(Terry Pratchett meets the obstinate lawyer – Courtesy XKCD.com)
Sometimes my life feels a lot like the comic strip above. An unending, seemingly pointless game that I play with life itself, even though I know that, at the end of the road, Death is going to come along and say something silly like, “YOU HAVE PERHAPS HEARD THE PHRASE THAT HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE? IN TIME YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT IS WRONG”, and off I’ll go on my merry fucking way.
Like all the times today I’ve reached down beside my chair for a file or a book, and grabbed a ball of fur instead – one of seven dogs populating my office space. I love dogs; would love to own one (or maybe more) at some point in life. But, like everything else in life, there’s a time and a place for things canine, and the workplace sure isn’t it. Unless of course, I worked in a dog pound or a vet’s office, which I don’t. One dog, as an office mascot, is understandable (eccentric, but we can appreciate that; we’re lawyers, right?). Seven mutts is a tough bone to chew on.
Like all the times I’ve had to have this conversation:
Bonny Lass: “Sooo. I’m sorry about this…..please don’t hate me”
Crowley: “Huh?! Er, why should I hate you for this? It’s ok, man. You know, just one of those things.”
BL: “Um. Will it become awkward?”
C: “No reason why it should. We’ll just carry on. I mean, come on, you know me well enough by now, heh, it won’t get awkward…relax”
Like all the times after such conversation (that’s to say, a few weeks after), I’m still waiting to hear from concerned Bonny Lass. Nothing much is expected. A small conversation, every now and then, suffices. Just a small chinwag between ‘friends’. After all, we did put some effort into building a ‘friendship’, did we not? Does that effort and camaraderie count for nothing? Or are we always to be ships in the night; nothing more than passing souls? Do you not trust your instincts or my best intentions?
Like all the times I’ve written shit like this to console myself of the fact that, yes, there is a possibility of a happier, if not better, tomorrow. And all the times afterwards when life’s come back to bite me in the arse.
Like all the times I’ve forced myself to bite back screams of rage, and looked (rather longingly sometimes) towards the screen in front of me (laptop/cell phone) for some signs of life.
Like the many years I’ve spent trying to wash away the rage and sorrow and solitude with music, alcohol, work and books.
Fuck it.
2 Scallywags have walked the Plank |:
The bit about looking at the laptop/cell phone for signs of life really got to me. Hope you are not as despondent as you're sounding.
@ fan: yes, you could say I am a bit despondent...change in weather, I suppose :) To rephrase John Hodge:
"Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Friday afternoon."
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