Trust Me!
8 January 1999
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Trust Me!
8 January 1999
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Welcome to Today, the journal that is all things to all people! Why, Today alone, Today was visited by people seeking:
7:06 PM: Please God, make them go home, make them go home. Monkey man and one of his oompaloompas are having some really obscure, loud, technical, and horribly horribly boring conversation on the other side of the room, which might as well be right inside my ear. Only I don't think it's technical at all, I'm beginning to suspect that it's a heavily disguised version of "Dad, I don't like him!" I will never be a manager ever ever. I don't care if that puts a maximum lifetime ceiling on what I can earn. Better that than going even more insane.
I did sort of come close to trying it once, a long time ago. When I get trapped by someone in one of those interminable bitch spiels, what I would like to do is cut it off after a minute or so and suggest they take up smoking. But what I do is just sit there and sit there, listening. I'm terminally polite, is the problem. Mmm hmm, mm hmm - oh, yes, me too, I know just what you mean, mm hmmm... While inside, it's more like "die die die die die..." That's just not a good thing for anybody.
What a weasel, eh? Ick. But, truth it is, I'm afraid. So I think it's probably best that I not be responsible for anybody's professional future or any of that rot.
Directly responsible I mean, of course. This has nothing to do with what a fine absolute monarch I'd make.
Note to youse: Please cease all uses of the formulation "Million X March". Cease now and avoid bloodshed. Thank you.
8:48: I kind of like this new Alanis Morissette CD, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, despite it violating my no-clever-lads rule. Is it supposed to be funny? Surely she's not sincere. Not wholly.
But so anyway it's rolling along with all her syllables (hey, maybe she should've made it in Italian), and this line pops up: "Don't forget that I was born in 1974." Waah. I can hear that someone is 25 without quite thinking about it to that level of detail, and that's not an accident dammit. I suppose I really have to get over this phenomenon but ... sputter.
Heh. "You're from New York, you are so relevant." I knew she was kidding.
I'm just kind of sitting here at a loss because I finished all my work for the week and it's not even 9 PM. Oh but look! Now it is. Bye.
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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