Five sweaters and a hat find me in the kitchen. Predictably, mother left cigarettes and no note, so I have one over orange juice.
And I make myself concerned suddenly with just where those same mothers have gone absent to, with the indoor weather something now intolerable.
…that until organizations realize that treating adults like wayward children destroys morale, creativity, and basic human joy, the micromanager will continue to loom—hovering, nitpicking, doubting, draining, controlling—like the world’s least charismatic supervillain.