I’m being put in charge of more things! Whoa! That’s just fancy. Except a raise hasn’t been discussed at all… and I haven’t gotten my commission…

But it’s okay, because this job is functional. It gives me time to write, it gives me time to learn, it gives me time to hug Jackie and take my puppy to the vet. I think I’m coming to terms with the fact that I probably won’t conquer the planet with my glorious ideas, but if I’m happy, well that’s enough, right?

It’s funny how often people think I’m unhappy because I whine about problems in the world, and rage impotently, and find injustice and sadness on a daily basis. But I’m not unhappy with *my* life. I’m quite happy. And quite lucky. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be upset about the issues that plague humanity daily. Pointing out, and being upset by, the flaws of the world doesn’t make me *sad*. It makes me a human being.

I find it more disturbing that there are people, billions of them!, that would find me to be the odd one for caring so much about people I’ll never meet. Their powers of cognitive dissonance are apparently much stronger than mine.

The voluntary extinction agenda seems more and more attractive.


About kylock

Man, biographies are really hard to write because sometimes you just don't know what to write about and then you ramble on pointlessly for a while about your hobbies (video games, reading, programming) and end up boring your readers because they expect something witty and insightful (there are only two ways to save money, neither of which involves hookers) and then readership falls off and you cry yourself to sleep.
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