It has been a rough couple of days here at the safe house.

Last night, the FBI agent came in to tell me that they raided the Straight White Men's Cultural Center and that my friend and leader Brandon Hitler was killed in a gunfight. Brandon had a very sound plan for killing off sixty percent of the American population over the course of his eight year term as President of the United States of America from 2024-2032. I guess this will now not happen which disappoints me a lot.

I wanted to make sure the noder known as Nemosyn was aware that her sometimes boyfriend is dead in case she was not contacted. I know this has been an affair for her but also that she is in an open relationship with her husband and they have young hairless boys over the house quite often.

I told the agent that I liked going to the Straight White Men's Cultural Center because I appreciated straight white male culture a lot and that I used the lending library there and went to movie night to see films like Robin Hood: Prince of Elves and Triumph of the Will. This dullard then says this to me, "What the hell are you, some kind of evil Mr. Bean?"

You know what I said?

"What the hell are you, a stegosaurus?"

He then informed me they are charging me with 168 counts of murder and that they are providing me with a "court appointed lawyer" since my Slick Willy type lawyer has "flipped" and is giving evidence against me. With that bird in hand (rather than in the bush where it belongs) it would not serve me well to have him represent me in these matters.

"Not guilty, Mr. Stegosaurus. What else you got?"

Now I have them on their heels.

My friends.

I have a need to write, the urge that I have something important to share, but not knowing what that is.

I've been away for a couple of weeks, so the moment that needs recording could have happened any time then, yet I still feel this urgency to write, this urge has subsided as soon as I started this log, so I'll continue without a clue of what this is about, so I'll just rant as usual.

I had a busy 10 days, working on the Tasmanian house, hard work is hard, so I won't go into too much detail. I will however mention that I realised that I have FOMU, similar to the acronym FOMO and stands for Fear Of Messing Up.

For me this is mostly for handyman kind of things. I've taken my car apart in an attempt to fix it, and paid over $1000 to get it put back together, but painting a door in my house? I'll watch half of youtube and read a dozen instructables, walk up to the door, stare at it, and go "not enough data".

I was the guy who wrote "I'm a perfectionist" on the 'what's your weakness' part of a job questionare. I wasn't lying. I can spend hours/days/weeks/months researching something and come back with... "not enough data".

What I realised, is that mostly means "not enough practical experience".

This is why I previously excelled at the... logical and I guess intellectual side of things, I was (and I say WAS, because I don't feel smart nowadays) very good at combining every little bit of my knowledge into some sort of a solution.

My problem is that most of those solutions were not physical objects or outcomes, just numbers, LOCs or just good ol' logical arguments.

I've been used to having all the required knowledge to solve an equation, chess or physics problem. Programming is even worse, anything can be solved with logic, enough time and enough 'if' and 'while's.

After all the anxiety, as soon as my brush or paint roller hits the door (which has been taken off the hinges and stripped of hardware) I put all my knowledge and experience to use, and even though I usually mess up a little doing something new, like painting a door, I'm generally quite happy with my work.


When I was much younger, my dad wasn't exactly strict, but as a mathematician, he had the need to correct any of my inconsistencies or, god forbid, if I'd say something non factual.
98% meant I should work harder, 100% meant I should work harder to keep getting 100%.

Mum, in that respect wasn't much better. Dad pushed me academically and mum.. domestically? I'd do the dishes and mop the floor, great job, mum would say, since you did such a good job, tomorrow, you can wipe the shelves as well.

A week later, I'm getting 100%, floors are mopped, shelves are dusted, dishes are done, rubbish is taken out, baby brother is fed and walked (raced around the neighborhood in his pram). Next day... I should do better...

I'm exaggerating a bit here, but there was always something more that I could/should be doing.

As you can imagine, I couldn't keep that up for long,

It seems that I was driven to be better than everyone, and that competitiveness kept me sharp. As soon as I (mostly) stopped caring, my output has decreased dramatically. Good old Capitalism.

This veered off topic, so my apologies for the abrupt conclusion.

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