I bitched and moaned about the winter weather here at the North Pole, so, in fairness, I must say that spring is all the way here and it is gorgeous. The trees are full of birds one never sees in the Corn Belt, the breezes of the Great Lakes are just strong enough to bring relief without distraction and the water, while very cold, is turning a brilliant blue.
The day job is getting on my last nerve. My rag is an earner for the company, which keeps slashing our expenses nonetheless. I'm sorting through some personal stuff ahead of a trip home this weekend. Don't get me wrong; I'm looking forward to it. The personal stuff has to do with just how much my time and talent is worth. It's a buyer's market, I know, but working for people who all but dare you to quit is frustrating. The local boss is good, but his masters know they have me and rest of the help by the nuts and they aren't about to let go.
This is no ordinary time. I know there isn't another day job waiting for me out there like in years past. I'm glad to have the job and like the town. It's the wondering why non-newspaper people make all the money in the newspaper business today that gets to me.
Accountants and financiers have fucked up this business royally and it really pisses me off. What's the answer? I doubt there is the public will necessary for show trials and firing squads, so I'm reduced to bitching.