Perspective

Image is mine from the Guinness Factory in Dublin. Pretty gross, non?

I found this post incredibly endearing from This is Naive and thought I'd share with you...

I was surprised that I found the momentary surrender of choice rather freeing: half and hour before a shift begins, we sit at the tables, dressed in the uniform code accorded by one’s role, and eat the same meals, dictated by whatever ingredients the kitchen has thrown up and the chef-on-duty’s creative impulses.

I was also surprised by what eye contact does for one’s self-esteem.

A menu is not a book, no matter how thick or beautifully bound.

Under no circumstances leave behind notes detailing the signs & symptoms, and treatment of STDs. It really doesn’t matter what your reason for owning such a note may be.

Father to children: “That bubble, that little bubble, the school you go to. It doesn’t really exist anywhere else on the planet.”

Father to daughter: “Do you like horses? Do you want to join the pony club?”

Wife to husband: “You are very suave. My mother was in love with you.”

Why do sweet old ladies stay with grumpy old men? Because who else would.

The entrance is the exit. Depending on whether you are outside looking in or inside looking out.

I feel mind-bogglingly weighed down today. I have far too much to do and far too little time in which to complete it. This is the price we pay for doing what we love, I suppose, and so I'll trudge on. What I wouldn't give though for my air-conditioned, closed-off, window-filled office at the Bank. Le sigh.