notes from
the MUCK . . .

How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Nerd Hearts, Run Free

You come in to work on Monday morning. You don't get out much but this Saturday you managed to get out into the night, to break away from the pringles and reality tv and take a piece of the pie of life. You even found yourself talking to a woman, a beautiful woman whose shimmering beauty was so overwhelming that on more than one occasion since you have dismissed her as a mirage in the arid desert that is your life.

You got a little drunk, you talked a little fast, but you got her email address by pasting it from a group email. On Sunday you wrote her an email, you let it be known that you would like to meet her again, over coffee perhaps (that's what cool people do right? And you like coffee, oh hell, do you love coffee; and the wireless connection is peerless in the little place down the've slain many a drunken dwarf there while staff wait to go home, or go out). Coffee at a GALLERY no less.

You sit down, and look at the notes you scrawled down on Friday. It is like looking at stories you wrote when you were 5; so much has happened between it's creation and many layers shed, so many new wonders revealed, so much agony to be endured...

When you come out of your day dream where you are dancing arm in arm with your beloved across a starlit savannah plain, you notice your co-worker laughing. 2 seconds later you get a "you have mail" alert on your pc. The email unfurls almost a half mile of addresses that it has been forwarded to. The first line simply reads, "I met this man on saturday". You scan down, things become blurry from here...phrases such as "your smile is the freshest of my special memories" appear and then disappear, the name at the bottom, is your own, and you fall off your chair, knocking down your Monty Python figurines.

Suddenly the phrase, so artfully penned by yourself "I will keep it (her smile) with me for moments when I need a smile of my own" is remarkably and painfully cutting. There are many many emails below this, mostly with subject headings including the words "sad" and "twat".

Whose to blame here? Dude sent this email to a woman he met at a party. She sent it to her sister, who sent it to friends, resulting in it being sent around the world. She was pretty bitchy to send it on to her sister, but hey, that was just one person, she didn't say make it global. To be honest, it's not THAT painful an email, just the abuse suffered afterwards and the fact he's not going to succeed being made so public must be painful. He was pretty creepy stealing the email address, but what the hey.

If your still reading, and still care, let me know in comments what you make of all this. Me? What was the question again?

The rebound affair ended abruptly when Joe's jealousy of the printer got the better of him and he pressed ctrl alt delete on love for the last time.