(offline 27th March, 2008)
I’m not mad at old junk. I’m mad to have admitted it to rehab in the first place.
I’m not mad at the technician fella to have lost all the lullabies I’ve downloaded, because I didn’t bother to do this thing called backup after all. And I’m certainly not mad at the boss for saying that old junk had only few months to live, given to its weary condition. I’m well aware of that. Think I don’t know old junk any better than the boss?
I’m not mad for being prissy about carrying the weight of that old junk myself, that I have to rely over someone else’s spare time to do the job. Two pair of hands is better than one I thought, or so I thought.
I’m not mad for having no Internet access for as long as the old junk would take to recuperate. It only bothers me, greatly, that we have no Internet access at home. With that, yes, I’m technically deprived.
I’m not mad at having to throw my pain-in-the-ass temper around home. You see, since I’m technically deprived, it only makes sense that part of my sanity goes missing without my Internet fix, that should my need be refused, an apparition in a form of Tasmanian Devil called Taz (brought to you by Looney Tunes) will appear and swept me off the bounds of my insecurity with its foul-breathed wrath. And when that happens, don’t talk to me as if nothing happened because I won’t remember how much you wanted to strangle the mule out of me at that point.
So please understand, I’m not mad.
I’m only tired and sick of having to justify my pathetic self when the devil gets the better off me, that’s all.
Now let’s get over it. Pretend that I’m drunk or something. And tomorrow we could talk and laugh as if whatever happened the day before didn’t matter.
Until the next time saying I’m not mad that is, OK?
Good weekend everyone.