To The Remaining Readers
I hate to get philosophical. (AN ASIDE: there's nothing more annoying than listening to someone talk about his own philosophy for an indefinite period of time only to realize that he's drunk, and the tears aren't from his emotions, but from his allergy to ragweed.) But I'll get philosophical.
A couple of weeks ago I spent three days working at the Canadian Press Ontario desk, which is a step up from the lowly, disrespected and ridiculed Online desk. (AN ASIDE: At work, I overheard someone talking about how she was a journalist. Makes sense, right? You work in the Canadian Press newsroom, so you're journalist, right? No. Actually, fuck no. She isn't a journalist, she's a hack. If she was a journalist, then a person who only knows how to pump tires is a mechanic.) I think I mentioned it earlier here; I'd look it up, but even I don't read this blog any more.
Now that some time has passed since my short stint on the Ontario desk, I've had time to assess my time there. It was a failure. No mark made; nothing good to speak of today. The failed opportunity was expected. Lately, my creativity has been non-existent; I can't even fill this page on a regular basis. And when I do, it's useless drivel; another meaningless conversation.
So I blew the opportunity, what do I do about it? I could feel sorry for myself, curse myself, beat myself up about it, or I could move on. Take the failure, learn from it, fail again, learn from it, fail again, learn from it and... Someday, it won't be failure.
I had three days to do something and I did, but it wasn't enough. Hemingway wrote, "A man can be destroyed but not defeated." That has to be true. It sounds like it is.