inquiry

I sit in a rather miraculous room, full of magical toys both arranged and strewn about in geological strata-ish layers, the accretion of objects representing hopes and dreams of some thing or another Finally Being It, i.e. finally producing ongoing – if not everlasting – happiness.

A junk heap, basically.

And I'd throw it all away like I wish I could unforget porn URLs, yet know ignorant cravings will make their inevitable rounds, no doubt leading to the repurchase of what was already purchased and discarded. So, may as well leave the heap undisturbed in the interests of economy.

I suppose write.as is technically such an object relative to other online “places” that were “it” for a season.

But it too shall pass into my digital memories heap as representing yet another crave-bordering hope for satisfying interaction that leadth unto mutual enlightenment.

(Something within – and I kid you not – just silently shouted “Silly boy!”)

Work is, well.. (let's just burrow a tired phrase, shall we?) “the cat's away”.

Right?

And so is the kitten of this house.

So one might say this mouse is doubly ecstatic. Cheese fun-due, peoples!

Now, how to become interested in work? How to – given we're talking software – become interested in tracking down code paths whose execution fails to align with hopes/expectations, and then no doubt walk the harrowing tightrope of refactoring over a body of foul water teeming with the crocodiles of fucking shit up irrevocably from a “how does this shit even work at all?” point of view regardless one's due versioning diligence?

Even Fear and Loathing count their lucky stars and fall to the ground in fits of thankful gratitude relative to that nightmare!

You know.