Once I decided to write this book my frustration with work became fertile. Incidents that routinely annoyed suddenly inspired. Heeding the popular proverb, I decided to make lemonade with my lemon, which is what my job represented. So, rather than venting vainly I decided to record my anguish on these pages. Things that I usually said in passing would now be compiled for publication. Doing so made sense but I couldn't see it before. I was complaining anyway, so why not write? Why not compose my complaints and put them into print.
This book blossomed from my efforts. It differs from the philosophical stuff I normally write. At least I sought to make it so. I wanted these words to be a narrative, ranting revelations of insanity. So, I have restricted but not revoked my philosophical license. I have also struggled to be honest. Yet I am not always as disgruntled as I appear. I am by nature intense. I expect greatness of myself and of others.
Moreover, while writing I found myself wanting to be fired. I imagined casually leaving some of the more pungent pieces on my desk in hopes that my boss would see them. He would, inevitably, call me into his office for an explanation. I, of course, would have none, nor would I seek one. Like the kleptomaniac, I too wanted to be caught. But I never got fired because I couldn't convince myself to display these pages prematurely. Discretion discouraged this folly.
So here I stand for all to see (and censure). But that's okay, because I've reconciled the present and now embrace the future. In it, I will be released from work and pulled into my purpose. I will no longer let bills bully my talent. After all, if I don't fulfill my vision I'll spend my life fulfilling someone else's.
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