Diskrepansi (diskrepansi) wrote,
Diskrepansi
diskrepansi

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I hate these kinds of days.

C: "I can't connect to my e-mail!"

[work through various things; bear in mind that the client has already made some indication of being on the network via dial-up networking]

C: "It keeps prompting me to dial in..."

(note: this prompt had gone unmentioned previously, despite having been advised to inform me of any prompts that should make a timely appearance...)

Me: "Are you already dialed in?"

C: "No."

(......wouldn't you be taking those prompts as a hint??)

Me: "[sigh] Let me just check on something here... [laboured breathing, almost grunt-like] Nope, I don't seem to be able to create a telepathic link. Your clairvoyant client program will not be able to establish a meditative session with the psychic server... perhaps we could try something along the mystic protocol; try swinging a dead cat over your head by the light of the full moon. You should then be able to actually hear your e-mail being read to you - though, I warn you now, the kitty-yowling can get to be a little grating on the nerves, and the user interface isn't quite as friendly."

Irritating. Everything today has been irritating. Every thing.

  • The cat meowing and purring and rubbing her face on my head this morning to get fed;
  • the time it took in the shower to have the water temperature adjust after turning the knob a bit;
  • attaching that damned chain on my wallet to my jeans;
  • hitting every red light on the way to work;
  • having no cars anywhere in sight until I want to jaywalk - then there's a whole fuckin' parade passing by;
  • the very sound of my colleagues' voices;
  • that shrill beep from the phone when it rings;
  • that clients aren't capable of answering the most simple question with any accuracy;
  • nor can they follow any kind of simple directions;
  • that someone with a "couple of easy questions" took so long that I don't have time to go to the gym to work off some of this frustration;
  • that the woman at Subway used a sauce that is definitely not what I asked for;
  • that Tom Bombadil is such a frilly, dancing and singing fruit - this is making it difficult to get through this chapter;
  • the music playing on Detroit Industrial Underground internet radio this evening.

I've been having thoughts of just leaving... not even getting packed up - just leaving. No forwarding address, no phone number, no trace. I feel restless, and trapped, and tired... oh, and anxious - toss that one in there too. I don't even know why. I wish I was 'in the money' - then I could just disappear.

Some of these feelings escaped recently with the aid of some good ol' Old Stock and a couple of shooters. I'm afraid that I was a bit obnoxious to at least one person, and possibly others - hard to tell sometimes, what with it being my own perspective, as well as being drunk. I wish I could take that night back.

I don't think I'll be going out for a while, and I certainly won't be drinking. Perhaps I'll have my own 'moment of clarity'.
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