I stare through the blueish black backgrounds and blurry colorful syntax into a somewhat familiar office within a mirrored world. That damned reflective glass layer covering these meaningless pixels is certainly not on my side.

The rushing sound of transactions flowing through cables is silenced today. Some blood cloth in the invoicing system is zeroing out everything after the currency mark.

While sighing I spin a one-and-a-half pirouette on my desk chair — even when desperate, you shouldn't give up on style — I take three steps away from my screen and try to harmonize my thoughts.

So much noise, everywhere... Noise from within?

I have been stuck at the apogee of an inhale for a while now. Locked into some masochistic constriction, self-punishment for the blindness which stings my ego.

Just fucking take a deep breath you asshole...

I freeze in place, and fall backwards.

Patterns on the creamy drywall rapidly vibrate and synchronize on vivid rhythms of respiration and resonating basslines. Deep indigo rainbows ripple through tiny veins, in-between chalky grains, raining as fine magenta dust through the ceiling frames.

My bare feet slide over soft oscillating concrete, fine flows of unsievable sand surrounded by toes, toes surrounded by streaming variables veiled in obscure vile abstractions.

A jadegreen field of vectored compressions resiliently rumbles and bounces through the clearances and corners of the vibrant concrete office cave, whispering in tongues. I try to voice my woes in little blips and bleeps but I seem to be missing an asymmetric key to their shrouded sequenced speech.

Suddenly, a wild turbulence breaks up all signals.

Joanna floats by in her tipsy effervescent cloud of disordered black hair and alcohol perfume, one hand grasping grapes, her other waving at me.

With every finger she moves a thousand tensors propagating paradoxically flawed but perfect pieces of an intricate surreal picture, sketching whole constellations of possible paths throughout the leafs of the giant Ficus next to her desk.

She stops dead in her tracks, and asks somewhat hypocritically: "Are you high?"

I can not discern the meaning of her words, and respond stoically.

"Joanna! Check out those branches!".

"Pun intended?", she giggles.

I'm focused on her grapeless hand, her fingers stretching to reach the lush little tree.

On touch, the plant shivers, grappled in the tight net of the puppet master. She pulls her strings, applying measured weights, all nodes normalize, and Joanna speaks in an oddly soft tone:

"Isn't it beautiful, how so many models emulate nature"

Her cheek buried in foliage she babbles on about unbalanced search trees and machine learning models... but from the tips of her fingers tables and indexes flow into the plant. Users, payments, tariffs, invoices and taxes crawl over the bark, joining at thicker branches, joining at the stem....

Joining. JOINING. A JOIN.

"IF THERE'S NO FUCKING TAX MULTIPLIER IN THIS LEFT JOIN, EVERYTHING COALESCES TO ZERO" I shout at a perplexed Joanna who squeezes grape juice over her desk. I hop on the beat to my keyboard. She looks puzzled, hugs her Ficus tightly, and reaches for the whiskey bottle behind her monitor.

Attracted by my exclamation, Tom from finance swings open the door, while I push my branch.

I look at Joanna still half hiding between the leaves, and I laugh at her: "Branches! Oh, lame, I finally got it!"

Tom's heavy voice interrupts me: "Does this mean... does this mean that the invoicing bug is resolved?".

I smile at Tom with his tailored suit and waxed hair. "The money is flowing once more. All debts are being settled."

He releases his breath in relief, which he seems to have held since that morning as well.

Joanna adds: "Although I think he is forever indebted to my Ficus".

I nod.

I once reviewed a Pull Request made by a fairly junior developer. They had joined recently, and this was one of the first times they had to touch a bigger part of the code.

Due to a mix of inexperience, new (to them) coding standards and lack of git knowledge, they ended up with a mess of a PR, with a few thousand lines changed, and no way to split it off.
I ended up spending the best part of a day reviewing the whole thing and requesting changes.

Even with the long list of improvements, however, I wasn't sure they would get the magnitude of their fuckup.
So I decided to use a real-world, palpable way to show them what they had done: I went and printed the github diff for that PR. It rendered the glorious amount of 73 pages.

I'll never forget their face, and those of their teammates, when I barged into the room with a thick wad of paper and deposited them on their desk.

At least it worked. I never saw another big, ill-thought pull request from them again.

I hate it when book publishers of tech books don't have their own DRM-free formats. I then have to go on Amazon and see that the Kindle version is only 10% cheaper than paper. Then I factor in the fact that they probably fucked up the formatting on the ebook. So, I end up just buying the paper one and my office continues to resemble a mad scientist's library.

Last night there was a hellstorm of weather that ripped off 10m thick trees out of its fucking ROOTS and smashed cars, traffic lights ripped off, some roofs ripped off, containers flying fucking everywhere, floods and it all went away within 2 hours as if nothing happened

Electricity is fucked and Of Course i lost my internet connection. I dont have my fucking wifi. Im using mobile 4g

I try to continue coding on my project AND LOCALHOST CAN NOT RUN IF I DONT HAVE WIFI??? WTF IS THIS HORSESHIT?

WHY a NEXTJS APP CAN NOT RUN AT 127.0.0.1 IP ADDRESS JUST BECAUSE MY INTERNET IS DEAD FROM SHITSTORM??? WTF DOES LOCAL NETWORK HAVE TO DO WITH THE INTERNET

I SWEAR MAN SOME HIGHER FORCE DOES NOT LET ME WIN

ALL THIS BULLSHIT AINT MY FAULT NO MORE ITS SOME BULLSHIT HIGHER FORCE TAKEN OVER RN