I like my job. I am well paid, I have influence and can make a difference.  It is just that sometimes the machines are so much purer than the people.

Meetings consume most days.  Like high school, we progress from room to room to meet until the big hand strikes 12, and then off to the next meeting.   There is no bell now, we are already conditioned. The people are pleasant, but meetings seem to consume our souls.   Are we building consensus, removing roadblocks advancing the company or just rehashing and scheduling the next meeting?

Sometimes, after all the meetings when the day is done, I come back in and sit at my cubicle. The low lights and quiet hallways comfort me.  The living building houses many sounds which never seem noticeable in the day,  blowers coming on and off, creaks and groans of thermal contraction as the windows cool with the falling night.  Each mysterious sound might be the harbinger of  approaching monsters, but my cubicle is safe.

Irradiated by the ghostly glow of my two monitors, I log into various machines, selecting from those 500 plus servers that run the business, and tweak and tune. There are no politics here, no posturing, no empire building.  I ask, and if I ask correctly, they always tell the truth.   Where is that file:

  locate  limits.conf or

find / -print | egrep limits.conf

Cryptic commands that are like old friends, followed by

sudo vi /etc/security/limits.conf



To edit and change it. In the UNIX world there might be ten ways to change something, but it is always binary, two choices, it works or it doesn’t,   So I sit and type, my fingers often knowing the commands so well they spring forth without conscious thought.  Perhaps  this living language of technology, created so long ago by pioneers in the 1970s will soon fade into obscurity.  It may be so, but it is what I know.

I work late into the night, then I log out, and depart for the evening prepared to return the next morning.