Good old Jack, came through at 6pm, just when I was starting to lose hope and get really cranky. Boof-head wants a full report on why I have backed out.
"Oh... big doofus... did someone not like you? Coochy Coo."
Monday morning, with Jack, that is something to look forward too. I wonder if it is really Jack wanting feedback and not the client at all? However, I am now a free man. "Woo-Hoo!"
I'll probably never work again. Jack's leaving too, going to a new role. Things aren't looking good for this little black duck in the old halls of commerce.
It would have been my father's birthday today, he would have been 85 years old. Aloysius Grant. Alex was a good bloke. He's been dead for 14 years. Prostate cancer. I still feel like I missed 14 good years with him. He could die respectably at 85, not 71 when everyone you know loves you. Dad’s brother, Uncle Ev is still alive at 84, and he doesn’t seem to have aged at all, except for his hair turning grey.
You're dead a long time.
What do I care about Jack and his meaningless assignments?
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