Monday mornings are the dawn of hope for me as, refreshed from a pleasant weekend's languid rest, I arise to face the excitement of another week of triple challenges: the manic, frenetic energy at Google's Mountain View campus of Google, where ambitious, competitive, driven, brilliant, precocious engineers (at least in their own minds) from 20 to 70 pursue their dreams of wealth, fame, and fortune at the world's most successful software company; the poignant, somber job of managing my late friend's trust and estate, making sure that his 90-year old surviving partner has everything he needs to make his life easy, smooth, and as happy as it can be without his beloved partner of 52 years by his side; and the nurturing of my skills and talent as a creative writer, transferring my energy from the "engineer Jim" to the "human being Jim" and using writing as that tool.
This Monday morning, though, I worry. Google is overwhelming. John Ross's tax bill is due. My creative juices haven't awoken yet. Our test systems at Google are all broken this morning. I need to get some money from John's financial analyst to pay that bill. Adjectives, metaphors, and beautiful phrases elude me. My boss is harping on me to complete the software for this test. 90-year old Mark Havers has a bad cold. I'm afraid writing will take a back seat this week to the other things. I got a mediocre performance review at Google in March. I worry that Mark might not get better. And what I love -- creative writing -- always comes third and last to making money, paying my own bills.
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