Out of Service 20 November 1998

9:15 PM: I got paid today, at least.

It's not easy, you know, to be sitting here and listening to one's office crush talking about how lost she is these days when she leaves the office "early" (before 10) and finds herself with two or three hours to kill before bedtime. "I guess this is what people use to develop a rich social life." One is tempted to the most foolish - not to say futile and pathetic - sorts of gestures.

Strange morning. I wouldn't get up, even though the radio was being more than normally stupid, and I was stuck in this dim, frustrating series of dreams. I can't remember their details now but it involved weird deceptive relationships and trying to make things work, with predictable results. Doesn't sound like something you'd cling to, does it? But there I was. It might just be something simple like masochism, but I think maybe I was in debugging mode. I wasn't going anywhere until this stupid thing worked, damnit! Not that it ever did. I just finally fell deeply enough asleep to forget about it.

Hmmm. I just noticed that there is a mannequin arm sticking through the glass front of this conference room in front of me.

11:16: Well, damn. I had added some more to this and then the window died and now it's gone. I don't remember whether it was interesting or not, so I suppose that's a clue right there.

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.