Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Troubles come in threes

No they don't, they come in one long stream of inexorable storms, one after the other, you just give up counting after three.

And how come I'm supposed to count my troubles (modulo 3), but I'm not allowed to count my blessings or eggs? Who made that rule?

Enumerating unhatched roosters, and the benisons of a god I don't believe in aside; being borderline OCD, and definitely a chair-rocking worshipper at the altar of Asperger, the idea of recording peaks in the graph of fortune (with pie-charts and bullet points) appeals on a basic level. If I could be bothered.

I would be full-on OCD and Aspergic if I didn't have the countervailing vices of sloth and apathy - all that hand-washing and stamp-collecting looks too much like hard work, and the Protestant homunculus in me gave up the holy ghost years ago.

My mildly obsessive nature manifests itself in protracted but irregular periods of deep tunnel-vision concentration where the periphery narrows in, and the task before me expands (visually, like that pull-focus track-in camera cliché). Everything else is pushed into the halo of disregard that's circled 220º behind my head.

Like now, for instance.

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