The first noting
This is my first LiveJournal post, as you may have noticed.
A funny thing happened today. I made a LiveJournal. Then i set the background, added some interests (four word limit ?) and added a photo, which is definitely me. Then i started to write a post, and i didn't quite know what to write, so i started to write about how I'd created the profile, listing every single part up until this moment so that i'm effectively just noting what happened a word ago in an an attempt to be funny and/or clever. Or annoying. Then there was a knock at the door.
I don't like callers at the best of times. No time is convenient to inflict a shitty opinion or product on a private dwelling. Why don't these people go into work places? It would be a welcome break. Anyway, this wasn't the best of times because I needed a shower, which often makes me feel hungover in sort of stale way, without the pain. Despite this, i thought I'd find out what he or she wanted.
When calling at my house, people can usually be found wandering around it in circles, because i have two front doors and two back doors, but this person, a woman in a dark, slimline power suit, complete with miniskirt, was simply standing in the drive staring directly into my bedroom window. I put on shoes and went outside to approach her with a frown. I find this is a subtle way to tell people i don't like cold callers and whatever they want they should fucking well make it brief. This was not, however, a cold call.
"Mr Wildz?" ...."Yes. What?" "I'm from a company called IDLD. I'm here to make sure you know your life, number..." She paused to look at paper on a clipboard. "...54654BH is about to end. We should have notified you through letter, which we did actually try to do six months ago, but due to a clerical error, the address we had down was complete gibberish." I paused. My first thought was, 'typical bloody office paperwork fuck ups - bane of my life.' then my attention moved to the slightly more pressing matter, "What the fuck are you talking about?" i asked her. She adjusted her skirt uncomfortably. "Yes, your life will end tomorrow. Sorry for the confusion this has caused. We realised we probably had the wrong address when we'd had no response from the 6 month warning. People usually want to know what's happening. "Damn right!" I shouted. How do you know when my life's going to end?" I followed this with obscenities and other noises. She waited calmly until i had finished my tirade. When I'd caught my breath, i invited her in for a cup of tea.
The woman sat at my kitchen table and sipped her tea. I asked her name, and she said she didn't have one. I thought that was rather rude. She was wearing a third business, third guilty, and third seductive expression on her face. She explained that IDLD stood for Inter-Dimensional-Life-Dictation and started to say that unfortunately there weren't enough resources to continue my life at the moment. However, i was finding it difficult to concentrate because she was rubbing my leg with hers under the table. When i was sure it wasn't accidental i kicked her, "Why are you doing that?" She looked very embarrassed and apologised. "I'm sorry. I always do this when i'm trying to break bad news. In my head it seems logical that people won't be so angry if they're horny." I told her she had a lot to learn. She said she was new to this world. I still didn't know what she was talking about so told her to start at the beginning.
At first she got out a laptop and showed me files that charted most of my life, the things i had done, mistakes i had made, and important moments. There were databases and graphs that showed how happy i was, and a pie chart showing what my life had been mostly devoted to. apparently i'd only devoted 0.76% to cookery, which was unusual.
She slammed down the laptop. "In life, we have 'decisions' " she said. Whilst saying it she actually made the inverted commas with her hands. She said that these decisions take us in a certain way, but in fact, every outcome or possibility happens, but in different parallel universes. "Oh, the many worlds theory" I asked, trying to look all learned. "Not a theory, a reality. But different than you may think, because that theory is based on the theory we have free will, and can actually make these 'decisions' " I asked her to stop doing the hand actions, because it was patronising. She said that it was logical, because unfortunately, we don't make any of our own decisions. I told her she was talking shit, and that's when she explained that my life, and everyone else's, were created by an individual writer sitting in a booth in a higher, entirely separate cosmos.......This was a little bit hard to handle. She went into more detail saying that a writer will start creating your life from the day you are born, but when he/she reaches a major decision in their writing, they will hand over half of it to another writer. This can and does happen thousands of times, and so there are many different versions of the same life, running together. I said that this was obviously total bullshit, because surely someone would have told me about it. "Well that's a stupid thing to assume" she said "Think about it, dufus, all lives are controlled by a writer, so although people found out 6 months before their death, they were never allowed to publish their thoughts or findings, and because all the writers of their friends would be notified, they'd dismiss any wimperings as imaginary nettle soup." Then i asked her why my life was ending.
The woman explained that the writer, now reaching old age, was retiring to planet earth for a real life, and due to lack of staff and company finances (apparently the credit crunch affects all known crannies of the cosmos) there would not be a replacement filling in for him. "So this means i have to die? I don't want to. So many things are going well for me" She explained that anything that seemed any good was just to stabalise my mood. The writer had tried to adjust my life in the last year so that all the themes and eventualities in it lead to a logical death, tomorrow, on christmas day. "Well it doesn't bloody feel like it" I exclaimed. "Yeah, i don't think he's a very good writer." She said.
She said there was nothing more we could discuss about it, because obviously i couldn't be told how i would die, because i might try to change it. "I'm going to stay in all day and watch T.V" I said. "You'll still die." she said.
As she left she apologised again and began to walk up the road. I watched her, then had a thought - "One more question," I said "Are you the ghost of christmas future?" She told me not to be so ridiculous.
I'm rather scared. this could be a very short-lived blog.
NOTE: I suddenly remembered near the end of recounting this event that there are conventions about writing speech, using paragraph changes, but i'm not going to go back and do that now, so stuff it.
A funny thing happened today. I made a LiveJournal. Then i set the background, added some interests (four word limit ?) and added a photo, which is definitely me. Then i started to write a post, and i didn't quite know what to write, so i started to write about how I'd created the profile, listing every single part up until this moment so that i'm effectively just noting what happened a word ago in an an attempt to be funny and/or clever. Or annoying. Then there was a knock at the door.
I don't like callers at the best of times. No time is convenient to inflict a shitty opinion or product on a private dwelling. Why don't these people go into work places? It would be a welcome break. Anyway, this wasn't the best of times because I needed a shower, which often makes me feel hungover in sort of stale way, without the pain. Despite this, i thought I'd find out what he or she wanted.
When calling at my house, people can usually be found wandering around it in circles, because i have two front doors and two back doors, but this person, a woman in a dark, slimline power suit, complete with miniskirt, was simply standing in the drive staring directly into my bedroom window. I put on shoes and went outside to approach her with a frown. I find this is a subtle way to tell people i don't like cold callers and whatever they want they should fucking well make it brief. This was not, however, a cold call.
"Mr Wildz?" ...."Yes. What?" "I'm from a company called IDLD. I'm here to make sure you know your life, number..." She paused to look at paper on a clipboard. "...54654BH is about to end. We should have notified you through letter, which we did actually try to do six months ago, but due to a clerical error, the address we had down was complete gibberish." I paused. My first thought was, 'typical bloody office paperwork fuck ups - bane of my life.' then my attention moved to the slightly more pressing matter, "What the fuck are you talking about?" i asked her. She adjusted her skirt uncomfortably. "Yes, your life will end tomorrow. Sorry for the confusion this has caused. We realised we probably had the wrong address when we'd had no response from the 6 month warning. People usually want to know what's happening. "Damn right!" I shouted. How do you know when my life's going to end?" I followed this with obscenities and other noises. She waited calmly until i had finished my tirade. When I'd caught my breath, i invited her in for a cup of tea.
The woman sat at my kitchen table and sipped her tea. I asked her name, and she said she didn't have one. I thought that was rather rude. She was wearing a third business, third guilty, and third seductive expression on her face. She explained that IDLD stood for Inter-Dimensional-Life-Dictation and started to say that unfortunately there weren't enough resources to continue my life at the moment. However, i was finding it difficult to concentrate because she was rubbing my leg with hers under the table. When i was sure it wasn't accidental i kicked her, "Why are you doing that?" She looked very embarrassed and apologised. "I'm sorry. I always do this when i'm trying to break bad news. In my head it seems logical that people won't be so angry if they're horny." I told her she had a lot to learn. She said she was new to this world. I still didn't know what she was talking about so told her to start at the beginning.
At first she got out a laptop and showed me files that charted most of my life, the things i had done, mistakes i had made, and important moments. There were databases and graphs that showed how happy i was, and a pie chart showing what my life had been mostly devoted to. apparently i'd only devoted 0.76% to cookery, which was unusual.
She slammed down the laptop. "In life, we have 'decisions' " she said. Whilst saying it she actually made the inverted commas with her hands. She said that these decisions take us in a certain way, but in fact, every outcome or possibility happens, but in different parallel universes. "Oh, the many worlds theory" I asked, trying to look all learned. "Not a theory, a reality. But different than you may think, because that theory is based on the theory we have free will, and can actually make these 'decisions' " I asked her to stop doing the hand actions, because it was patronising. She said that it was logical, because unfortunately, we don't make any of our own decisions. I told her she was talking shit, and that's when she explained that my life, and everyone else's, were created by an individual writer sitting in a booth in a higher, entirely separate cosmos.......This was a little bit hard to handle. She went into more detail saying that a writer will start creating your life from the day you are born, but when he/she reaches a major decision in their writing, they will hand over half of it to another writer. This can and does happen thousands of times, and so there are many different versions of the same life, running together. I said that this was obviously total bullshit, because surely someone would have told me about it. "Well that's a stupid thing to assume" she said "Think about it, dufus, all lives are controlled by a writer, so although people found out 6 months before their death, they were never allowed to publish their thoughts or findings, and because all the writers of their friends would be notified, they'd dismiss any wimperings as imaginary nettle soup." Then i asked her why my life was ending.
The woman explained that the writer, now reaching old age, was retiring to planet earth for a real life, and due to lack of staff and company finances (apparently the credit crunch affects all known crannies of the cosmos) there would not be a replacement filling in for him. "So this means i have to die? I don't want to. So many things are going well for me" She explained that anything that seemed any good was just to stabalise my mood. The writer had tried to adjust my life in the last year so that all the themes and eventualities in it lead to a logical death, tomorrow, on christmas day. "Well it doesn't bloody feel like it" I exclaimed. "Yeah, i don't think he's a very good writer." She said.
She said there was nothing more we could discuss about it, because obviously i couldn't be told how i would die, because i might try to change it. "I'm going to stay in all day and watch T.V" I said. "You'll still die." she said.
As she left she apologised again and began to walk up the road. I watched her, then had a thought - "One more question," I said "Are you the ghost of christmas future?" She told me not to be so ridiculous.
I'm rather scared. this could be a very short-lived blog.
NOTE: I suddenly remembered near the end of recounting this event that there are conventions about writing speech, using paragraph changes, but i'm not going to go back and do that now, so stuff it.