Stupid are the meek
It took 3 minutes to cruise to work today in a blur of amber lights, talking to myself all the way. Remember in American Beauty when Annette Bening is scrubbing windows, "I will sell this house today... I will sell this house today..."? With me it's all about talking myself into showing a hint of confidence instead of slinking around the place, to not look like I will crumble if there's the slightest bit of criticism, not to let it show that I get so overwhelmed by the work. I have this terrible face that is incapable of hiding anything. I never look professional. When the boss approaches me, or any colleague for that matter, I am all quiet and meek as if I was sent to the principals office at school.





It gets better, baby!
It's about the only good thing about getting old: you get really good at pretending you know what you're on about. And you care a lot less.
I used to shuffle and slink too and be terribly intimidated by posers and people all dressed in black. These days I derive great pleasure from presenting these hyper-cool types my maddest, woggiest persona and watch them cringe in terror because I might make one of my uncool jokes again - and then glare at them if they don't laugh. Hah! The Power Of Not Caring Anymore!