I just hate mornings in general

Sigg3.net may disappear and reappear for a while. It did last night. Worry you none. The guy behind it, more importantly – me, is still here.
I am truly heartbroken by the human lossess of the catastrophe in New Orleans, and I think it’s a good thing US president Bush returns from holiday to declare war on mother nature, ’cause there can be no doubt it is America’s duty to put her to justice in the name of God.

I’m having a terrible morning.
When I woke up, it was so chilly outside that I had to wear a scarf during my morning ceremony, mainly consisting of cursing, coffee and cigarettes. Then I discovered that the bathroom was taken (I live with other people, always news to me), which meant I had to shave in my own room. That’s ok, except for one of my three lightbulbs in the roof, namely the pink one, a left-over from the previous tenant believed to be a satanist with a liking of pink, had gone. This means I have to construct some kind of temporary light force (candlelight hardly suffice) building a stack of books on which I put my reading light. Then the shaver has got it in for me, and leaves my skin as though it had been raped by a sushi knife. Other people manage to cut themselves while shaving, I manage to cut myself with a shaver.

Finally the bathroom was vacant, I rushed to it, brushing my teeth like I was some sort of janitor trying to remove grafiti after having accidently snorted some speed. Heading for the shower – no. Where was my towel?
The rule is: Always know where your towel is!
I found that someone had put it up next to my leather jacket in the hall. Without trying to problemize the logics of such an act, nor the ethics of doing it without my specific consent, I headed into the shower nearly forgetting to undress.

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up, and you’ve made yourself ready to face a new day when you suddenly realize that the clothes you had wanted to wear does not fit you. I have this feeling all the time. I think the primary cause can be a combination of 1) my body growing and 2) me never buying any clothes. I’d like to hear your thoughts on this theory. Anyway, there I was, realizing that if I weren’t to dress in the Emperor’s new clothes, I would have to improvize, a variant of processing not very likely to occour in the midst of the morning rush. Which is why I’m wearing beige, blue and grey and black shoes.

Getting to job is never easy, but not as hard as some people think. There are those people who bitch about going to work, how stuff never happens, how stuff happens, how hard it is to keep walking that walk as if you were on death row, but I’m not one of them. Actually I think people who bitch about everything are moaners. Not that they moan during sex, but that they moan if they see that in front of me there’s a hill, and I have to cross it. I’m not an optimist and I do believe that crossing that hill half past eight in the morning will surely bring you down one way or the other, in the sense that bringing you down has nothing to do with the hill but your life, so I just blow it up with my naturally negative charisma.
If I could collect all the people who bitch about going to work into one, big nation… oh, wait. That’s Norway.

Anyway, I got myself to work, without a complaint, and the first thing that hit me was a call from a client not knowing how to log in. Great, I thought, should I do this over the phone, necessarily messing it up, or should I go up two entire floors to get it done neat and swiftly? I decided on the second option, and found that the excercise could have positive side-effects, that face-to-face IT support would render me looking more efficient etc. etc. But I was unable to solve the problem, since the client had tried all possible variations of his password, including translating one of the included words into several languages, among them swahili – necessarily locking him out from the network as any half-wit teenage scriptkiddie would be.
Leaving my excercise wasted on the living, my efforts worth nought, and my physical appearance rather stupid.

Presently I’m sitting here with my scarf on, freezing, irritated to death over how Feedreader 2.9 is three steps back from 2.7, sneezing and drooling on my keyboard. SubGenius’ statements such as: The world ends tomorrow and YOU MAY DIE!! (Pamphlet #1) seems very probable to me. X-day is today. X-day is any day wherein your spirit has just vanished into thin air being replaced by negative fields of negative information, while a feverish amount of work is put before you, just after you’ve discovered that you’re way behind on all subjects you study in. There are very few, almost nothing, to be happy about.
But, ultimately, I’m glad I’m not a bitcher.

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