A Pressure Cooker

Is it just me or is the pressure so thick you could slice it with a butter knife? I can actually visualize a small but sharp knife making slow, even slices separating the air in front of me into dark, smoky layers. Am I losing it completely? In this condition I fear a client would be certifiable to put their problem in mY hands. Let me take a breath. O.k. Lets back up a few beats.

I am looking at an office filled with boxes, books, framed certificates (attesting to the fact that at one point I was qualified in some respect), and wires. All I see, however, are the wires. There are thousands of wires here. Plugs of all sorts, USB cords. HDMI cords. I am not an expert on technology, but in a saner moment I had placed my wares in various bags and labelled them things such as “AC cords,” “USB,” “Unknown.” Is it a bad sign that the bag containing the unknown wires is at least four times as big as its next smaller sibling?

A little more concerting is that I can tell with little detective work that there is absolutely no way I have enough actual electronic machines to use up the plugs that are waiting to be connected. This has happened before, and it is inevitable. When all is said and done, I will have many extra electrical cords, orphans left behind as their “connected” compatriots have paired off and disappeared in a symphony of glowing green and red lights and a chorus of reassuring & steady “beep, beep, beep.”

This is my new office. I am now the boss, the numero uno, the “go to guy.” The problem is that I am the guy who gets to go to the go to guy. I am, I guess, gonna be going to myself. And, as I sit here in my new desk chair and stair at this mess, I have a funny feeling that when I need to find that guy, the go to guy, chances are he may be on the last Greyhound to the Florida Keys.