I almost got flattened by a bolt of lightning a couple of years back. I, at the time, assumed it to be random chance that an electrical death-bolt from god would crackle into the nearby batting cages instead of my chest, but have since realized that I am but a conduit.
Energy in, energy out.
How else to explain my infuriating lack of internet access for the third time this year? Maybe I was a rebellious electron in a previous life, raping & pillaging a village of ions to produce a bad enough electric-karma that it followed me throughout my various reincarnations; maybe I discharge a physical-and-psychological-energy so profound that it wears-out equipment at rate heretofore unknown in the scientific community.
Or maybe I’m reading a wee bit too much into a faulty DSL line.
Whatever the reason, for anything, I’m as tapped as my electronics - I’m writing this with one hand whilst curled up in my computer chair, layered with blankets and as fetal as one could be while still sitting upright - and I’m hoping that the return of my interweb-acess is a harbinger of my own energy returning as well.
As it stands, I’m a digital-alarm clock submerged in mud: everything’s working fine, I guess, but I’d be able to see a lot better if I wasn’t in a fucking puddle.
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