7 or more minutes

A minute for each day? Nyeah, not enough.

Process. So very important. There are processes everywhere. This helps feed the egos of people who are ostensibly in charge, but who don't really know what they're doing. So they put processes in place as a barrier to real communication.

Because. If you communicate and understand, then you have to do something. And these process-oriented people don't really want to do anything - anything useful that is.

Then there's the other kind of process. As in processing thoughts.

I'm putting up barriers to processing thoughts myself because there is too much to process.

So here I am, sitting waiting to head to the dungeon to warm up (with lovely wool blankets) the X-ray machine and prime the Maestro - who probably will demand a nice hot chocolate to start the day, listening to Too Much Heaven.

And that's fine. Because it's my go to soothing and calming zen secret guilty song that calms the beast what doesn't sing. Or something like that.

An apology to SL - whose e-mail I've not been able to get to. I'm sorry - things have just been a leetle beet beasy these days.

Okay - let this last effort work. Have to draw a line and this line once drawn will determine how blurry the line between outright lie and best presentation of is, and will put my integrity to test.

I'm miserable with all the demands of integrity. Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't I have been born without a conscience?

Because if I had been born without one, then I wouldn't me and if I weren't me, the milestones that came to pass on Cambie would have passed me by and not stopped, looked me in the eye, and said, Pay Attention. Not that paying attention helped much at all. You see, it was one of those things where you had to deduce from that left unsaid as much as what was said, and then throw in gestures and the actions and this was truly a case of whether it was a matter of words, or of actions that counted more.

Gah. What would Mrs. Christie have said? "What a waste, Agatha, what a waste of [write your favourite noun in here]. There's no point [write your favourite verb in here] until you're sure".

Then again, how can one be sure of anything in these uncertain days. Why, yesterday, in my eagerness to cut an application down to four pages, I cut it down to three and now I'm in the position where I have to put text back in. A most unusual, and most unwelcome proceeding BECAUSE NOW I HAVE TO CONTINUE WORKING ON IT and not TAKE IT OFF MY LIST OF THINGS TO DO.


Where was I? Oh who knows - probably nowhere in particular and I hate, absolutely HATE the feckwit what made me trip and then patronized me like I've never been patronized before. Were that feckwit retarded aphid to appear before me now, he would be placed carefully under the wheels of the next fully-loaded and slow moving, but not so slow that one could evade the crushing wheels, #99 express bus.

There. That feels so much better.

Instead, I must choose whether I'm going to trust or not. And if I do trust then I do it wholeheartedly, while cleaving to the four agreements and with full integrity.

And that's what I'm going to do. I'll even declare it here. I trust in the Orb.

Now to write an extra page of piffle.