Ultraq's Final MooCow

Bits and pieces by Emanuel Rabina

Spoke too soon

So about a week-and-a-half ago I said that I had finally reduced my workload! I was telling any friends I met, I posted it on my last blog, I had time to go out at night, and I even had time to practice some more guitar! (something I haven't really done since I was dumped* by my guitar buddy) Just when I was starting to enjoy my new 'freedom', the forces at work must have noticed my higher-than-normal levels of happiness and excitement because today, my workload crept back up on me, knocked me out, and when I awoke I was bruised all over and missing my left shoe.

It seems I jinxed myself when I started telling others that I'm no longer as busy as I used to be. I don't know how it happened but since yesterday I've been given additional work and by the end of the day I was adding overtime to my timesheet...

Overtime! I hadn't done overtime for maybe more than 3 weeks now. I mean, I did when work started dangling the do-overtime-get-paid carrot in-front of me some months ago, but I quickly learned that I'm not made for doing too much because the OOS monster that lies dormant in my wrists most of the time started to make a fuss.

Work isn't the only thing to turn on me the moment I thought it was all working: this website also decided to go belly-up sometime during the day, just when I was starting to feel confident that my last fix had solved all my problems.

*sigh*

Such is life.

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* OK so I wasn't really dumped, but I got an e-mail from her saying she wanted to take a break from our guitar practices.

Do you remember those old black-and-white movies with scenes like where the male lead is waiting at the station for his love before the train departs; he's waiting desperately for a sign of her so they can go away together, but instead he hears the train guard/conductor calling out his name; he tells the conductor that he's the person he's looking for, and the conductor hands him a letter; the guy opens the letter and as he reads it, the voice of his love reads aloudthe words written on the letter and the expression on his face turns to dismay as he reads/hears the reasons or excuses for why she can't come?

Her e-mail read like one of those letters, and when I reached the end of it my initial reaction was, "Dammit, I've been dumped!" OK, maybe I have too active an imagination. That, or I shouldn't have seen Casablanca so soon before.