I Am A Serial Procrastinator
And It Has Hurt My Career Prospects Permanently
I’m in my mid 30s, not sure how that happened, but here I am. I don’t feel a day over 18 but nobody ever asks me for my licence when I buy alcohol anymore. It is that sad realisation that you just look old. Age has never really bothered me but as I get older I notice the years passing a whole lot quicker than they used to. There are more grey hairs in my scalp and I grow more cynical with every second, yeah, definitely getting old.
During the Summer holidays back in my teens, that period used to last forever, I couldn’t wait to get back to school. If I could capture that perception of time now, wow, wouldn’t that be a thing.
You may need a bit of time to read this article but if you bow out mid way through I understand. It’s heavy going. I’ve tried to keep it light but there is a lot of water under the bridge.
Apologies for this somewhat self indulgent post, I doubt a large subscription of people will read it but I just wanted to get it off my chest. Having spoken to a Councillor of sorts recently, it made sense to fire this out and throw away some negative elements that I’ve been holding onto for a while. I doubt I will fully cast it away but writing about it is soothing.
There is no call to action for you as a reader. I have no expectations. Advice is fine but I get plenty from my parents and other people. I won’t dismiss anything but I’m at a weird place right now. It’s like a pre-mid life crisis but worse. I feel like I’ve fucked up basically and not sure what I can do to remedy it without making some drastic changes.
My problems are most likely first world. I respect that you may think that, it’s fine. Yes, there are people infinitely worse off than me and you would always have my genuine sympathy (even if I didn’t show it on the surface).
The fact is, I’ve neglected ‘me’ for too long and I’ve not taken a brave action to remedy it. I can tell sometimes after I’ve spoken to my sister, that despite her sisterly love, she actually thinks I’m a bit of douche. She was always the smarter one.
Too much mañana
Points of Note
I have used some assumed names for some of the actors in this piece. Mostly so that it doesn’t come back to bite me later.
I have also not mentioned specifically the airline that I work for. They say it is bad form to defame the place you work in. I haven’t gone on record to say which of the UK airlines has me in a unhappy state, but there aren’t that many so you could work it out.
A lot of where I am and why it is, is because I’ve made bad decisions or no decisions. I’ve gone with the flow, something that doesn’t always work out as a good strategy. I’ve been too passive.
I am from Southern England, born in the county of Sussex. You will note me referring to the North of England, specifically the counties of Cheshire and Lancashire. The North and South are like two separate countries and that would make sense in a place that has the majority of Great Britain’s population.
I Was a Slow Work Starter
I had some hiccups as it goes but I am very much the work to live mindset so getting myself excited for a lifetime of work left me underwhelmed.
I spent perhaps too much time in education, when getting out on a apprenticeship would have been very beneficial.
Being up in the North, jobs were few and far between at the time I was looking. I ran up against buffers many times.
I wasn’t into work properly until the age of 22 but didn’t really have the educational medals that carried me into greatness.
I Picked the Wrong Track After Secondary (High) School
I felt that despite the fact that I enjoyed the course I went onto in college (not university), that it was decidedly lower value to employers than an A-Level would have been.
For those non Brits, the standard schooling age ends at 16. You start on the higher level disciplines after you have ended your time at Secondary School (or High School in the North and some choice places). Only the dumb shits or those who really know what they want to do leave at this stage. For everyone else this takes you up to the age of 18 wherein, you either go and find a job or, carry on to University. The caliber of university you get will depend on your college background; whether you took niff naff qualifications, did shit in your GCSEs, or were conversely the cream of the crop.
I took an Advanced GNVQ in IT. It was a great course that I enjoyed, and I got a Distinction grade for. I was top of the class. A nice feeling. It was a nothing qualification though.
The University Dream
I decided to head out for University to take it to the next level. I was advised by a UCAS representative to go for it, so my mother and I went through the courses and I settled on Computer Science. I felt that IT was not enough to be taken seriously so plumped for something more substantial to bolster my career chances.
I had a choice between Manchester Metropolitan University or Salford. In some ways I wish I had gone with Manchester Metropolitan. It would have shaved 15 minutes off my journey time each day and I would have got a better grounding in UNIX which was pretty big back then. What put me off Manchester Metropolitan, were the dark computer labs and rather haphazard feel of the place. The general feeling of Universities around the turn of the century was that they were permanently stuck in 1970s styling and that was probably the last time they had any large amount of money spent on them.
I attended Salford University, I was living in the North of England at the time, It went terribly in that first year.
The journey, 1 hour 15 minutes, from Greenbank station to Salford Crescent, was a slog some days. Some of the trains were really shite quality ‘rattlers’. To top it off, there was no ticket machine or office at the station so you would have to buy your ticket on the train most of the time, from a conductor. Some days there wasn’t even a conductor on the train at least one way so a few of those times travelling up to Salford, I traveled for free. (Until I was caught one time and made to feel like a criminal, which in some respect I kinda was).
Don’t get me wrong. I learnt a hell of a lot. There were some elements that were beyond me though. Well beyond me. Some of those elements were crucial. I had trouble with sub A level mathematics. My family on my mother’s side do have a degree of dyslexia and dyscalculia, I’m not sure how much of that I’ve inherited but there are certainly elements of maths that blow my mind. I was lucky to pass my GCSE with a C grade, having worked up from the bottom group (the idiot group) to the middle.
It was a train wreck. Because Salford University didn’t want to have a dropout statistic (for the first time ever), I was gifted a pass for the first year to join the second year. In the second year I struggled. I could tell I was losing grip on it all when I messed up with a group assignment. I decided to drop out properly after that, even then, the Doctor who I had approached fiddled the books to make the reason for dropping out a ‘financial’ one, rather than the fact that I just didn’t gel with the course at all.
Anderton Boat Lift | Canal & River Trust
Officially the best told story in England 2016 - The Anderton Boat Lift has earnt its nick-name of Cathedral of the…
I distinctly remember on one particular University day, a week day, bunking off and going to the Anderton Boat Lift for a couple of hours to make it seem like I’d been to University. I was just so not with it. It was a nice day but it was weird just hiding out, I took a coat and my ruck sack and ate the lunch I’d prepared myself thinking, what the fuck am I doing anymore.
Salford back in those days was a shithole by the way, that’s me being kind.
The Group assignment was the death knell. At the time it was all nice and spice up until the point where I was trusted with some documents to take home. Julia, the rare woman in our year, was the leader of the group and she was a mouthy c**t from Newcastle (or Geordie Land). I remember mailing all of the documents to her through Hotmail but she complained that she couldn’t receive them. She then demanded I journey back to Salford to deliver them all and I point blank refused.
I remember the dropout decision being a very easy one. I met with my tutor to discuss it and pressed on.
I felt like shit after dropping out. It was a major loss. I remember my Uncle Alan saying something off hand that dug deep. My sister and I always referred to Uncle Alan as “Uncle Nobhead” and that day it wasn’t any less true.
Being up in the North of England, the jobs front was dire back then. I got one or two temp jobs over the space of 9 months but was on the dole for a long period because there was just nothing happening. I eventually decided to go back to school again because it was better than sitting around with my thumb up my arse.
The reason I went back to college was to escape the drongos that I would wait in line with at the dole queue. They were what I might refer to as “you orrible lot” or “pond life”, I didn’t want to become one of ‘them’.
I went back to the same college, Mid Cheshire, and undertook a Higher National Diploma in Computing. I enjoyed it but my will was broken, I only attained a merit overall in this course, and my love for computers had been dealt a blow. I wasn’t the same guy I was back when I was 16, after having moved Northwards, to relocate for my dad’s job in Manchester.
I was depressed after my dropout from University, looking back. I had periods where I had night terrors. I was often beating myself up on the inside and just felt rather unworthy as a human. It was a gloomy time back then, just like the weather.
It was fortunate that my father decided to move back down to the South for a new job. He’d had a rough time as well, having been unceremoniously axed at Director level to save money, then having moved to a job where he had become an enemy, by jumping ship to a rival company where tensions (and the office space) were a stone’s throw away. Moving back South was a good move all in all. I’m glad that I had a chance to live in the North. All that born and bred business is very limiting.
I don’t want people to assume that I have a perception of Northern English people. I met a huge bunch of very nice Northerners but equally I came in contact with some real shitheads too. It is no different to the South. The only noticeable thing was that with a Southern accent I was already at a disadvantage. The divide is real.
Moving back to Sussex was a breath of fresh air. I did end up doing a few temp jobs, the best being the post office for a week in a sorting office, a job I enjoyed the shit out of, followed by working in a jewelry factory which was the pits. I couldn’t wait to leave that place.
I had moved back to Burgess Hill, a fairly large Town as it goes, which at present is undergoing a massive redevelopment. The problem about the place is that despite its large population it doesn’t have everything that a City does, and to mention that population of Burgess Hill is more retired or pensioner, than young.
My Father’s Connection
I started at the company my dad was working for. He was a bit disappointed that I was getting shit temp job offers when he knew I was capable of a hell of a lot in regards to IT, and data in general. I was employed with a Technical Records team under a contract basis with a big UK airline.
This job grated on me very quickly. I was enjoying part of it but overall there was no future with this department. The work was shit.
The problem that I didn’t see running was the fact that I hadn’t pushed myself to look at any other possibility. I just kept rolling on.
Maintenance Planning has been my world for the longest time and it has been entirely mediocre at best. It was definitely a step up from Tech Records but a step up from offal is still side cuts of meh.
My first Manager was a tyrant. I remember him well. My contract was extended a number of times under his stead before he left for a company that proceeded to go bust a couple of years later.
The problem that I’ve suffered throughout my time with Planning is the lack of consistency with management. I joked a couple of years ago that in 11 years I had 10 managers. People laughed at this but it was true. The total number now is 13 in 13 years 9 months.
How are you meant to get on, move up the chain, when there is no manager continuity?
The Curse of Maintenance Planning
The problem is that Maintenance Planning as a department is entirely unloved, once you are in, you really need all of the tools to escape or have a strike out at something better. Maintenance Planning doesn’t generate anything other than planners. I have seen no sideways movement to any other department than one of the varied branches of planning. It is very much a silo.
These branches are as follows;
- Line Planning (also referred to as the front desk)
- Hangar Planning (where 1000 hour checks are managed, these tend to fall every two months with our flying programme)
- MRO Planning/Heavy Maintenance (the C check and special inputs covered by Maintenance Repair Organisations at our behest)
We don’t integrate Reliability like other airlines do into planning. We have a separate department, part of Programmes, that does this. In fact, when I started in 2003 things were very different. Planning was run by fleet (Boeing one side, Airbus the other) so everything was split down the middle, even the materials planners. Programmes was part of Planning where now it is divorced. Planning was better back then in terms of movement scope, now, not so.
The curse of planning means that other departments have always been quick to blame us to diffuse their own shortcomings. The Production department in particular has always been quick to apportion blame elsewhere and because Planning had no consistency in its management, this would be a common event. With this in mind, trying to move out of the Planning circle became difficult because you were painted with a tarred brush.
The Manager From Hades Via the Republic of Ireland
I have had a mix of managers over the years with Virgin, some okay, some good, some invisible. This one Manager who originally hailed from the Republic of Ireland was a whack job, green tarmac, a psychopath.
I won’t mention this man’s name so as not to be held for libel. For the point of this article I’ll call him Richard, because the short form of Richard is Dick.
Please don’t feel that I have any ambivalence towards Southern Irish individuals. I don’t. Some of them make me split my sides with laughter. You do have to watch out for them though. The Irish are nearly 100 times more adept at influence, networking and charisma than most individuals you’ll meet (there are always exceptions to the rule but on the most part the ROI people I’ve met will chat the leg off a donkey). They chat about as much as they breathe, which is to say a lot. The problem with this is that they have a certain level of handling situations that for those of us who think slower on a conversational level, will leave us at a great disadvantage.
I am not a great conversationalist. I can hold my own with people I know but often I find it difficult expressing what I’m thinking, or just simply don’t have a lot to say. On the rare occasion I do have a stutter, especially when under stress. I’m slow to answer, not because I’m thick, but because the words take a while to form. It’s a limitation I work with. I’d be the worst stand up comedian going. I only have rare bouts of comedy timing and I have to feel confident with the person I’m exchanging. Other people know how to tap a crowd, no matter how hostile, I’m not that kind of person. It is something you can learn more of but ultimately are one way or another.
Richard was an A grade psychopath. He had the charm and poise of your typical ROI type, but the nasty edge as well.
He had risen to power from Production, but what later transpired was that the production engineers had grown tired of his management style, and resistant to his bully boy tactics. When the position came up in Planning for him and his crony, we will call Kevin, there was more than likely a few bottles of champagne uncorked.
Richard was a bully.
There was a time when my car was in for a service and my father was giving me a lift home. Richard and I were engaged in a pitch battle in the open plan office for everyone to hear; very unprofessional and making me look like a prick. It was only when my dad shouted ‘come on’ that I was able to break away from that conversation.
It is the point where you are asked something in such a sharp and acerbic tone that you might as well be classified as a ‘donkey butler’.
This happened a number of times and I should have taken it to HR. It was bullying, plain and simple. He tried to make out that it was ‘coaching’ but it definitely wasn’t.
He always tried to make it seem like he cared but I knew that he didn’t. It was so blatantly obvious that I carried zero weight in his eyes. One of my colleagues from another department came up to him one day and said something along the lines of, “Wouldn’t Jackson be good for the Planning Engineer position?” and Richard’s response was less than encouraging. He skated the answer by asking my colleague where he was interested in joining the department.
On a number of occasions Kevin and Richard weighed on the fact that they didn’t like ‘drifters’. That line upset me.
That kind of shit was the final straw.
One Important Snub Before Leaving the Department For a Spell
I had accepted a secondment over at another department, I had to perform an interview for it, I had to pass a test.
I remember Richard asking me not to go, and that there was some small part of regret. I realise now that Richard was having a hard time himself. He had copped a lot of heat from a shockingly bad Engineering wide Planning review that had been conducted by a private company. They had gone through a process called 6P and Richard had been manning the tiller for a long while on it. Ultimately it collapsed and he was painted as a villain. There were some members from outside of the Planning department who were literally baying for blood. He had fucked up.
Rather than being pushed out, he decided to take up a position with a mining company in Australia so by the time I’d left for the other department, he had gone.
He’d passed over the reigns to Kevin, or as my father used to comically refer to him; “Plug from the Beano”. Kevin had a very unusual shaped head and because he had an unusually thin jaw, he had to have an operation to prevent him suffering from a severe case of lock jaw which would happen from time to time. He was someone I could confide in but I never felt that he held me in a high regard. I just felt he saw me as a ‘problem’.
I received what I might class as an ultimate snub from him when I was required to move over to the hangar facility. He basically hadn’t sorted my pass out. I was sat like an idiot in my car, not being able to get in and after some frantic moves by another colleague and the hangar manager, I got access.
I never had a good word for him after that.
Later I found out that a grievance had been filed against him by one of my other colleagues working in the hangar.
He left the company a few years later to join his best buddy Richard out in the Emirates.
What I later discovered was that Richard had been let go by the Australian mining company because his bully boy tactics and his lack of achievement didn’t wash at all well with the organisation. Poetic justice. Australians don’t mince words or suffer fools gladly.
Escape to ESOS
I was a stage where I just needed to break away. Having been in planning just shy of 9 years I got into a lot of interviews at the height of the troubles.
Moving over to ESOS was good in the initial 6 months but after a year it felt like a carbon copy of what I had just left. Same shit, different department.
The manager was better in some ways but far worse in others. He took the time to take you through things, he took the time to make sure he knew what each and every team member was doing, and he was someone you could have a laugh with. He was also a horrible c**t at times, not low grade horrible either. He really knew how to wound deep with his words. He had a certain arrogance about him. He was also a classic letch. He would often schedule our meetings in the cafeteria, so as to look at the hostesses, like a Benny Hill style pervert.
One of my colleagues in the department used to refer to Garth as a “Cheeseball”. That was being kind.
The learning curve to being a good operative there was too steep and I fell out with one woman in a big way. She revolved around this really hard arse exterior, a really unpleasant person to work with. On occasions she had annoyed some of the IT department so much that I had to talk to them on her behalf because she had burnt her bridges.
I was broken in terms of my work ethic by this time. Bored with a company that was so happy to eat shit and expect everybody else to do the same.
ESOS was short for Engineering Systems Operational Support, working on a system called Ultramain, developed by an American company by the name of USI. I worked there as an Assistant Systems Analyst. A much better title than Technical Support Officer (junior bootscrape).
Perhaps one thing USI should have never admitted was that Ultramain started out as a bus maintenance system.
It is quite frankly software I wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy. It is clunky as fuck, doesn’t always count properly (a basic programming function), has the UI developed by a blind man and has a number of other severe limitations that are too numerous to go into.
I Was On a Secondment
The secondment was extended 1 year following the first. For whatever reason I was not made permanent. At the time it was made out to be a budget restraint, but I fear there was more to it than that.
I became more of the furniture in the 2nd year. At the time I was having some major difficulty with my then girlfriend. We’d moved into a house together and put our names down as tenants in common. I’d been rushed into that but it is a story for a different day. This put me under exceeding pressure because I was also studying for my 2nd attempt at a degree. My work/home life was screwed.
I remember Garth, my manager (although his name was not Garth) and I were attending a presentation. Garth had asked me to provide one of the other IT bigwigs access rights to the site. Only problem was, the bigwig never checked it from his end. The result was egg on the face of my manager and he instantly went to blame me. I think after that point it was going to be a downhill battle.
At one point of particular criticism in a one-to-one meeting Garth joked that ‘you could always return to planning’. I called his bluff and did just that.
However, it went against one of my special rules.
NEVER GO BACK
The most unpleasant part about leaving was the exit conversation I had with Garth to really make me know what he felt of my time with ESOS and how much of a piece of shit I was to him. I just nodded a whole lot so as to bypass having to commit to a response. I could have got angry but my tank was just empty.
I Went Back to Planning
Like a child goes back to an abusive parent to be beaten. I love you daddy, wallop.
I came back with a distinct lack of trust. Clearly Garth had painted me as a villain.
For the purposes of this article, Tom, who was stationed to watch me, dropped me in the shit a number of times. I had a period post break up with my girlfriend where I had been late to work a number of times and my senior was not best pleased. I changed a few things and reverted so as to paper over that crack but it wasn’t forgotten. I didn’t feel the trust.
It was only when Tom, devout on moving up the chain, moved to be a senior in one of the other brands of planning that I received respite from the shit.
One thing I thank Tom for is that he provided me work to do. It was noticeable after returning to Planning that there was very little work on the table for the donkey butlers to take care of. This was either because really old fleets of aircraft we used to maintain weren’t there in numbers anymore or that people like Tom absorbed a lot of the mundanity to make themselves look promotion worthy.
Unfortunately for Tom, this coin was phrased by a colleague of mine, and amuses me to this day;
I wouldn’t piss on him if he was burning to death
Mean spirited, but accurate.
What has Caused This Recent Outflow of Disappointment?
There is a saying you never want to hear when you are advanced in age;
I’m sorry, it was just not your time
This was the feedback from my latest attempt to move a rung up the ladder.
That answer always engenders a singular response;
When is my time?
What was especially galling was the fact that I missed not 1 position but 7 positions.
That goes to show that I have zero value and I really shouldn’t stay here anymore.
There is more to this though. More than just disappointment at not getting the job.
I have a bad relationship with this company. Them to me, me to them. However you want to paint it. We just aren’t friends anymore.
I’ve given up on applying internally. There just is no position I feel confident in applying for without this nagging feeling I’ve wasted my time just by assigning my interest.
- There is no career development.
- There is no training.
- There is no work.
- People don’t know and don’t care about what I do.
- Loyalty has no value.
- Managers don’t speak to me unless it is my yearly review and they have to.
- I have to initiate everything, chase it constantly, and don’t get very far.
- I’m tired of it all.
I have time to write insanely long articles like this because I am rarely challenged if I am seen to put out a small amount of work everyday, and jump to a piece of work when my senior asks me.
People who have got the jobs are younger than me. Some considerably younger than me. I’m finding it difficult.
This one guy, Ernest (not actual name), started fairly recently. He is a young gun, the kind that will probably be a high riser. The kind of guy or gal I like to hate. He made me grip my shit recently. His ilk. He is senior to me, I have to follow his instruction. I challenged him on something the other day and realised he’s the kind of tool that I’ve been dealing with for a long time. Self serving.
I Have Had Many Internal Applications for Jobs
And from 2003 to 2017, I have only ever succeeded with one interview. You read about it before.
Feedback is bullshit. I don’t trust it.
Face fitting is the order of the day.
I’m not a networker by nature, I do a fair bit of networking in my position as planner, and I did even more when I was in ESOS, but I’m not a political animal.
I don’t like to be a yes man, or to kiss ass.
I don’t mind dropping bad news. I don’t always have a solution to counter it.
I have decided it is not worth my time applying anymore. The answer is always going to be no, for whatever bell-end reason. The feedback was hastily constructed to not make me feel so bad but doesn’t really suggest the true nature of the appointment. When they are picking worse applicants than me, it is questionable.
I know why though.
I know the real reason.
- They don’t feel I’m capable.
- I’m not enough of a bastard.
- I’m too honest.
- My father may have pissed them off in the past. Because he did that to get what he needed, and they took umbrage to his methods.
- I’m from planning, the nobody department.
Between 2003 and 2007
I worked my bollocks off.
Regardless of what it was, I kept my head down and pushed the work out.
By around 2008, things began to seriously change. This was a period where I realised that I just wasn’t ‘getting on’ with the company. At that time, I should have left. I realise that 2008 was the watermark moment, the pivot point.
The manager at that time, Nemo, was an unpleasant individual. He was the one who employed Richard, who eventually succeeded him. Nemo was for all intents and purposes an A grade twat. We liked to call him “two sheds”.
If you had one shed, he had two sheds. He was what my dad referred to as a ‘topper’.
Nemo was fairly congenial to me even though he was more than likely stabbing me in the back in private conversations. I realised that my utility in the company was without value. I undertook a degree with the Open University under my own funding to break me out of this negative cycle. The hope was that by the time of completing it I would be better placed. I didn’t realise quite how much of my life time would be robbed by that degree. Time that I’m not even sure was worth it.
Funnily 2008 was a bad year, mostly because of the impending financial crash. I was essentially locked in at that time.
I Had Two Golden Opportunities To Leave
But didn’t take either of them.
The first came around 2007–2008. My father realised I was having a bad time at the company so had a chat with one of his many contacts and squared an interview with a smaller more niche organisation.
I didn’t take it.
I regret it.
It is perhaps the only time other than starting with this company I’ve been with that I had a job to take by default. The interview was just a formality, it was already in the bag.
I didn’t take it because the job wasn’t offered as a permanent position and I was nervous of the possibility of being let go without anything to move on from. I was an idiot for thinking that. Hindsight. Ahhh.
I knew some guys who moved over there and had a great time but my bridge to that place was closed. Disappointing. Sad.
The second opportunity was voluntary redundancy.
I was in for approximately 22 weeks worth of pay but I didn’t push the button. At the time I had no where to go to and I didn’t rate myself at finding a new position quickly. History had taught me to have low expectations.
Regret, once again.
In Order To Wrap This Up
By 5PM on October 28th 2017 I will have been working for this company for 14 years.
I know that despite my best efforts, which are woeful, I will still be here.
I have options.
One option was to straight up leave. Because I have a mortgage to pay, this isn’t a great option. It puts me in peril. Especially in a time surrounding Brexit. As an aside to that, my aunt passed away 2 years ago, she left me a substantial inheritance, one that I haven’t even dented yet. I could work for myself for a year if I wanted but I’m not sure I am motivated enough to kick arse. I know how hard guys like Pat Flynn and his ilk work, and their successes are ones I aspire to. To do any less would not be worth the effort in my view. I am not suitably convinced of my own discipline or resolve.
I can train harder to go elsewhere. There is now lots of time in my schedule, since breaking up with my most recent girlfriend.
I can enjoy my time more. Because I really don’t enjoy my time. Recently one of my salt of the earth managers died of severe cancer. He had a major operation to remove it from his intestines but it had already traveled to the bones by then. It puts things in perspective. His cremation occurred whilst I was writing this. Everybody wore red as his dying wish because he was a hardcore Manchester United Fan. I wore a red tie to work to pay my respects.
Life is short.
I Have Advice of My Own For You
If you are in the same situation as me, try and do something positive. Don’t just take it. Be good to yourself even if by doing so, you have to make a bad choice to do it. There is a general consensus that we only live once. We shouldn’t settle for a drudge. That half wit position isn’t always our ceiling.
If you are advising children on what to do in their working life, make sure to tell them to try out as much as they can as early as they can. Some people really struggle finding what they are passionate about.
Try shit out! — Jackson Davies, 2017
There is a difference between being a general coward and risk averse but both are synonymous and synchronous with the same ultimate outlook, you are weak. There is no strength in remaining in a position where you are treated badly by default.
As An Aside and a Sneaky Call To Action
I’ve been working on a book idea for quite some time. I can’t reveal the title just in case somebody goes and uses it. Therefore I will just say it has to do with the concepts of being simultaneously comfortable and uncomfortable with relationships, specifically to work life.
I’d appreciate input in this regard, if you have any particular stories to share, I’d love to hear from you. You can also leave them in the comments.
I just hope there aren’t too many disaffected out there, this will be a sad world if there are.