...hello?
30 September 1998
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...hello?
30 September 1998
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7:05 PM: Remember the scene in Time Bandits when they've been captured by the bad guys, and they're imprisoned in a cage hanging by a rope in the middle of nothingness? It looked like there was no floor, no ceiling, no walls - just dark emptiness, all around. I think my desk got relocated there last night. I hate these office rearrangements.
Everything is falling apart today, in that unerringly targeted way that Fate has. Madness breaking out in the behavior of all these little independent processes. Someone woke up the lawyers to boot. Ah well.
The worst part is this feeling of isolation. I want to talk to someone who does not work here, you know? Just a quick reminder that, yes, there is an outside world. But these days I'm just grabbing air. Uh oh, deja vu. Better take that as a hint.
8:00: Sox lost, Cubs lost. Universe is safe again. Well, as much as it ever was. Case in point - a good friend of mine, in a fairly high-up position over in the half of the company that was Ravaged By Wolves, was laid off today, I think. I guess they only needed her for as long as it took her to finish laying off everyone that worked for her. It's some kind of awful recursive capitalist virus, where they reserve the vaccine for the nodes at the top.
I can remember when I completely bought into Ownership and "we" and all that horse poopy. I never was all that smart, remember, and certainly not smart in the ways of humans and the world around me. Now, though, I think I have finally thoroughly learned the lesson: there are the people who Own the business, and there is you. The Owners will roger you right into the ground if they have to in order to make More Money. There is no such thing as making Enough Money for people who Own things - they want More Money.
They will speak with a honeyed tongue and offer you candy, give you diamonds, give you pearls - they'll even let you watch the shows you want to see. Until the day that the logic of Money says that you have to disappear, and then you're Trotsky, babe. No, I was always standing alone on the reviewing stand with my arm curled around empty air like that, why do you ask? What a strange question. Don't you have work to do? No, don't explain what it is, I don't care.
9:57: Weird to read these journals, weird to hear from so many married people. Married or "in a long term kind of thing you know." Instinctive reaction to each mention is jealousy, but then sometimes I remember. Oh yeah, I was married too. Hunh. So I don't know what I think about that.
Ought I to still be married? I guess that's the idea, isn't it. Do I wish I was still in those specific relationships, though? Not a bit. And they were so long ago. God, I can't imagine having spent the last ... 18 years! with the same person. That's mind boggling, it really has been that long. 18 years. We could have growed ourselves a voter.
11:18: Sigh. Even FreeCell is unsatisfying. What's a boy to do?
Oh come on, I'm still at work, sheesh. Get your mind out of the White House.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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