Like a one-eyed man at a peep show.

Work is heating up again, to the point where I'm certain a disastrous failure is on the horizon sometime soon -- except there's not a damn thing I can do about it. It's like the elephant is crapping on the table and folks keep frowning at me for asking where the mop is. I'll just carry on, time-stamping the piles of dung as they land so I can document having said "told you so" when it happens. That, and dedicate plenty of time to Nine Fires so I have a better safety net.

In the meantime, gallows humor and rampant innuendo are salve for my soul. I know I ought to strive for content of more...er, content...but this is mostly functioning as a safe place for me to balance out my Working Self with Playful Self. (Am I mixing enough metaphors here?)

If I'm on IM or LJ a lot in the coming weeks, please be assured my productivity isn't suffering. It's a strange paradox for me, that being in frantic composition mode in this way actually stimulates more productivity. It also keeps me from eating 40 gallons of ice cream at my desk to cope with the stress and makes me a more pleasant person to live with when I get home. It's either that, or start composing Really Bad Haiku.

Game on, baby.