The first bit:
They say swearing is a crutch for inarticulate motherfuckers. At times I think they mean me, and I'm pretty sure my lips will fall off from all the swearwords coming out of my mouth. But, you know, then I remember that lips coming off from excess profanity was something my mother scared newbie little me with back when I tried hard to grow up.
Then I pinch my lip, establish that it's still there and get the last laugh. Sorry, mum. I haven't tested the theory on other parts of my body, because doing so would be a bit socially unacceptable even up here where we according to the US Department of Stereotyping have orgies on the underground stations while we wait for train number four.
Maybe we do? Who knows.
The second bit:
Sometimes when you use things for the wrong purpose, they do indeed fall off. A couple of days ago a big chunk fell off me after being used for purposes it wasn't designed for. Since it's none of your business, I won't tell you much about it. I'll tell you nothing but this: don't ever use yourself or someone you care for as wallpaper or raw material for real or fictitious accounts of something that may or may not happen. The outcome can be very unexpected and painful, especially when the stuff you hammer out evokes imagery from the secret compartments inside someone's brain. The slightly glow-in-the-dark bits containing primal fear, rejection, shame and self esteem the size and appearance and of a dried, moldy pea.
Let's just say I have a newfound appreciation of the usual disclaimers found at the end of most movies and TV films: This is fiction. I don't care who you think it looks like.
So who did I think it looked like? Who the fuck knows.
The third bit:
I called up Fred today, but he was on vacation so he couldn't answer any questions I had. In hindsight, perhaps for the better. I had many questions and a plan. Some thoughts and plans deserve insanely great amounts of rumination, if nothing else than for you to become used to them. When you've become used to a grand plan bordering on wet dream, you'll think less of it, and it takes its rightful place on your prioritised list of things you absolutely must do. It ends up a bit nearer the bottom than you originally placed it, bobbing up and down in your subconscious.
I've been after an Alfa Romeo Montreal for some time, and somewhere in the German heartland, in a town the size of a football field, one was offered up for sale. The eccentric old guy who owns it was either too old to bother with it anymore or he was simply tired of it. After all, he's had it since 1977. Fred was supposed to tell me the trials and tribulations of owning one, servicing one and buying one. But, since he was away on vacation and his mobile sounded like it was trapped inside a laundromat driven by an afterburning jet engine, he couldn't talk. He'll be back on monday or thereabouts, and by then my carefully constructed no-slack plan will be roadkill. No pun intended.
I'm sticking to the plan, but some other guy might beat me to it. Maybe the old German millionaire gets a fit of second thought about the whole thing too.
Who the fuck knows.
The fourth bit:
The worst part of being stuck at home with 7000 pages of text describing the ins and outs of various pieces of software is that it takes on being thoroughly useless after a few weeks. That's a pretty dumb thing to think when you're trying to claw and elbow your way to the fata morgana-esque title of MCSE. If someone were to evaluate my ability to think pretty dumb things during the last two weeks, they would likely come up with excellent, adequate or possibly recommended for company dumbass position. Every company have those.
I mean, Microsoft have devised solutions for problems no sane systems adminstrator should ever have. It's either like some sly Slovenian sysadmin or a bored Belgian backup operator sat down one day and quietly thought to themselves "Hey! I've scripted my entire job in Perl! Now what? Maybe I should send Microsoft some bizarre software feature requests?"
I think they did, because the Ballmer storm troopers of nested Active Directory group membership death tells me all the time that the bizarre and absurd features in their stuff was requested by customers. Don't tell a soul that it was that guy from Belgium, and don't get anny funny ideas. I'm trying to eke out a living on helping people with systems that are immensely more complex than - and arguably as useful for your daily life - as Apollo 10's lunar module.
But will I ever become certified?
The loose bit:
The down arrow key keeps falling off my laptop keyboard, even though I swear I have only used it for scrolling down. It's a bit ironic. I should tell my mother about this. Wonder if I'll get the last laugh.
Like I said: who knows.