I
CAN'T GET A GOOD, CLEAN SHAVE. My facial hair has learned to recognize the sound of my
electrical razor, and withdraw or lie down as soon as they hear it. I guess I'll have to whip out the old (t)rusty
straightedge and teach those renegades a lesson.
HEADING NORTH. I'm doing some documentation away from office. Far, far away from office. Next week, maybe. Depends on how things turn out.
THEY ARE OUT TO GET ME. I recently moved, and reported my new address to all relevant authorities, forwarded my mail and so on. Shortly after that, an envelope containing postcards and stickers with my new address arrived in the mail. However, there had been some kind of mistake - instead of number 34, the postcards and stickers all said that I now lived in 35. Hmm. The address on the envelope in which the postcards arrived was also wrong, but it managed to find its way to the correct letterbox anyway. I decided to call the post office the next day to report the error. However, as I came home the next day, a new envelope was waiting for me, with the correct address. "OK," I thought, "they have realised their mistake." Everything was just fine until today. As I tried to get the application forms for a new driver's license I gave my social security number. They did a lookup and told me my name and address to verify that they had got the correct number. Except they hadn't - according to them, I was living in number 38.
Coincidence my ass. They are out to get me and I know it.
TODAY'S SOUNDTRACK: Portishead - Glorytimes