I simply don't understand how men work so much. When Jim told you he had "bad news" and would have to work all Saturday, he seemed happy about it. Maybe he is proud of being productive: his ability to bring home a hefty paycheck.
If my boss asks me to stay half an hour late I cringe. I don't care if he offers to pay me double, I simply won't do it. I am a slave to this job in a way. 1 Timothy 6:1-2 was written for me. God predestined Paul to write those verses, knowing I would come along. Then again, he also predestined Scrabulous.
I won't have many sad stories to tell my progeny. I suffered the most when my Mother asked me to empty the dishwasher. What a terrible chore that was. I learned quickly that if I dropped a plate here and there I'd get asked less and less.
One summer my best friend Julie begged me to work on a fishing boat with her in Alaska. I thought about it long and hard. Had I not been a vegetarian, she might have got me on that fateful voyage. I would surely have wasted away, compelling the captain to toss my emaciated, good for nothing body overboard. In retrospect, 10% of me wishes I had gone. Then I'd have at least one good work ethic story for my lazy, virtual reality game playing, teleporting children of the future.
Why do we fight wars anymore? Countries should simply play a round of Unreal Tournament. Winner takes all.
Does Jim like his job? Does he come home complaining or quite satisfied? I hate my job. I love editing but I hate editing for someone else. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hate that they can ask for unreasonable requests, and I always manage to deliver.
When Jim gets to Mars, ask him to look for some pyramids and a face. My mother was convinced that there was a face on Mars...the remnants of an ancient alien civilization. She followed the story for over a decade. If NASA released an image of the face area, and it did not look like a face, then that image was surely doctored. Only that original, low quality high contrasted image was genuine in her mind.
Sadly, she also believed in reverse speech. My father and I tried for years to convince her this simply was not logical. You just cannot tell what someone's secret thoughts are by reversing their recorded voice and listening for clues.
Questions we asked her in attempt to debunk the whole theory:
Does it work in all languages?
What if you have an accent?
Speech impediment?
What if you are bi-lingual?
Nothing seemed to dispel this idea from her mind. I didn't realize until this last year that my mother is not a reliable witness. She can't seem to get the story straight. It is always tragic, 'growing up' and realizing that your parents are not perfect.
Love,
Taintedsky
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