Victory is mine... sort of.

As I am sure you all remember, I am a new born fawn in the cold cold world of the modern office. As I shakingly get to my legs, I can't help but notice all the wolves. I believe the correct term is "Eep".

Well, the railroad trip is significantly shorter than I expected. I was in a position to be out on my ass next Tuesday. No longer. This is the good news. In my grubby little hands I have a contract that says they can't toss this baby out with the bathwater... yet.

This is where the bad news always fits in. When the wolves think you are bleeding, they are less cautious about exposing what it is they want. The usual slimy backroom dealing becomes less backroom. And I was taking notes.

I am now firmly entrenched on my own little Maginot line. Peering out of my concrete slit, I see the enemy massing for that assault I politicked myself out of. Like the noble cowards of ages past, I am plotting my escape. Hope they don't figure out the guns don't turn backwards.

I realised today that the most difficult project I have ever worked on at work is actually remaining employed. When you are low man on the totem, everybody sees you as a bundle of cash. It always comes down to survival of the fittest.

Fucking Darwin.