You know when you were younger and your parental unit walked in on you and your friend playing and they would ask, ‘are you playing nicely?’
I’ve thought about this question… and I’ve decided that the answer is no, I’m not playing nicely.
I saw this tweet today. It perfectly encapsulates how I feel about life at the moment.
Other than this profound realisation… I am actually fine.
I am also procrastinating. I should be paying attention. I’ve been grappling (I think that might be too kind a verb) with this (stupid) tax calculation for… about two days now. I’ve now finally asked my wife to help me. This is basically my default setting. Try something obviously beyond me. Get frustrated. Get angry. Get depressed. Ask my wife to open the child-proof container.
Its a vicious cycle.
My day started off at Starbucks. The slowest Starbucks in the history of the world. Ever. Also the guy in front of me didn’t know what he wanted and then had to connect to the free wifi before he could pay for his Caramel Frappuccino® . This incensed me for a lot of different reasons. Mostly because despite sporting the appearance of a grownup he was just so clearly inept at life. How did he get here? What evolutionary fluke was playing out? Should I step on his larynx?
Things never really recovered from there. I spent my day fighting with people and sending mean spirited emails to my banker. Which I then apologised for. I was hoping for some quid pro quo, you know an admission that it was his ineptitude that caused me to lose my temper and write nasty things… but alas no such admission was forthcoming.
I’ve learnt to moderate my angry replies somewhat in my old age. Difficult to come back from ‘I hope you get sick and die’. (that particular customer still hasn’t paid me)
I’m glad why wife is struggling with my tax query. She’s had to haul out her university textbook. Seriously this thing is thicker than the bible… but with less incest and murder.
She’s asked me to forward her my spreadsheet. Watching me work in excel on my Mac is making her… twitchy. She doesn’t say anything, but I know its because I can barely colour between the lines and she’s third year fine arts. Watching her alt-tab through fifteen million pages starts to make me nauseous. I go eat some cake.
Its coffee cake. With walnuts.
We had a two legged wall jumper in our garden last night. The Basset hound discovered him while peeing at one AM and gave chase.
We live on one and a half acres of trees and shrubbery (the non Monty Python version). Its potentially the least tactical advantageous place to go tromping around after intruders despite all the Dutch courage heavy ordnance and body armour can provide. Its not a very interesting story though and I only mention it to get up to five hundred words.