I’m in bed. Well I was. That’s the thing about laptops, see. They are to the ailing what the Crackberry is to the executive. They stop you from doing the stuff you should be doing (in my case, sleeping and calling for more tea and sympathy) and force you into doing the stuff you shouldn’t. Like working. Always a bad thing.
So today I found out why It Is Bad To Be Vigilant.
Brush discovered a nice pasty hill upon which to reside.
That’s me, that is. Ain’t I good?
Last night I discovered that an associate’s autoresponder was not working as it should. As in, wasn’t working. At all.
He’s launching a big new product, which makes this all the more painful. And to add to the torture, a 10,000-subscriber magazine featuring a not insignificant article about said product, was about to hit doormats…
I was hugely unknowing of this fact last night. But not this morning when a big feathered boa of an email came flying in from nowhere with the simple – action-demanding – subject line of SHIT!
While groaning and gasping my way through the throes of a virus (I might have mentioned that the infuriating thing about being ill for the first time this millennium – seriously – is that I’m on a contract job now, so getting paid abso-frickin-lutely zero. Bad times) I extricated myself temporarily from the pit of sweat and germ carnage to prop myself up against the chest of drawers and render Dreamweaver a distinct possibility.
We identified the root cause, and eventually got it sorted. Hence my new-found and publicly-declared hero status. I’m not planning on testing out my wings of steel any time soon but rest assured revelry in beatification will continue for some time, or at least until I can imbibe a pint of beer without turning it into a consomme of chocolatey bile.
So it seems I can do stuff. Reinvigorated, I will start looking at goal setting next week, to help me and you figure out how to get the most out of this life with which we have been so remarkably blessed. I still haven’t figured out my vision, definite chief aim, etc – so I want you to hold my hand and together we’ll figure it out.
Like the venerable Moody of aboveness, you should follow me on twitter too, you know. I’m at davethackeray. I thought using this username would facilitate nice and easiness for everyone around me, a kinda of catch-all for people of all nationalities and ages. Not that I’m looking to tag team with any 80 year-old Bolivians just now. But a slender 37-year-old internet executive in Adelaide looking for a fellow impresario to revolutionise web commerce in Australia would certainly make a smilifying follower in these troubled times of le crunch.