Dancing to Dirges

Depressing and happy things Tim says, sometimes while drunk

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Epic Struggles of the Suburban Loser.

I'm not what you'd call a hairy man. My eyebrows are starting to take on that wiry, british admiral "what what I say" quality, but that's about it. But I have this single, jet black hair on the back of my right hand. It's about a quarter-inch long. It's pretty much the only hair on either of my hands, other than a sort of peachy fuzziness that is only in evidence when I'm taking off bandages. It's driving me crazy. I only ever notice it at work, under these lovely lights. I have a knife, but I use it to cut boxes and packing straps, so it's not terribly sharp anymore. So every day I stare down at this little hair, and I think "When I get home. I'll cut you off when I get home." And then I get home and promptly forget. Memories of the hair go down the drain, along with every value-less, trivial and horrifying thing that happens here. I purge it out, and in so doing forget my appointment with the hair. And then, the next day, when I'm booting dbase or standardizing a list, and the lag sets in and my eyes wander, I look down and there, there sticking out like a stinger that has only glanced the surface, there's the hair. Fuck.


At 5:34 PM , Blogger Splitcoil said...

Your knife is not properly sharpened? And yet I assume you make time to eat and sleep... Man, you've got some mixed up priorities.

At 10:13 AM , Blogger bootsofblack said...

I thought admirals would say "wot wot".

At 11:18 AM , Blogger Tim Akers said...

No, no, you're mixing up your quirky britishisms. Wot is old english for 'know' I think. 'gods wot' is something you say when you mean 'only the gods know.' I think.


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