Entry for June 19, 1997

Thursday, June 19, 1997 -- St.Louis

Started, Read, And Finished Emily Devenport's Scorpianne today. Now I only have two more of her books to read...as soon as I find them. I woke up early this morning, long before my alarm clock went off. I slid out of bed, checked email, ironed my shirt, and jacket, and headed for hte airport.
The flight was on time, and fairly uneventful. I spent most of it dreading the coming meeting. Knowing the owrk I had done was not my best. Trying to figureout how I was going to get out of this.

I wanted to lie.
I wanted to quit.
I wanted out.
So I made a short list of diverting questions, and hoped I could steer the meeting as I did so long ago at Guilford.
At some point, sitting in a cubical, I pulled out disk #3 and I ran the eraser of my pencil accross both sides of it's mettalic disk. Hoping to destroy it. The install went easily. One of the easiest I had ever done.
If the director of IT had not been there. Or, if his boss, the VP in charge of Finance had not, then I might have succeeded. Big VP was pissed. Director of IT jumped, rightly on my case.
He was nice, but firm. Told me what I'd done wrong. Got a Project Manager to be a boss for me, Now I won't be working alone. I'll have the boss I need for sanity. It's basically what I wanted.
I'm glad he chose to chew me out. I deserved it. I think that the wrong lessons I learned at NIS are tainting what I do.
Am i blaming NIS? Yes, in part I am. I was a hardworking, eager, work-ethic kind of guy when I started there. When I left, I was lazy and useless.
I'm slowly rebuilding myself, Block by Block. One of the things I need is a good boss.

Fear: Will writing suffer the same fate? Is it just an escape, a refugeaway from facing my real problems?
I sigh, and sit back, looking through the 6th story window at the downtown of a suburb of St.Louis. It's really a pretty town. I could probably live here. I'm not sure I want to, however.
If I do decide tomove here, it will be a decision for stayin in programming, instead of one to do the writing.
That is my major hestiancy. Do I want to further my career? Is there even hope for that? Perhaps I've already reached my level of incompetence.
And thats why I write. I love it, and always have. Creation brings me joy, with the little children of my mind.
That's why I'm writing now, in this conference room. Why I worked on a story on the plane here. Why it chases my blues away.
I'm trying to remember who said this, but it's been said: "Do what you love, and the money will follow." My faith in this platitude defines the risk I take.

Generic Joe's A Typical Male

Thursday, June 19, 1997 -- St.Louis
Started, Read, And Finished Emily Devenport's Scorpianne today. Now I only have two more of her books to read...as soon as I find them.		I woke up early this morning, long before my alarm clock went off. I slid out of bed, checked email, ironed my shirt, and jacket, and headed for hte airport. The flight was on time, and fairly uneventful. I spent most of it dreading the coming meeting. Knowing the owrk I had done was not my best. Trying to figureout how I was going to get out of this. I wanted to lie. I wanted to quit. I wanted out. So I made a short list of diverting questions, and hoped I could steer the meeting as I did so long ago at Guilford. At some point, sitting in a cubical, I pulled out disk #3 and I ran the eraser of my pencil accross both sides of it's mettalic disk. Hoping to destroy it. The install went easily. One of the easiest I had ever done. If the director of IT had not been there. Or, if his boss, the VP in charge of Finance had not, then I might have succeeded. Big VP was pissed. Director of IT jumped, rightly on my case. He was nice, but firm. Told me what I'd done wrong. Got a Project Manager to be a boss for me, Now I won't be working alone. I'll have the boss I need for sanity. It's basically what I wanted. I'm glad he chose to chew me out. I deserved it. I think that the wrong lessons I learned at NIS are tainting what I do. Am i blaming NIS? Yes, in part I am. I was a hardworking, eager, work-ethic kind of guy when I started there. When I left, I was lazy and useless. I'm slowly rebuilding myself, Block by Block. One of the things I need is a good boss. Fear: Will writing suffer the same fate? Is it just an escape, a refugeaway from facing my real problems? I sigh, and sit back, looking through the 6th story window at the downtown of a suburb of St.Louis. It's really a pretty town. I could probably live here. I'm not sure I want to, however. If I do decide tomove here, it will be a decision for stayin in programming, instead of one to do the writing. That is my major hestiancy. Do I want to further my career? Is there even hope for that? Perhaps I've already reached my level of incompetence. And thats why I write. I love it, and always have. Creation brings me joy, with the little children of my mind. That's why I'm writing now, in this conference room. Why I worked on a story on the plane here. Why it chases my blues away. I'm trying to remember who said this, but it's been said: "Do what you love, and the money will follow." My faith in this platitude defines the risk I take.
Generic Joe's A Typical Male

Thursday, June 19, 1997 -- St.Louis

Generic Joe's A Typical Male