Boop Boop

Looking at the beating heart of the digital clock I recall a simpler time. A chubbier, younger version of myself who felt the innocence to report all that he saw would refer to the colon separating the hour and the minute as "boop, boop". And now it just provides all the entertainment that I need to get through another day.
The pangs of being demoted are still with me, though now that I am in "Willow" mode I am much more comfortable about it. I gave up caring for Lent, not in the sense that I've become a nihilist, I understand that there are things out there that exists, but why should I give a shit?
My problems with this most recent flop in life is made more complicated by the fact that I can't see a way that I can win. If I quit, the company wins and the Man is able to congratulate themselves for eyeballing a problematic source and pruning that weed without firing him. If I do well and find myself promoted beyond my previous position then the company wins again and are able to pat themselves on the back that I needed time to work things out in the minors before I could come up to the bigs for my cup of coffee.
Now, normally I would spend hours planning my way out of this. I would create a spreadsheet, fill notebooks full of jargon with 2 month plans, six months plans, a 10 year plan where I take over the company, 15 year plan where I start to illegally sell stock in the company, year 16 when I'm arrested, year 16 day 1 where I blame everything on Harmon, year 20 where I turn legit and subsequently retire due to boredom. Year 21 when I write my book, appear on Oprah, cry and worm my way into the social elite.
But I'm not going to do that this time. This time I'm the willow that bends with the wind. Breathing through my eyelids and letting the savages that want to fight for my time make all of the moves. It makes for a bored Jack, but we can't all be James Bond.