down, not out

It's a miserable week. I'm tired. Physically tired though my mind makes it worse. Little things -- added to bigger things -- hit me hard.

I swype-typed bigger things. Google gives me boost thongs. What an absolute pile of crap. I easily get angry. Underneath, I'm miserable.

Over the last few years I learnt two new programming languages. Wrote three versions -- limited but working versions -- of my app. This is "the app", the app which is -- in my humble opinion -- brilliant. It will revolutionise tourism. With bonus uses for orienteering and rogaining.

One version I wrote -- rewrote from scratch -- in two weeks. But my coding knowledge is limited.

I bit the bullet. Decided to spend twenty or thirty thousand to get a professional organisation to write my app. I provided step by step screen dumps. With wxplanations. Made a down payment and waited.

Six fucking months later they have delivered absolutely bugger all.

I thought I was dealing with a "project manager". Turns out, I was dealing with the unqualified, untrained,unskilled village idiot.

Six months wasted.

A fucking bunch of amateur wankers.

Tell you what. If they have not returned my money within a week, I'll tell you the name of the company. Fucking useless bastards that they are.

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So that is a big thing that really spoils my mood. (Did you notice that I am upset?) Ha, I feel better already.

Except.

The last few days I have felt... very close to death. Hard to describe. Perhaps it's the "sense of impending doom" that is a sign of impending heart attack. Though my heart-- by all reports-- is fine. Put it this way: As this post began to form in my mind ... I felt that I should post it quickly, because I did not want to die with my rotten mood unexplained. On the bright side... it's taken me more than a day to get to write this. And I'm still alive :-)

I try Netflix and watch four episodes of Stranger Things. Love the 2.5x speed, it makes tv so much less boring. I decide Ido not want to watch a show where the key question is, who will be next to be killed? Seems like a good show, but too much amped-up tension for me.

I get worse.

We go for a run. (all good. Though Deb now runs faster than me.)

Home again. I have some data to enter into an Excel spreadsheet.

A few weeks ago I decided to try a different display option in Excel. I changed a setting. Now, I find that it makes Excell impossible to use. I cannot find the setting to change it back again.

I fuck around with Excel. It makes no fucking sense at all. Where the fuck is my data?! IClose it down. Switch off the PC. Curse and swear. Burst into tears -- misery and frustration-- go and lie down.

Later. I'm still prone to tears.

Deb asks if there's anything she can do for me. Can she write an app? I ask.

Several hours later and I'm feeling better. The start of this post may show that "better" is not "fine". Still :-)

As I point out to Deb, I asked her, can she write an app? I did not ask, Can she cure cancer.

I may feel close to death. Less close now, but closer than is comfortable. But cancer is absolutely the least of the things making me miserable.

Though I have been having headaches... Luckily, headaches have never been a part of my cancer, so that's okay :-)

Next week: It there anyone in WA who can write an app?

Nick Lethbridge    /    Consulting Dexitroboper
Agamedes Consulting    /   Problems? Solved.
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We are here and it is now. After that, everything tends towards guesswork... Didactylos in Small Gods