep saying that.
I am self conscious about talking in circles now.
I was happy that I got off onto a non-journalistic tangent for at least a while though. I should just pick something random and write about it. Snails or something.
Snails are gross. I had a terrapin who ate a snail or two,….actually it was a slug. Both of which are basically snot come to life, the only difference is the presence of a protective shell.
I think the next POM has to be a work of fiction, a sketch if you will. We’ll see how it goes. I’m down to 20 seconds……..8……4…..
Sitting on the concrete slab that used to run even with boxcar doors she looked out into the alley. Old brick buildings in all directions.
Looking down the neglected rails looked as though they were sinking into the cement, as if the cement was mud and the rusty rails were sticks dropped from an industrial tree long ago.
Her flannel shirt flapped in the wind as bags and the debris blew down the empty street.
Without much thought she drew a pen from her jeans and pulled one black converse covered foot up from it’s dangled position off of the slab.
Soon she was drawing a flower with her purple pin on the white borders of the side of her shoe. Butterflies and stars looked on as the flowers took shape.
A distant rumble grew louder, the unmistakeable sound of a semi-truck headed down the otherwise vacant street towards her.
She didn’t look up as it rumbled by at low speed.
Content with her new purple flowers her pen returned to the jeans pocket from which it had come.
That last POM break went pretty well, but it was a long time ago, pre-lunch and pre-lunch aftermath.
I seriously considered taking my laptop with me into the bathroom, the unsanitariness that couldn’t be washed from my laptop is the only thing that stopped me.
I have maybe one more full POM in me, then I’ll do the journal and call it a day. I can’t imagine my stomach has much more in it, but every time I think that…..
I did like writing fiction even if for five minutes.
I struggled with words I ordinarily wouldn’t have because I wanted to keep going and knew I was on a time crunch. I think I might just revisit the girl on the loading dock drawing on her shoe, or perhaps I won’t. I can’t really tell when I sit down to write fiction it’s like no matter what I thought I was going to write about things tend to take on a life of their own, out of my control.
Blizzard conditions are being talked about, I’m bummed, I don’t want to spent another day working from home, but I learned my lesson by just gunning it to work. It’s a lot farther there then I think, and the possibility it’s worse on the other end of the commute. I fail to consider the distance is great enough that even if it’s just barely a drizzle here it could be a blizzard on the outskirts of the big city.