The gods have deigned to remind me of their ubiquitous presence today. I mind my own business doing work the way it’s supposed to be done, and voila! car accident! Argh!
I tell you, it’s a cosmic plot to turn me loony. For no particular reason I decided to do my part and offer my car for our lunch trip, and within minutes of bowing to the fairer side of my conscience, I get banged from the front: a nasty bulk of a bulk-mover reverses right smack into the front facing plate, bonnet and grille and all.
I won’t describe the resulting shouting match, because it was pretty strained. I was in my car with two big Indian fellas, so said driver saw three fairly large juggernauts dismounting from their much-maligned-and-now irretrievably damaged steed, and decided to be friendly. I’m not a road-rage kinda fella, but I entertained thoughts of reaching for my brolly to administer justice: I wanted to beat the hell outta that clean-cut, innocent-eyed piece of camel hump.
Fast forward to evening and I’m sitting in my roughed-up car talking to a friend from Singapore, making arrangements to meet up in JB. And he’s filling me in on news about friends we used to be so close to; he’s doing well, the others are doing ridiculously well, and I’m sitting there trying to adjust my dying air-conditioning wondering how I’d be paying for the sizable dent in front.
It must be my somewhat skewed karma. Those friends? Super-duper Christians. The sort that don’t just believe in God, but who exhort us to believe right along with them. They’re always praising God for some damn thing, I don’t know how anyone can sustain that kinda delusion for so damn long! You know the sort: understanding, patronizing smiles; compassion in overabundance; principled-stand-tall kinda men and women (who, let me assure you, stand tall because it’s a function of their– ahh, fuckit, I won’t get me started).
So, who’s your buddy, baby? I’m a believer by default!
Double, triple bah! Solution: G Rock Radio on Shoutcast/Winamp.
