Alright, so this “35 + 21” thing. It’s not some fancy equation I’ve been wrestling with, nothing like that. It’s more like a label I slapped on a recent little adventure, or misadventure, depending on how you look at it, right here in my own little world.
I got this idea, see. I wanted to get my digital life a bit more organized, maybe automate a few boring tasks. So, I figured, I’ll write 35 small scripts. Little helpers, you know? Things like:
- A script to sort my downloads folder automatically.
- One to backup my important config files.
- Another to quickly clean out temp files.
You get the picture. Thirty-five of them. I even made a neat list. Thought it would be a straightforward couple of weekends. Ha! Famous last words, as they say.
That’s where the “+ 21” comes crashing in. Before I could even start on item number one of my glorious list of 35, I dug into my existing setup. And man, oh man. I unearthed 21 other problems. We’re talking old, half-finished scripts from years ago that were actively messing things up, a bunch of outdated libraries I relied on, and a system configuration that was, frankly, a complete bird’s nest. It wasn’t just 21 small things either; some were pretty tangled.
My first reaction? A big sigh. That kind of weary sigh you let out when you know you’re in for it. Because, you see, this song and dance felt familiar. It reminded me of something from way back when.
I remember this one place I worked, years ago. We were a small team, full of beans, ready to change the world with code. The boss, a decent fella but, let’s just say, an optimist to a fault, he went and sold a client this massive, all-singing, all-dancing software idea. Promised it in three months flat. The thing was, it was supposed to be built on a pile of new tech, stuff that was barely out of the wrapper, some of it still experimental, if you know what I mean.
We dove in. Or, more like, we were thrown in at the deep end. The amount of stuff we didn’t know we didn’t know was just staggering. Every time we thought we had a handle on one part, three other problems would pop up, like some horrible game of whack-a-mole. Those three months? They stretched into four, then five, then nearly seven. We were running on fumes and lukewarm coffee. The final product we shipped? It worked, mostly. But it was held together with the digital equivalent of string and prayers. The client wasn’t thrilled. We were burnt out. It was a proper mess.
What did I learn from that circus? A whole lot. Mostly about how plans are just nice ideas until they meet reality. And how there’s always, always, more stuff lurking under the surface than you think. You can’t just slap a new coat of paint on a rotten foundation.
So, back to my little “35 + 21” project. When I saw that mess of 21 underlying issues, part of me wanted to just ignore it, pretend it wasn’t there, and just crack on with my shiny new list of 35. But then I remembered those late nights, that feeling of building on shaky ground. And I just couldn’t do it. I knew, deep down, that if I didn’t tackle that “+ 21” first, my 35 nifty scripts would either not work right, or they’d break in a week, or worse, they’d just add to the existing pile of digital junk.
So, I rolled up my sleeves. Started working through those 21 problems. It wasn’t fun. It was tedious. It was cleaning up old messes, some of them my own from way back when I didn’t know any better. It took way longer than I wanted. But bit by bit, I untangled it.
The 35 scripts? I’m getting to them. Slowly. Some are done. But the project isn’t just “35” anymore. It’s “35 + 21.” And that’s just the way it is. Sometimes you set out to build a nice, neat fence, and you end up having to re-landscape half the garden first. That’s life, I guess. Or at least, that’s my life with these little projects.
