Emissary of Emesis
Tonight I struggled through a freelance project that by all accounts shouldn't be a struggle. It's business cards for heavensakes. But the guy wants to print temporary cards on his desktop printer until he's ready for the real deal at an actual printshop. Yep, klaxon's going off all over the place. As is so often the case, the guy exists in an agnostic relationship with his inkjet printer, and nothing I give him prints correctly on his Avery blanks. Trying to walk him through his troubles over the phone and by email only serves to further my understanding of why network and IT people are such cranks. It truly must be the rarest of personalities that has the zenlike peace of mind to successfully and compassionately deal with this sort of thing.
Gads, there is a loose droplet of barf in this room somewhere. Those tantalizing whiffs are so troubling. Harrison regurgitated dairy in the kitchen earlier this evening and although I was sure I got it all, there's still some sniffage roaming about. What a treasure of parenthood vomit-duty is. I have to admit that I'm pretty uncompassionate during the heat of the puke. I'm not properly programmed to selflessly comfort my kid as they retch nasty things all over my person. Nosiree, I'm moving at bullet-speed like Neo in the Matrix, grabbing the nearest washable cloth item that I'm not actually wearing, while aiming the aforementioned child's face away from me, and at anything that won't take me hours of scrubbing to clean up. I'm not saying I just leave them to suffer in their dreck, it's just that the comforting comes after the bomb has gone off and I've had a chance to clear out the more gruesome carnage at the crime scene.
Old Navy and Target commercials give me the creeps.
OK. That's it for me.
Jeremy
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