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No Rest for the Wicked. Or Something.

“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”
- Douglas Adams

Ah, yes. Deadlines. Combine deadlines with the joy of some bureaucratic process which doesn’t really address the problem at hand, and you’ve got a situation just bursting with opportunities for Murphy to poke his head into your office and say “You weren’t doing anything just now, were you?” The system in place really sets my teeth on edge. It’s a purely artificial constraint imposed from above by people not doing what we do, but trying to manage us anyway. Or as a friend of mine put it: “Sounds like one hand is trying to clap while the other is making armpit farts.”

Which group is doing what I’ll leave up to you.

I think what bothers me the most is that I’m sure at the end of all of this, there’s going to be a lot of self-congratulatory revisionist history.