Death march
It is Saturday night at 7:30 and I'm sitting at my office, awaiting the evening's last software build. Last night, when I got home at 8:45, I'd already put in 65 hours for the week. I got here at 7:45 this morning, and I'm about to hit 12 more hours on my day off.
I've been on this project for 2 and a half years.
I'm on a Death March.
The people I report to have either gone home or never were here today. Two of my peers are sitting in the surrounding cubes. We are, at this point, exhausted to the point of goofiness. Bad things happen at this point.
I like the intellectual challenge of my job, but not the boneheadedness that seems to be driving it. Most of the people involved I have a lot of respect for, but there are a few I'd slap stupid.
I'm tired and I want to go home.
I think I know what my next novel is going to be about.
I've been on this project for 2 and a half years.
I'm on a Death March.
The people I report to have either gone home or never were here today. Two of my peers are sitting in the surrounding cubes. We are, at this point, exhausted to the point of goofiness. Bad things happen at this point.
I like the intellectual challenge of my job, but not the boneheadedness that seems to be driving it. Most of the people involved I have a lot of respect for, but there are a few I'd slap stupid.
I'm tired and I want to go home.
I think I know what my next novel is going to be about.
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