Benny's Adventures

Estimation, Burnout, and Villanelles

Estimation is Hard


Is the glass half full? Or half empty? Well, it doesn’t matter because when you go to drink it you’ll find there’s too much or too little. I’ve come to find in my experience so far as an engineer that anything that requires some level of estimation, be it estimating time in scheduling or estimating how much resin and hardener is left for an epoxy, is nearly impossible to get right. For the moment it’s just likely that I don’t have the proper experience doing these things with the precision I require so maybe in time I will get better at it. I’ll keep you posted.

Burnout is Actually Rarer Than It Seems

For a long time I complained of being burnt out. I think that there was some truth to it but personally life improved quite a bit when I could rest my fears and figure out exactly what I wanted to do. I suspect that while there are legitimate cases where people are experiencing “physical or mental collapse caused by overwork or stress” but there are catalysts for this reaction. Fear, uncertainty, and other related gremlins of the mind do their utmost to reduce the point where work becomes overwork and stress becomes too much.

If you are feeling burnt out, try some introspection to figure out why you are doing what your doing on top of easing the work load and stress levels to facilitate healing and avoid reentering the same state of burnout.

Villanelles are Magical

I don’t know what it is about the villanelle specifically that attracts me to it but of all the poetic forms out there the villanelle continues to hold my attention even now, a full 4 years after I first learned of the form and saw some exemplary examples. Here is my favorite villanelle:


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

23 February 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: