January 07, 2006

# 21

I value time away from work more than I value finding money I didn't know I had in my wallet.

Can you spot the white lie in that sentence?

With that now on official Blogdom Hansard, I'd also like to add that I appreciate the after effects of having had a vacation - or, as I prefer to call it, a holiday - which often means an adjustment to the betterment of my hyper-sensitive tolerance level; mostly that involving other people's curious ways and the reactions they have on my existence.

Take lunatics behind the wheel on the road as an example. Yesterday, a blue truck with a heavy-set driver allegedly behind the controls pulled onto a main road without looking to his right, which just so happened was the direction from whence I was arriving. While there's nothing unusual about that, it was distinctly different from untold psychological damage caused by such freak show practices before my holiday.

Had I not been accelerating to 80 km/h at the time of the near multicultural road sandwich, I would have fallen victim - physically and metaphysically - to the slower, bulky vehicle and its able-bodied and unable-minded driver, which had somehow simultaneously manifested themselves into the Wonder Twin powers of a slow moving truck driven by a butterball with bitch breasts shape metres in front of my windscreen.

Did I lay a palm on the horn and awake the Gods of War still busily sifting through traditional remedies to harvest the cure to their post New Year's Eve celebrations with an out-of-sorts Def Leppard? No.

Did I reach for the crossbow, arm it with a Syphilis-tipped arrow and unleash it with precise accuracy into the driver's plentiful neck? No.

Did I press the button which extends the Ben Hur inspired all-purpose anti-asshole hubs on my favourite and only four-wheeled vehicle, pulling the steering wheel into the thoughtless perpetrator's direction, forcing him and his vehicle off the road and into the biggest blazing heap since the drug bust of '98? Why, certainly not.

I veered to the other side of the road, handed out a Poker-faced glare and overtook without so much as slamming the brakes without warning as I was successfully in front of him.

Holidays are a brilliant idea and a must-try for everyone with a steady dose of employment and/or education in their lives.

I'm giving myself another six weeks before disintegrating into a drained, zombie-like mess of sinew, bones, muscles and stress; eight weeks before cutting down a tree; ten weeks before having cut and shaped arrows and arrow tips into copyrighted, pointed middle-finger dynamics; and twelve weeks before the powers that be finding and arresting me for behaviour infringing on at least a dozen laws affecting this nation.

What did you learn about yourself from the end of year holidays?


Saathiya said...

I learnt the following:

- I am way too nice and wouldn't let anyone in the car give the finger to a driver who was "too slow" (although likely due to an empathy brought on by my car which at times wont go over 60 km/h).

- I can actually sleep in the same bed as someone else without kicking them multiple times and freaking them out by talking in my sleep.

- There is a limit to the amount of shopping I am willing to engage in. 3 straight days of following around my sister while she tries on every pair of brown pants in Adelaide is a mistake I will not soon forget.

- 2 pancakes = good, 3 pancakes = never want to see another pancake ever again.

and so on in that manner until you realise I really didn't learn anything at all these holidays.

Kaufman said...

I like how you said at times won't go over 60 km/h. Would those times include times when it isn't travelling downhill? My friend, Fred Flintstone, expressed his disappointment to me about similar deficiency in his car.

Brown pants are worth the effort. However, it's a considerably more demanding effort when somebody else is trying them on.

For me, 3 pancakes = it's only a matter of time before I want to see another pancake again. Pass the air freshener, please. No pancakes after 6 pm otherwise the night toots keep the entire hood awake.

Saathiya said...

Hills, slight inclines, flat. Yeah. My car rocks. But on those downhill runs...you best believe I hit up to a whole... 100 km/h! Woo.. go me. But it has a name now (actually two names) so I can't just send it to the junk yard, can I?

Kaufman said...

I see the conflict of emotions. A name certainly changes the situation. The good news is that cars are generally like old men. They deteriorate with age. And you can sell them.

I love my current car. It's mostly because I love driving, actually. I used to drive a crappy car but I still loved it. It had a forgettable sticker on the rear side window.