Tue, 25 Jan 2000

Dear Mister Wonderful,

How ya doin'?


Dear Concerned Compadre,

Well, aside from the fact that the time machine keeps acting up and spewing my past all over the Labs, forcing us to get out the chrono-shovels and bury it again and again (remember kids, those who doom their past forget to repeat it) which is frankly a giant pain in the ass and not the sort of thing one wants happening every winter, what with other things to worry about like whether the sun will come back and if it's really as cold in England right now as they say it is and am I really as disciplined as I ought to be and isn't it maybe time to buckle down and put my wisdom where my mouth is or on the other hand admit that I am genetically unfit to actually finish any given project, even something as simple as fixing the time machine which has a manual for chrissakes, if you'll just get it together enough to find it but maybe you really don't want to fix the time machine because you get off in some fucked-up and masochistic fashion when you have little problems to distract you from the big ones like becoming the well-known and pockets-rippingly rich bastard you always pretend to be, so that the intrusion of the past is convenient, really, because it gives you an excuse to be lazy, to blame external factors for your lack of direction and success, so just admit it and stop this farce and get on with doing something useful like driving a truck or writing computer code, things like that which should be meditated on and resolved and not just allowed to trip us up in the middle of the night as we lie awake on the floor of the Labs and they're never really put away or dealt with or buried like the past which flows into the present like winter's rain from sunless skies these days, aside from that, I'm fine.

Thank you for asking.