One night this week I didn’t have to
grocery shop, go meet a group of hopeful strivers, or
fix a document the damn phone wouldn’t stop for all day.
This job
takes something out of me. Most think it’s the screen time,
but I like the predictable blink of the cursor, the average
of the e-mail response time. What gets me is the relentlessness
of the vague: being switched away from a problem I was gaining on,
listening to someone for some clue one of us knows
what they’re talking about. Sleep doesn’t cure it. It’s like
being woken up 16 times a day.
poetrytech 
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