Predictably Unpredictable

I don’t know what tomorrow or two days from then will bring.  I don’t even know if my mouse will leave the cursor where I want it to be, much less anything else.  There’s an instant unpredictability to life, and I’ve become intensely aware of how it adversely affects me.  I’m aware of how the major episodes and changes and issues boost my stress level.  Stress:  It’s quicker than a click away.  The touchpad needs to have a deonmon exorcised where it will occasionally just randomly migrate to the top right and just sit there no matter what I do using the touchpad.  So I have an auxiliary mouse plugged in using one of the few ports on it.  For a while something was bugging the keyboard too, so I had the second port occupied with an auxiliary keyboard.  all the baggage, the extra things to juggle, it adds stress, and even then, the mouse would randomly migrate and stick.  But the touchpad also randomly right-clicks itself.  The deonmon doesn’t want to leave my cursor where I put it, and will occasionally delete text I’ve just typed, which is bullshit for a random writer who isn’t being paid to write.  If I were being paid to write, I would have my publisher or employer buy me a better system, or, if I were being well-paid to write, I would buy a better system.  Alas, that requires genuine talent AND opportunity, and sadly, I have neither of these.

Lou Holtz is credited with saying “It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.”  I call that theory “interesting bullshit.” Evidently Holtz never watched Warner Brothers cartoons like Wile E. Coyote vs. the laws of physics and gravity or Daffy vs Bugs growing up. When the anvil lands, it’s the fucking load that breaks you down.



And sometimes it feels like life’s shit all lands on you like an anvil in a cartoon, except it hurts and it DOES break you down. Fuck you, cockeyed optimists, get your eyes checked. The universe doesn’t hand you what you ask for or I’d have won the $7K a week for life PCH AND the $1B lottery back a while ago.

Sometimes it’s not so much an anvil, less painful but certainly demoralizing.  Maybe almost as bad as the anvil.



There you are trying to work hard and handle the shit, doing life’s uphill climb, and look what happens.

Sometimes you are able to ignore the shit, work hard and get stuff done, and you feel like you might actually accomplish something and reach a good goal.  And sometimes all you can accomplish is surviving, and barely that.  Sometimes the job sucks, and sometimes it sucks harder.  Sometimes you hope for the promotion, and sometimes you just hope today won’t suck as bad as yesterday sucked.  Sometimes the boss pretends to care, and sometimes the truth is un-curtained, and the boss shoves your career down the bathroom plumbing.  It clogs, and then you have to plunger that away, because even though you know it stinks, the boss isn’t going to help with that shit.

My blog is two years old.



yay. (I wondered if I could find a Droopy cartoon gif that said “You know what? I’m happy.” But I remembered this one first so that’s what you get.  Kind of expresses the whole thing all at once- audience and blogger alike.)

The random nature of life means we don’t know if we’ll win the lottery or if we’ll die of cancer or if we’ll get a great job or be stuck in a dead end for 20 years and then have our retirement stolen, or if a new blogger we discover will be great, like my readers who blog, or if a blogger will suck.  (sorry!  And thanks for enduring these two years with me, or for not un-following if you’re a new reader.)

The random nature of life means I’ve had days that felt like cartoon anvils dropping.  They won’t kill you but they’ll feel like they might.  And I’ve had days where I actually believed stuff would work out in my favor.  It hasn’t yet, but isn’t hope just fucking adorable?  Hope keeps the lottery alive.  It’s misguided hope, but it’s hope.  Hope feels good, so let’s take it where we can.

I wasted invested a whole two dollars and bought a ticket now that it’s over $200M, knowing the odds.  I used to watch the interviews after people won.  “What are you going to do?” and not infrequently enough, I’d hear someone say “I’m going to fix my teeth.”  I heard it enough I used to kind of chuckle about it, and now, karma.  I couldn’t afford crowns so now they either come out and I get holes, or they come out and I get implants (sexy isn’t it?).  Fuck you, karma.  Sure the life-lesson is there, but do you have to teach ME?  So what will I do when I win?  Fix my fucking teeth.  I wait until $200M, because I have probably 60 or less years of life left, and I want to be able to do whatever I want during that time.  Despite the ridiculous odds against me, I hope I win.  I bet if you bought a ticket, you hope you do to.  One of us should, that’s for sure.  If I win, we can party at this secret, undisclosed hidden bunker I write from.  By invitation.

Let’s see…  a billion to one chance of me winning, times the odds you’ll get invited to the celebration…  Like THAT’s a prize, am I right?  woo…, hang out with Deon…  Please, Deon, at least promise there will be liquor.  Since I can’t even promise better writing, I can’t promise much.  Plus, who says you’ll even be invited?   I can’t promise I won’t suffer a complete loss of memory of anything I’ve ever written down here even if reminded.  Maybe I’ll turn into a total ass if I win.  Maybe I was an ass the whole time.

Except you, you know who you are, and if you’re not sure I’ll stalk you online, and find your address, as if I don’t know that already, and send you an engraved invite and a lifetime pass to the bunker.  Of course, you already knew my real personality (Deon Mumple, annoying ass.) the whole time.  I bet you’d hang out with me even if I DIDN’T win the lottery.

I know all of you are hoping this blog will feature better, more regular writing.  If I win, you might get…. more regular writing, because I’ll have more time.  Sorry to dash that other part of your hope.  I’m hoping my laptop will stop randomly deleting entire paragraphs so I can write a bit faster and not have to try to remember whatever bullshit I was expounding on.  Pounding the keyboard doesn’t work, but I can’t figure out how to ex-pound.  Thank fuck I found the Alt+Z combination.  The trolls wish I could figure out the delete key makes everything better, and in its’ tortured mechanical wisdom and soul-less love for all things good on the internet, my keyboard is sick of this shit and wishes I would stop.  And despite the odds, you’ve kept reading.  Thank you.

Here’s to hoping for better things, and better days.


2 thoughts on “Predictably Unpredictable

    1. Sure thing, when you get your invite to the bunker we’ll have the limo driver stop somewhere good. 🙂 Rumor has it you’ve got a fryer though… Do you ever bread and fry chicken, and is it good when you do? Choose your answer wisely, because if so, you might never be allowed to leave the bunker. Did I mention I really like fried chicken? You can be my Princess Leia and I’ll turn all Jabba the Hermit Hutt eventually. Rumor has it you like that sort of cosplay …Cheeka! Mee naga Fromirian roast queg! ::gently yanks chain:: 😉


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