For some reason, I expect people who profess to know me to be as invested in my own prejudices and predilections as I am. I know thatís not realistic. In fact, I know itís egotistical, self-absorbed, and borderline stoopid. Still, a guy can hope that once in a while people would try to see things through his eyes. Especially a guy who consistently tries to do that for others.
Anyway, the Boss knows I follow baseball, shall we say, rather fanatically. Every so often he even pretends to care. When he thinks about it, heíll ask me generic questions, and Iíll try to give him generic answers, because I know he doesnít want to know about the ins and outs of the game. He knows about the Yankees; if I tried to talk about the Tampa Bay Devil Rays with him, heíd give me a blank stare (even over the phone).
Not that thereís any reason for me to bring up the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.
So I wasnít surprised, but I was dismayed, when he kept faxing me page after page of typing tonight, during the very last game of the first round of this yearís baseball playoffs. I wasnít surprised, but I was irritated. I did it, but I didnít like it. Itís a sort of obsession I have, that when thereís work to do, specific pieces of work that have a beginning and an end, I have to do it before I can do anything else. Even eat. Which is why Iím starving.
It didnít surprise me, but it did annoy me. I did it so I wouldnít have to do it tomorrow morning. There will be no baseball games to watch tomorrow morning, but there would be sleeping to do, unless I had ten pages of typing facing me. If I had put it off until then instead of doing it now, I would have been as annoyed at myself as I am at the Boss.
Besides, one of the reasons I kept faxing him back revision after revision was to see how many times he would revise the same document in one night, and how long he would keep at it. It was an experiment, and once I got started I didnít want to corrupt the data by being the first one to blink. I know. Stoopid.