I have a public blog face. It’s that censored writing style that I normally wouldn’t have with friends but that is necessary when your potential audience is the whole world. While it would be flattering for about ten seconds to be that important, I know I couldn’t handle the pressure, as I can’t even deal with the people who I know read my blog and never respond.
To those of you who do respond, who do contact me, who I even converse with on a regular basis — thank you. The irony of this situation is that I started this blog as a good way to update friends, but despite the addition of the comments, this has never been much of a two-way medium. Obviously I don’t have the capacity to call every single person who I know reads this blog and catch up for hours. I’d get even less done at my job than I currently do. I just wanted to let those of you know who seem to have contented yourselves with reading this page once a week that this isn’t all there is. If you think there’s something troubling me, you’re right. You know how to reach me. I’m just not going to write about it all here, as this is not the place for it. It’s almost May now, and you seem to have forgotten to call me back.
My cube neighbor told me she reads palms. We sat outside Monday at noon in the 87 degree heat while she told me that my career would be stable from here on out, that I’d be in two serious relationships, the second of which would be successful, that I’d be married around 30, and that I’d have two kids. I wanted to ask what their names would be, but then I was afraid they’d be the names of someone who I used to know and couldn’t stand so I decided not to ask. The list of possible names for any offspring I might spawn is getting shorter and shorter due to the increasing number of losers I meet who have tainted perfectly good names by simultaneously possessing them and being abhorrent individuals. Of course, then there are the names that are just downright unfortunate. It’s like the time my friend from Indiana insisted on setting me up on a blind date with a guy named “Bernie.” While I apologize (but only half-heartedly) to all the Bernies out there, that is a dreadfully dimwitted name with simian undertones, and your parents must have had a sick sense of humor. Needless to say, the date was a disaster, and Bernie ate his baked seafood rigatoni with the gusto of a famished sea otter. I had to tell him off most unceremoniously when asked for a re-date.
In any case, while everyone scoffed skeptically at my cube neighbor’s less than scientific hobby, they still formed a noticeably growing line by our lunch table that listened curiously to her forecastings about the health of one of our usability engineers. “Do you drive very fast?” she asked him. “No. Why?” he said, looking pale. “You should be careful because you are going to be in a small accident,” she answered. At this point, the peanut gallery started laughing raucously. “This is why I don’t get my fortune told!” one of them said, as they quickly exited the seating area. She apologized. “I usually read people’s palms in private because some of the information is very personal.” She didn’t apologize for the car accident comment. I listened for a few more minutes before I told her that I’d make her a palm readings sign for her cube as a great side project. She thought her boss might get mad and shot the idea down, but I still stand by the idea as a lucrative evening career.
By the way, I registered today for the October LSAT. My money is done and gone, and now I wait. I don’t know how this changes my cube neighbor’s stable career prediction. Maybe it won’t.
At least the Sharks are giving me some small joy. They’ve been rockin’. We can play hockey out here in California; I just don’t happen to be part of that skilled minority. If anyone can teach me to do a wrist shot that comes off the ice consistently, there’s lunch in it for you.
