Read the book The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work by Alain de Botton yesterday. This snippet, about a day in the life of employees at a multinational accountancy, struck me as particularly poignant.
These achievements will no doubt lose some of their significance with the perspective of time. Three years from now, the diary of the afternoon of the twenty-ninth of July will have become almost unintelligible, when it had once been sharply divided into pressing hour-long increments, devoted to appointments with colleagues whose very names and faces will have grown indistinct.
Sad but true. If I try to remember what was so important that I never made it to girls' weekend in the Hamptons late August two summers ago, I cannot for the life of me begin to imagine. But it certainly was seemingly critical at the time.
Ah well, must go to bed on time tonight so I can awaken early, go swimming and be in the office by 7:30 a.m. so I can meet my pressing deadlines, in billable increments, for clients whose very names and faces will grow indistinct soon.
That's life.
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