“Better to be born lucky than good,’ goes the old aphorism. Do you think there’s an exchange rate? Because, if there is, I’d be interested in trading some ‘good’ for ‘lucky.’ I’m cocky enough to believe I’ve a surfeit of ‘good,’ but right now I don’t feel like there’s a whole lot of ‘lucky’ floating around and waiting for a moment to make me happy.
The regular reader (hello, regular reader, how are you? That’s nice. The kids? Oh, excellent. Mind how you go) will have noticed that I don’t often blog about personal stuff. OK, so I don’t often blog about work stuff either – I mostly blog about inconsequential shit, come to think of it – but I certainly don’t blog about personal stuff. This likely explains the modest audience size of this blog, but also why I’m not ashamed to admit its existence to work colleagues. It’s a trade-off, see?
In a mild break from tradition, however, I’ll make a brief note. Pretty much purely in the interests of soliciting sympathy, you understand. Here we go:
Today, after a bit of a palaver, I singularly failed to win either the job, or the girl.
Result: I’ve had better days.
That is all.