It's three o'clock.
I am sitting here in conference room A, in a steering wheel meeting. We’re discussing a technology called “two-shot” in which a magnesium alloy steering wheel armature is over-molded with TPE, then over-molded again with a poly-urethane foam. The point here is to put the heavy TPE at the outside to increase the rotational inertia so the wheel won’t shake as much. So here I sit, discussing potential failure modes, offering my “two cents,” and listening to the engineers bickering over wording and MS formatting. I’m so bored and low I’m just about to get up and take a nap in a bathroom stall. My mind wanders and I think back to school term. That was the last time I was jubilant and carefree (how ironic). Seriously, school is easier. Sure the actual work is harder, but there is more fun to balance it out, not to mention the satisfaction of rising to a challenge. I remember a day when our house hosted a dinner party. My buddy Marshall brought over his drum set in the swell of the temperature on a July afternoon. In the heat we played, no shirts, no shoes, playing whatever felt right and whatever made us happy. Sweat was running down my face and body, only making my hands more slick and fluid on the neck of the guitar. It was that day when my obvious suspicions were confirmed: Music is something to be shared and loved. It’s strange how by producing simple tones one can affect the emotions of others and himself. Sometimes I listen to the recordings of us that Ploof made. It’s late at night when I play the tracks into my headphones. If feels wrong to think "those were the days," when "those" days were just a few months ago. This isn’t some pathetic reminiscing from a guy who’s past his prime. I’ll be back. And as for this meeting, this job, shit.