Wednesday, February 18, 2009


The place where I spend my hours makes me puzzled. I’m not sure what hours they have here. Sure something says nine to five.

But who ever do that (except some here at the office)?

Usually you’re the last one at night anyway. And didn’t a really smart person say that work-hours should be individually shaped. Meaning, if you’re a morning person you’re very much welcome as early as you wish. And for those who prefer to sleep then (obviously meetings and appointments and yadi-yadi-yadi are excluded of course) can come in whenever they wake up.

As long as you do the work you might as well be in Bahamas (they have internet too – yes, they do).

I’m scared when I come in five minutes late (seldom) and horrified at ten minutes (standard). I’m also too scared to ask. Or is it that I couldn’t be bothered. That my soul, perhaps isn’t here, but out ----- there. In the big ‘ol place called abroad.

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