They Know That You're Cut Up

Last updated: Thu, 08 Dec 2005 11:01:00 GMT

So put up or shut up.

Bad week.

Nearly killed myself on Wednesday. Black ice, lost control of the car. Made a 270 degree spin down the road, into the path of an oncoming wagon. Needless to say, he stopped in time, and so did I. I laughed all the way round, nary a whiff of fear. He gave me a round of applause, I gave him the thumbs-up. An exciting start to an otherwise painful day.

I came close to handing in my resignation again today, at the close of a meeting with various chumps. Actually, two smart tech guys, one nervous uber manager and one chump. And me. The details are even more boring; consider yourself spared. Yet again, nobody is willing to tell the chump to shut up. They'd rather sink a good idea than go against some guy's petty prejudice. I stepped on his dick, he pulled rank. Fine.

As of next week, I'll be tidying up each area of responsibility I hold, one by one, and palming it off on one of the two members of staff here I'd trust not to screw it up.

I suppose it says something that I'm not just punting it off to the first gimp I see.

Anyway, now that I've officially given up, I feel strangely hollow. I'm sitting in my office in the dark, listening to an album I just purchased from iTunes. A relatively painless process, and handy for following the chain of nostalgia that got started at our regular Friday afternoon pub lunch.

So I'm sitting here with my RF headphones up full belt, listening to Ned's Atomic Dustbin. They're not great, but I was young, and I found out today that there are two guys in my department who like them, which nearly doubles the number of people I've ever known who'd heard of them.

As ever, I find myself walking the line between being absolutely convinced that I'm right and not knowing why anyone would pay me to be sit in this chair. Capo di tutti capi told me today, after I'd told him that I was done, and that I was going to start wrapping up my duties, that he'd give me a great reference, and that it was time I started thinking about taking more responsibility. Although I often sound like I'm the best at everything I ever do, I find it hard to take the complement. I always feel like I'm being played.

It's at about this time in my wife's last pregnancy that I had a panic attack. Full-bore. I've only felt like that a couple of times before, more than a decade ago, and at the time I was party as hard as a reckless yoof is wont to.

I spent two hours cycling round and round the village, just as fast as I could pedal. I went home and had a couple of beers, had a sleep. The next day I slept late, milled around the house and told my wife I had the day off. I went back to work the following day and picked up where I left off.

While it's easy to draw the conclusion that I was worried about becoming a parent, I have my doubts. What I was facing, then, was a mountain of paid work that needed doing, and that I had no idea how I was going to get it done before -- or worse, during -- my paternity leave. I was freaking out because I was sure someone was going to find out what a talentless fraud I am.

In retrospect, I should never have come back.

Anyway, here's to Ned's Atomic Dustbin.