Maybe things will get better later
2024-05-26 08:19:00 +07:00 by Mark Smith
Right at the very end of writing the earlier noodle soup blog post, I had a sense that things were about to go downhill. One of those sinking feelings where you just know your time is up, and the happiness, however mild, is about to be abruptly replaced by something much less pleasant.
As I attempted to commit and push the blog post it became apparent that yesterday's newsletter was in the wrong folder. A small change you might think, but this is a pattern very well known by me at this stage. As soon as I attempted to move the file, the editor UI slowed down to super slow mo. In this state selections you make are sort of ephemeral. Things look right, then get unselected as soon as you try to commit. You are left in a never ending set of concentric circles, each fix, creates a new problem. And you ultimately waste 35-40 minutues getting things corrected, through tedious UI spinners that never seem to complete.
All the while the hive mind, eminating from the 2 nearby local cafes, is blatantly trying to mind control your every move, except it's like a drunken back seat bycicle driver that insists on stearing the handle bars with their arms crossed. They say up when you are going down, left when you are going right. Every move countered by it's opposite. And the group's disapointment in the entire situation is palpable. Something that would normally be fixed in a few moments, takes seemingly several eternities, and you are left believing that the disapointment is yours.
Right at the end of fixing things, you try to move to the right by a meter to lean against the wall and take some load off your feet tired from standing, but as you move you notice someone has smeared poo right next to the place you would stand. No rest for you.
A moment later, a couple arrive on a mororbike, the man has a malevolent look in his eye and all across his face. He turns to face you, points down the street and simply says 'Lie!'. The already horrendous atmosphere, drops to the depths of several infinitis, disapearing into a parallel dimension that is overlayed on your reality. Everything is drooping now. You can almost hear sound effects describing the sadness.
The disapointnent is transfered to you fully, as the group glee begins to rise, at least for some. Malevolent laughter, ha ha ha. Everything is your fault again.
Can't I have 1 moment of happiness that doesn't get destroyed by enemy aircraft?
As you finish the current note, your nose makes signs it's about to go on a running spree.
Maybe things will get better later.