Saturday, April 23, 2016

Fake it 'til you make it.

I've drunk the Kool-Aid.

The company I've been working for has found a better 'home' for me within their walls. 'Positional Redistribution,' I call it. Where I lack in one talent, I more than make up for in another. Or, as a previous employer once comically described, I "give good phone." And it seems to show up in a number of surveys; the scale on which staff-members futures lie.

Refining my talents (and time) to what's required still doesn't give me the full-on confidence that I'll make the grade; I'm still 'status: rookie,' so I have an excuse for not being up to par of what's mandatory. But I've always had the capacity to shoot myself in the foot, somehow. So, if I'm handed my walking papers, it won't be a surprise. ("Here's your hat, what's your hurry?")

If I even make it there a year, I'll be shocked. Truly shocked. Still, I'll have three pairs of souvenirs.

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