Archives, eh
-
# A bad run, or karma I may just have to cop to
Since I quit GR:
- Sacked fifteen minutes before I could quit from the porn palace. Candor forces me to admit that unlike the rest of the list, this is probably a good thing as it spared me the temptation to use the C-word while quitting.
- Worked four months at GR as a contractor.
- Main computer started spontaneously rebooting, a process that has changed only in the ever decreasing cooldown between repetitions.
- D’s computer started making a horrendous noise. Not Duran Duran, although it makes that a lot, but like a broken fan, which oddly enough was exactly the problem except it wasn’t the power supply fan like I thought, nor the CPU fan but a third fan attached to the top of the case. I found this out only after spending $60 for a power supply to be installed.
- tWM gets noticeably more pissy and snippy and generally teenagery. Dan and Shaun and Kriss, I hope you’re paying attention here—good luck.
- Car gets dinged up when D – possibly after being told that no, the doctor won’t help dispose of tWMs body with some sort of surgical acid – rams the doctor’s surgery with the back of the car in a retributive strike. Or accidently. Mine sounds better.
- The same fucking day we get the car back from the repair guy after being subjected to a fucking automatic – how do people drive the fucking things?!? – some fucking fucker fucking fucks the car with further dings.
I am beginning to think that maybe I was supposed to stay at GR. Maybe I’m actually dead, GR was my own personal hell and quitting was the only way my consciousness can comprehend my escape. But because I was supposed to be in hell, Cino has sent all of these things to continue punishing me. I don’t remember consuming any green tea, but it seems the only reasonable explanation.
Or maybe I really am just some trapped soul with my experiences being manipulated by a cruel and deceptive demon. It let me escape from GR just so it could fuck around with me in new and interesting ways. That would explain why my brain always seems so set against me.
Exact nature of the why remains undetermined. Practical effect appears to be that the answer to the question “How was your day” is now measured in averted homicides.
Or maybe it is karma. Earlier this year I told someone I would investigate the truthfulness of reports of a death. The summary of the situation is that basically a person I didn’t know who was a regular commenter on certain Australian political blogs was reported to have died of depression related causes. Certain other personages expressed doubts that the reports were true; that perhaps they were just a cover for the adoption of a new online personality.
I was really only that interested because the person who died – let’s just accept it is true for reasons that become clear in a few paragraphs – lived in the same city I grew up in; Hell for those of you who have been paying attention for the last nine years. So I mentioned that I would investigate by having my father – practically works for the local paper anyway – check the death notices in the archives.
Weeks after I asked him to check I still hadn’t actually talked to him again. I was about to call him to find out what the story was when, like a bird shitting on my head, the universe dumped on me the realisation ofexactly how ghoulish and offensive it was. I was trying to find out if someone was really dead on behalf of a pair of socially-atavistic meatheads who only doubted it because his and some other identity’s politics were antithetical to theirs.
Dad has never mentioned it. I’ll never ask, and I’ll cut him off if he ever does say something. I don’t want to know. Forget what Occam’s shaving gear might have to say, I am taking it on face value because I’d hate to think what the family might think of me if they heard I was checking up behind their back about whether or not the loved one they buried really is dead. Best case scenario is that Dad forgot about it. Worst case is that they did find out. If that’s the case, I’m quite happy to accept everything that has happened as pre- and post-hoc karma eventhoughthatsnothowkarmaworks.
I know someone else was proposing to check up as well when she swung through Bundaberg as part of her regular job, someone I otherwise have ceded a lot of respect to despite initial scepticism stemming from her earlier history. If she does, I hope I miss any announcement she makes.
