I’ve had a day that has been a philosophical lesson in impermanence, taught by being screwed by work and by managing to screw my wireless card up in the same day. (This is written on Word, and hopefully I will network it off my laptop onto my desktop.) It has to be a lesson in something, or else my head would have exploded by now. Its days like this that make me wish I believed in a higher power, simply so I could raise my fist to the skies and curse blasphemously at Him/Her/It. Least I still got my German beer. The tradition continues. But this is clearly a more humanist lesson in getting too damn cocky about regularity of life. So the timing is somehow, even if coincidentally, perfect. If my personal discomfort levels were high before, now they rank somewhere around being lit on fire while laying on a bed of nails. Damn my disbelief in providence. It could be so damn useful right now. It’s funny how I can imagine that some of certain faiths and other mystic followings would probably point to a day like this as proof of the displeasure in ignoring the Big Banana of their choice. But all is vanity. Hard to imagine that some divine being someplace is spending his/her/its quality time away from the music of the spheres to just make sure some shmuck working security gets shafted for not falling in line. Makes God sound like the abusive father whose children get the false freedom based only on how long they can go between beatings. Still, anyway, and through whatever (ir)rational means, today can do nothing but truly suck.
I have made a decision, that my last name does not mean Forest Man in German, but that is some coverup to hide the true meaning of my family name: Those who eat crisis (and ask for seconds.) I was on the bus on the way to this fine tavern when I realized that I felt strangely pleased. Here was a nice mundane crisis that I could serve to myself, with a side of deep-fried guilt, that I could really sink my teeth into. None of this existentialist bullshit. Job problems! That’s the ticket!
Unfortunately, I doubt I will be able to divert myself from this shifting redefinition of who I am, and what I believe, by getting angry at my supervisor. In fact, this new difficulty only presses my desire to not get tossed around so much by life, and roll with the proverbial punches.
Okay, that’s it, I’m done writing for now. Hitting the wall of tired cliché, and that means I’m ready to romp in the flowering field of false self-actualization. I will finish my beer, and I will go home, and I will play with my rats.
(Note: This was published off the now mysteriously working again wireless card. Oh the vagaries of technology.)