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So... we meet again. Twenty-four hours ago, this old formica dinette table was empty... and this room was silent. A victim of too much conflicting information, my Pandora's Box gasped its crashing last early Friday. This, a feeling with which I'm not entirely unexperienced. In come the professionals, out goes my paycheck. But, it's still worth it. Like I'd explained, it was like my ears had shut... my eyes had glazed over... or the sensitivity had left my fingers. A connection was missing. I wouldn't miss the phone. The phone means bad news. But, being able to reason my speech into something visible and together; that's what I wish the spoken word would do. Destiny says, "write." Gotta compensate for those piss-poor social skills. I've got to stand back and give thanks. There's so much thinly-veiled weeping and wailing in this journal, which has to be an immature reaction to stupid little things... and they are all little things. Now that the list of catastrophes is smaller, it's easier to see. Word to the wise: If your car starts up, runs for a while, then expires... don't let the mechanic tell you to replace your fuel pumps. Tell him to check the rotor button in the distributor, first. $14 parts versus $200. A valuable lesson I have learned... though I speak better B0sch LH-Jetron1c than I used to. I still despise having to dig into the autoexec cesspool, and will find the right person to play in it... even if it means shitty menus until Friday. LIke Oddball said in Ke11y's Heroes... " I just drive 'em... I don't know what makes 'em tick." I don't want to have to think like a code writer. My brain would implode. That said, I'd like to place this cell phone in an unpleasant orifice in it's maker. My only lament... that the entire day was spent indoors, with occasional forays outside, within phone distance. House arrest. I should have something loud on the stereo to commemorate the evening alone, with the cat ignoring me. OK, I'm doing that. With my elbows propped up on the formica. |
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