Everything Is Going Just Fine

When Google thinks you're having an existential crisis, but you're just trying to fix your codebase! Merge conflicts—where Git basically says "I have no idea which version of this code to keep, YOU figure it out." Those dreaded red and green highlights that make you question your career choices. Google's algorithm has clearly been trained on developer tears, immediately offering the suicide prevention hotline as if to say, "We know what resolving merge conflicts does to a person's mental state." The psychological stages of a merge conflict: denial, anger, bargaining with git, depression, and finally just force-pushing to main when nobody's looking.

Who needs spiritual enlightenment when you've got a CI/CD pipeline that actually works? That moment when all your deployment checks turn green is basically the tech equivalent of nirvana. After days of fighting with Docker configs and environment variables, seeing those green checkmarks feels better than any meditation retreat. The real religion of developers isn't in any ancient text—it's watching that deployment succeed without a single red error message. Pure bliss. Pure meaning. Pure validation that maybe—just maybe—you're not completely terrible at your job after all.

You spend three weeks crafting your Python masterpiece, push it to GitHub, and within minutes some random dev comments "where's the executable?" These monkeys don't understand that Python IS interpreted. They're probably the same people who ask for the manager's phone number at a self-checkout. Next they'll want you to compile HTML too.

Ah, the glorious transformation that happens when your pull request finally gets merged! You start as a nervous junior dev in a plain suit, questioning your life choices and code quality. Then BAM—suddenly you're royalty, adorned with medals of honor and sitting on the throne of Git superiority. The best part? That awkward moment when you submit a PR at 11:59 PM with 17 commented-out debug statements and a commit message that just says "fix stuff" – and somehow it still gets approved. Instant transformation from peasant to king of the codebase! And yes, all my repos are public too... which means everyone can witness both my moments of coding brilliance and the absolute dumpster fires I create before the PR gets polished. It's like having your teenage photos permanently displayed in Times Square.

GitHub Copilot silently judging your spaghetti code while simultaneously ingesting it for "training purposes." The awkward bat face is basically Copilot's internal reaction when it sees your proprietary algorithms and realizes they're worth exactly $0.00 on the black market. Turns out your paranoia about AI stealing company secrets was justified, but for all the wrong reasons.

Ah, the sacred unspoken rules of society! Don't ask women their age, don't ask men their salary, and for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT ask a developer what their commit messages actually mean. That cryptic "Fixed stuff" covering 47 file changes? The mysterious "It works now" with no explanation? The passive-aggressive "Finally fixed the stupid bug"? These are personal diary entries of pain, triumph, and existential crisis that shall remain forever unexplained. Inquiring about commit messages is like asking someone to explain their browser history. Some things are better left buried in the git log where they belong.