no.24 or Hating The Sun - 10/6/2003

Dear Diary,

Today I would like to talk about another bunch of non-happenings and maybe
a little truth that may or may not have happened in my life in the past few
days. I hope you don't mind me writing all this Dear Diary but I really
don't have a choice. A time comes when even God becomes sick of his own
voice.

Glorified drivers are generally middle management types who are asked to
ferry their bosses around and also their clients around. The job usually
comes to us poor saps if the boss wants to look important but the office
driver is not available or if the client is too important to be ferried by
the office driver and the boss does not know how to drive. My client who was
in town for a week is a nice guy. He thanked me till I felt embarrassed,
treated me to beer almost everyday so all in all I really can't complain.

An absolutely insane week of work has left my social life in a shambles.
There wasn't much of one to begin with so the pain itself is minimal. Thank
something or the other for small mercies.

In other news, it's time for a haircut again. I shall let you know how that
turns out Dear Diary. Allready long overdue and my beard may well be hiding
an army of something or the other. I know I've dropped enough food onto my
beard to facilitate the grazing of my beloved sheep. So who knows what
wonders hide in there.

In other news, I finally got the fourth book in Steven Erikson's "Tales Of
The Malazan Book Of The Fallen." I felt an irrational happiness at seeing
this book in the store and when the old man sold it to me for a hundred and
sixty bucks, I almost hugged him right there. The first 260 odd pages of the
book deal with a minor charectar from the second book. I guess Erikson has
plans for Thelomen Toblakai after all. Dancer or Cotillion has aquirred an
almost benevolent air and the interactions betwen him and Kalam and again
between him and Crokus/ Cutter are quite nicely done. I could go on and on
and on about Erikson's quite magnificent saga but that can wait for another
avenue. After all, it is hardly appropriate for God to gush endlessly about
a mortal (no matter how worthy the mortal is).

The chinkies seem to have disappeared from the house opposite the paan
shop. I nurse a broken heart and think up various conspiracy theories to
attribute to their disappearence. They are probably grazing sheep or cows or
whatever it is that they graze in the north east but it is true that i will
miss them.

I am stuck in the day shift. I must accept this and move on. However, I
hate the day shifts. I see the Sun on the way to work. I see the Sun on my
way to lunch. I see the Sun on my way back home and I see too damn much of
the Sun. I am coming to hate the Sun with an irrational intensity. The neon
lights at works comfort me but I dread going out. I am God. I should be able
to work in whatever damn shift I want to. Unfortunately, even God has a few
people above him in the management hierarchy. Still, I hate the day shift.

Starting from Wednesday, a rather important project takes off. A lot rides
on this and failure is not an option.

Till we meet again Dear Diary, remember to be kind to old ladies and help
those blind men cross the streets (women too)