I am a baby.
A big fat fucking baby. I complain, I whine, I am generally a bitch to be around.
Of course, this is only at work. Outside of work, I am amiable, and likeable and, by most accounts, a good — if excessively loud — guy.
Work makes me crazy sometimes, and it is in those times that my temper flares to childish heights. I am well aware of it, and I can always feel a tantrum coming on, and I always feel bad when it’s done. Normally, I feel like it was somewhat warranted.
I am an even-keeled guy, for the most part. Sure, maybe a bit too emotional at times, maybe a bit too stoic at times. I try too hard to make people laugh, and sometimes, especially in writing, I tug at the heartstrings a little too much. In all the most important categories (not wanting to kill people, not being a pedophile, and having a decent sized vocabulary and general knowledge of the U.S. electoral system and a past history of U.S. presidents), I am at least around, if not above, the average.
Faults? I got ‘em, but everyone does. Dreams? Well, they are being trampled by the newspaper business, and I certainly feel my current employment situation isn’t helping that cause much.
I apologize for this opening rant. Tonight, my thoughts are on my job. To explain any further would be unfair to my employers and my coworkers. I don’t like to bitch in public too much, but just be aware there are people I work with who think I am a stark-raving lunatic, and I can fully understand why.
It’s a curse and a blessing at the same time. I am passionate about my work and I am passionate about the product I help build every day. I am proud of that passion. Trouble is I don’t always express that passion in the best possible way. I think I know more than I do, and I am wrong a lot more than I think I am. I also think that’s what makes me decent at my job. Look, I think I am an effective writer (but of course, you have to judge that for yourself), and I think a big part of that is passion. I see people in my business who have no passion, and it shows.