Work has grabbed me by the scruff this morning and will soon drag me off. I’m growling and shaking, but its a tight grip. I will continue my tale as soon as I break free.
Work has grabbed me by the scruff this morning and will soon drag me off. I’m growling and shaking, but its a tight grip. I will continue my tale as soon as I break free.
Dear Department of Motor Vehicles:
It was nice of you to write to me today. Your letter arrived in a timely manner, and has filled a void in my life that often appears on the heels of the holiday season. Knowing that my driver’s license was current, my vehicle’s tags all up-to-date, and that I had no outstanding speeding tickets or other infractions, I could only imagine that you had written simply to wish me a happy and prosperous new year. For that I was most appreciative. I believe I was even smiling as I carefully opened the letter.
So imagine my surprise when I see that your letter’s intent is not to wish me well, but rather to scare, frighten, and intimidate me into action. The paragraphs, filled with threats and promises of punishment, seemed to go on and on forever. I could hardly take it. As a compliant citizen of the state of Oregon, a peaceful and rule-abiding man, I was devastated. What had I done, I thought, to deserve such a verbal pounding? Have I somehow given offense? (As a struggling writer, however, I found myself more then a little impressed with the letter’s ominously effective syntax. But I digress.)
I could assure you that I never received the “previous attempt” your letter assures me was mailed some months ago. But what would be the point? Your letter has opened my eyes to the fact that our relationship isn’t built upon assurances and trust at all. We are nothing more then a balance between money and desire. You are transportation’s whore, and I am weak.
So I have enclosed the paperwork you required. Yet another bean to add to your staggeringly high pile of unnecessary work, which leads me to my last and final question: if you complain when I don’t send in the paperwork, do you also complain when I do?
Sincerely,
Keith
The Typepad free trial countdown clock seems to have paused dramatically on “1 day remaining”. Time is standing still, it seems. There is the outside possibility that I count time differently then the folks at typepad, who most likely began my ticking countdown the very day, hour, minute, second I clicked the “Sure I’ll Try Anything Once” button.
I usually just define days as the things that are separated by sleeping. It’s easier that way. When you sleep, it’s night. When you wake up, it’s day. Easy.
But I’m sure time isn’t standing still at all. Only tricking me. Which these days, is easy done then said. Here’s a perfect example.
Only one day after writing my letter to the DMV, the missing original letter decides to surface. It existed all along, and now look who wears the fool’s cap. Moi. (Oops, I said no more french) It would appear my life is brimming with inconsistencies.
Did I really call the Department of Motor Vehicles a whore? Hmmm. This will require a little fancy dancing. I could pretend I didn’t find the letter, but that’s just not me.
God dammit! That’s just not right. I have become a dull knife. My writing has no edge. Where’s my edge? I used to handle words like a sword, slicing clear to the bone with meaning so clear and precise. Look at that crap up there! Looks more like pretentious, prepubescent journal fodder. Looks like a butter-knife fight. Looks like a good example of how to waste five minutes and a handful of perfectly good words.
It’s a telltale sign that a 42 year old man needs to find his edge. Fast. He needs to grab the blade that separates clarity from safety. He needs to hang there until the words are all written.
I guess I’m in, typepad. Even if it kills me.