FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

A few days ago, as I plodded drowsily out of the lift, on my way to work, I almost fell over two fat little brown fur balls wrestling away at the gate. Young pups having a good time in the mild winter sun, without a care in the world.. they were tubby, round little barrels that could barely waddle.

As they realised that a dark shadow blocked the sun, two sets of melting brown eyes turned to look sheepishly at me. A paw darted out suddenly onto my foot, and then a cold nose started sniffing the straps on my sandals. As I tugged at the floppy ear to get him away, he lost interest in me and decided to gambol away with his tail in the air. Cheeky, I tell you.

Yesterday, as everyday, I looked around for them as I entered. I didn't see them. As I climbed the stairs, I spotted them sitting meekly under the bench, heads on their paws. I patted them on the head, to no response. I tugged an ear, and an eye opened and then shut, sadly, again. They were pining. I asked why, only to discover that there had been no sign of their mother for an entire day.

On my way to work this morning, I saw only my fat, once irrepressibly cheeky brat lying exactly where he'd been the day before. This time, even a tug on the ear didn't get an eye to open. His meek, shy sibling had disappeared.

He had all the sympathy in the world, he was showered with love by people all around. But he lacked the companionship of his kind, the security of his mother. Those melting eyes had lost their impish spark. He sat mourning, all alone.

Come evening, I found him still under the bench. I patted his tiny head for a bit, expecting no reaction. Turning to leave, I felt a small, wet lick on my finger. Surprised, I looked down into a soulful gaze. It was one that said, "I'm okay, thank you."

He wasn't fine, but he had hope. He didn't have family around, but he was loved. He couldn't yet fight, but he'd be a survivor.

One tiny little fur ball, but with guts to be admired.

GRRR.

A frustrating day its been, if at all. This post is going to be an outlet for pent up fury and irritation. For those who can emapthize, Do! My misery loves company.

I work in an industry where Pace is everything- things are wanted as of yesterday even before they're remembered. I'm on a profile where anybody and everybody has an opinion, and the opinion cannot be ignored, because we aim to understand/please the common man. End result: I work long, crazy, exhausting hours, and apparently It could always have been done that "lil bit faster".

Frustration level at current moment: Supernaturally high.

On hitting gmail I find myself trying to login with my work id. What does that tell me? That my life is simply all work and no play. Whenever somebody asks me "What's new?" I've got no answer. Because nothing is new. It's dull and boring, but in a fierce way, I love it.

Frustration level: Still very high.

Pdfs are my fresh air. I hate jpegs. I've struggled to get Illustrator on my workstation and not succeeded. It has gotten stuck somewhere for some approval in some hierarchical layer. Frustration galore, because it would help me do my job better. And I'd like tinkering around with it.. I love Adobe :)

Frustration level: Not so high..

Superior output and quality is expected at all times. Not to mention pace. Considerations for struggle with an alien language (and that's an important part of Output) are never made. The eye for detail exists, but it is difficult to find fault when there's no comprehension. Nevertheless, it is a superb outlet for my maniacal obsession to get every fullstop correct:)

I'm somewhat content now, and of the opinion that Blogger.com is my good buddy.

In due course of all the madness that my daily life comprises of, I'm sure I drive many people crazy each day. Where I cause problems, I also try and provide solutions: Go blog!

And do it faaaast. *cheeky grin*