Additional responsibilities were being presented to me as late as last week at my lowly position on the corporate totem pole. Signs that the duration of my temporary fit into the machine may become more permanent than I had initially perceived. That, however, was as lasting as a dry spell in a Portland season other than summer. Over the course of this week past, I have witnessed a severe fleecing of my recent expansion in professional duties to a degree that has left me with a workload equivalent in time delegation to that of your basic teenage neighborhood babysitter. I only loosely miss the direct interpretation of the word when I state that the work my position is obligated to accomplish, in a daily manner, has been decimated. This is referred to by honchos of the great machine as "phasing out," and is an act that is sheepishly applauded and cherished by heads of these totem poles, who flaunt their distinguished familial crests. Leaving the bottom of the post in an endless struggle of keeping his segment from being pressed into the settling mud by the pressure of the figureheads - until the base is forced to move on and leave another in his unfavorable position. It appears that I am being forced into the wet ground and will only be able to breathe, if I take action upon the writing that has recently appeared on the proverbial dry-erase board. Bringing me once again to the undesired position of searching for sparsely available gratifying work, which will likely turn-up fruitless and force me to temporarily contract my labor to another emotionless machine that leaves me without the personal aspirations of human healthcare and mental gratification. Fortunately, plans of summertime travel followed by graduate school enrollment are underway and keep thoughts of future progression positive.