An Inhuman Condition

My feet slosh as I step through the mystery puddle on my way to the coffee maker. The pleasantly warm cup is the only sip of solace in this frigid and futile shop. I’m stuck here alone, impotent to perform my function, waiting on the slow, snail pace of another hardware test. The Mac works fine from a bootable CD, but will not cooperate when I try to start it otherwise. Red lines and freezing, but the RAM is fine. The video RAM is fine. The caches are all fine. The drive is fine. The file system is fine. Everything that should be causing this fucking problem is fine, but it’s not fine.

I have a laptop stripped to its bare LCD while I ponder whether its the backlight or the inverter shitting on me. The Internet has found one source for a part, and it looks shady to say the least. Nothing today is coming easily, especially being awake. I am smothering my desire to tell both customers and their shitty machines to fuck off with frequent smokey fires. The dull hum of buzzing servers and shop computers is building an audible tumor in the back of my eyes, and all I have is this cooling cup of coffee.

I have hunger enough to eat a wolf, and I can’t see good in the world. If you find some, bring it to me. I need a little company.

It’s late, and by any estimation of the situation, I should be tucked neatly into my heaping disarray of covers drifting somewhere toward the corner of Sleep Ave. and Dream Blvd. I should be singing my sweet chorus of apnea inspired snores and thrashing in my sheets. I should be diligently dangling in the dark ditch between mattresses and floor using my bedding as one giant-sized pillow. I should be doing all of this, yet I am not.

The caffeine stomping in my gullet, sending signals and synapses of stimulated stirring, will not yet subside and turn the tide from wakefulness to rest. I am simply stuck with no luck, no sheets into which I may tuck, feeling like a schmuck run amok, like a young buck struck by a truck until the drug burning deep inside subsides, until I’m free of this muck.

Well, fuck.

Light that midnight oil, baby, and watch it burn bright deep into the night.