Who needs context when you have eloquence?

Obviously the solution is to ignore the problem...

I realised too late that I'd made eye contact with my worst fucking enemy, and the battle of wills was on. 

I've stared down CISO's. 
I've made corporate sociopaths blink. 
I've had colours-wearing Outlaw MC bikers pull along-side at the lights, nod, say "Nice bike, mate!" and let me go first. 
I can out-stare my cat, and he's a proper dyed-in-the-wool narcissist. 

This fucker's an indomitable son-of-a-bitch tho, and I've been off my game lately, so reaching for the "break glass" option I grabbed the present by the lapels and offered him the gift of "surprise!" by way of the time-honoured Liverpool Kiss. 

Bastard damn-near made me shatter the mirror with my forehead. 

Senses reeling, looking back in the glass, I took a moment to remember who I was, and that the horrible cunt I was staring at was me, and did a quick inventory whilst I took stock. 

A few weeks ago I closed off my second project (in the spare time left over from the one I was originally engaged to run), increasing my lead over any other Project Manager in the org for "Successfully Delivered Projects" to 2. 

Today I received the Purchase Order from my company's largest client confirming the next contract extension; the value beat my previous-best annual salary-equivalent rate by a good couple of thousand dollars, which was nice. It was only a 6 month contract tho, which is Fucking Ludicrous. 

Even more gratifyingly, when I caught up with Rick a couple of Sundays ago he observed that the walking I've been doing has been paying off because I was "looking pretty trim mate, way better than when I saw you last in Perth."
"Yeah? Nice of you to say, mate."
"Yeah, you fucking looked like shit, mate. Now you just look a bit like the north-end of a south-bound cow." 
"... Thanks?" 
"Hey," he said, tipping me last of his pint before tipping it down his throat, "reckon you must be doing something right." 

Although I'd be fucked if I can put my finger on what exactly. When people praise you for the matter-of-fact stuff like Doing The Job Properly and Taking It All The Way Through To The End, but are "meh" about your most challenging achievements like Getting Out Of Bed Every Day and Keeping Yourself Alive For The Last 1000 Days, sometimes it's like up is down and black is white. 

"Yeah, I'm so good at what I do that I keep getting told 'Nah, that'll never work' long after I handed over the As Built, and I'm pulling in cash hand-over-fist, but in more important news did I mention I slept six hours straight last night? I even managed to stop and eat lunch three days in a row! 
HOW GREAT IS THAT??" 

One of these days I'll accept that I'm an outlier and stop trying to sit in with the cool kids, but it's hard to not feel left out when they keep saying you're not right even after you've proven them wrong. 

Meanwhile, I'm finding myself in a state of gradually accumulating encumbermence, with my feet frozen to the ground on a cold white plane, with no reference point, and no light to guide me. I keep shaking off the snow falling on my shoulders, only to watch it fall in an ever-increasing mound around my ankles. I have four drafts in varying states of ideation; things I actually want... even feel I need to write, but no matter how much marble I carve off, the blocks stubbornly refuse to reveal the Davids inside. Every time I heft my hammer I make less and less of an impression, my chisels shattering like glass, whilst the flakes rise up towards my knees. Eventually you get so cold you stop shaking. 

The other day, after much ineffective faffing around the edges, I reached for my hammer and it refused to come to hand. 

Whinging about my inversely-proportional dysphoria when it comes to success earlier this evening at Amy, who seems to have distilled the concept of "uncomplicated pragmatic optimism" into a cocktail I've come to call Occam's Canadian, replied: 

"Just keep writing...
Ok I have to go hang upsidedown off a pole now! Cya!"

So I wrote this, which is what it is. 
Make of it what you will.