In an introspective mood this evening, as the season is gradually transitioning from the punishing heat of summer to the fog-swathed damp of autumn.
As my workworld swirls around me, I am in a fog of my own. Distracted by many odd images and impressions, the chaos of IT is white noise. There is some heartbreak in these observations: the colleague for whom workworld is the escape from a nightmarish home life; another who cannot afford to buy the company-subsidized health insurance for her children and tells them be very careful and not get ill; still another whose arrogance is less irritating and more pitiful, a desperate need for superiority that makes me simultaneously wish to hug him and slap him upside the head.
Tomorrow I may don the armour again, returning to my comfortable cynicism; for now, this song is of the moment.