Blase Malaise

Those darn French:
Blase (un-interested due to frequent exposure, derv. from to cloy ...to be chronically hung over). Malaise (vague uneasiness, discomfort). Who could say it better!

(And I don't even like French)

Funked out. Spent. Here.

On writing like a telegram, I heard Western Union has gotten rid of their age-old telegram service. Alas. For those aurally inclined, I found an interesting morse code generator at one of my favorite sites Generator Blog (see link in margin).

So, what gives? (I love 50's slang)
I suppose I'm morose from my performance at work. Love my job, hate my self-critic. I've been at it over 20 years, and I still think I could do better. (Hell, I still lesson plan, even!) Then, even on the days I feel I've done my dead-level best, the proof is not in the pudding. This is one of the hazards of being in a field where results and logic are fuzzy. If I were counting widgets passing on a belt, say, I could measure productivity and success with ease. So long as I am in a field working with others, no matter what I may do, how I may deliver, they may not get it.

This is not to say I'm blaming the receivers, nor the code. I keep the accusatory finger pointed at the sender, that is code-speak rhetoric for...me.

On good days, I see it as a challenge. I rise early (literally, usually about 4am) and set my mind to opening their minds. I scheme and skew and sweat and stew...I give it my all, my dead-level best (I even dress for success these days)...and then...

crickets...silence so deafening I can hear my pulse in my ears...unregistered, unmitigated, vacuous...ignorance. Sometimes, it's even confirmed by questions so fundamental it takes tact to address them nicely. So, I always (like today) take the blame and then sit and reflect over what I could do better.

*sigh*