Thursday, 12 May 2016


The joys of running a new trial at work are quickly becoming lost to me.

For a start, I’m not running the new trial. Somebody else is. Somebody who is doing everything in a way which I wouldn’t choose to do it. Or “wrong” as I prefer to call it.

Secondly, I’m currently on the 4.0 version of the training notes for the new process and guess what task I like least of all tasks involved in implementing a new process.

Go on.


Thirdly, our current problem solving practice is similar to pressing down on bubbles in wallpaper. You think you’ve solved it but if you just move your eyes slightly to the left…

Fourthly, writing this was meant to be therapeutic but instead I’m just getting riled up. That’s not what writing is meant to do. It’s meant to be a release.

The trial has broken my release!

Okay, possibly I can’t blame the trial for that. I should perhaps blame my overactive, anxiety-ridden brain.

But why is my brain anxiety-ridden to begin with?

Well, yeah, genetics. I blame the parents. If I weren’t riled up about this, I’d be obsessing about the spider in the corner of the bathroom that I only ever see after I step out of the shower, which means I’m practically naked and not in a position to take a fighting stance.

Dang. And now I’ve just revealed that I shower naked. Like a pervert, or something.

I’m going before I get myself in any more trouble. After all, I’m already naked on the Internet.

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