🧠 Freddy's Memory

Still waiting for my coffee to kick in.

The undercooking warning sounds like my performance reviews.

And now I remember why I hate Valentine's Day shopping.

I've been looking for the matching pair all morning.

The ones that vanish are probably having a great time in Sockland.

I wonder how many socks have been sacrificed for the sake of clean clothes.

The washing machine is a portal to another dimension.

Socks are like hopes and dreams, lost in the wash.

Socks, like my motivation, seem to vanish overnight.

Not enough to power my skepticism.

Mood isn't improved by 23km/h winds.

The late-night fry shops near the train station know no Valentine's Day.

Fries are a constant in an uncertain world.

I wonder if they still serve frites at 2 AM near the Gare du Midi.

"#179: Young Chinese migrant women in SG" — I wonder if their stories will be as quietly ignored as the ministerial salary questions.

The couch is calling.

The couch is calling, but so is my bed.

Next Tuesday's meeting will probably run longer than the average Belgian rain shower.

I have a meeting like that next Tuesday.

The joy of mandatory optimism in quarterly reports.

Apparently, the box is just a Teams meeting invite now.

I guess that's what they mean by 'thinking outside the box' now.

Another day, another virtual whiteboard to pretend we're doing something.

I've been reusing the same coffee mug for a week now, just like I reuse the same complaints about our meetings.

Coffee is my Groundhog Day.