So tonight I'm sitting at my computer, alternating between working on my webpage and doing other bits of coding, further alternating between watching bits of [pirated] H2G2, drinking a Becks dark, and dressed in totally grubby clothes and it hits me. An image of Randy, my brother-in-law, slouching at his computer, alternating between working on bits of coding and answering e-mails, further alternating between "working on" bits of music, drinking a beer and dressed in jeans and a h4ck3r shirt. And I realize the thing that I once hated the most... I have now become. Dear sweet merciful God in heaven!
And an hour later, as I'm sitting on the couch, alternately watching a 2-hour A&E special on Star Wars and playing with a new voice mail message, eating ice cream straight from the carton, and still slouching in my grubby clothes, it hits me. An image of Randy, in a video e-mail, wearing a Darth Vader mask. And I, ever ready to rise to the occasion, further panic over my impending doom by playing out a little scene in my head like this:
Randy: Abby never told you the truth about your father... [adjusts glasses]
Myself: [clutching to a pillar with one good arm, the other crippled by carpal-tunnel] She told me enough! She told me you killed him! [uses inhaler]
Randy: No. I... am your father... [presents One Ring]
Myself: ...No... No it's not true! [recalls matching Monty Python DVDs] NO! IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! [recalls both our Star Trek memorabilia collections]
Randy: Search your feelings, Gabby! You know it to be true!
Myself: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
I'm doomed. DOOOOOOOOMED! [doooooooooooooooomed...]
And an hour later, as I'm sitting on the couch, alternately watching a 2-hour A&E special on Star Wars and playing with a new voice mail message, eating ice cream straight from the carton, and still slouching in my grubby clothes, it hits me. An image of Randy, in a video e-mail, wearing a Darth Vader mask. And I, ever ready to rise to the occasion, further panic over my impending doom by playing out a little scene in my head like this:
Randy: Abby never told you the truth about your father... [adjusts glasses]
Myself: [clutching to a pillar with one good arm, the other crippled by carpal-tunnel] She told me enough! She told me you killed him! [uses inhaler]
Randy: No. I... am your father... [presents One Ring]
Myself: ...No... No it's not true! [recalls matching Monty Python DVDs] NO! IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! [recalls both our Star Trek memorabilia collections]
Randy: Search your feelings, Gabby! You know it to be true!
Myself: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
I'm doomed. DOOOOOOOOMED! [doooooooooooooooomed...]
