I am good at detail. As befits the remnants of the perfectionist I once was.
But some detail bores me. I don’t want to know. Particularly when it comes to machines. Work!
I am petulant when it comes to things not working. I revert to being three years old. Big eyes wide open, no understanding of the world and its evil. Why? And why now? Usually on either Christmas or New Year’s Eve. A bit like toothache. Saturday and Sunday are good that way.
Yes, so in little Ursula’s world either something works or it doesn’t. When it does it’s good. When it doesn’t it’s not so good. When it doesn’t it’s a beeping disaster. Take it from me: There is nothing worse than trusting in the good in the world on top of being an optimist. There is no vector to make that equation and its ‘x’ equal other than totalling disappointment.
Never mind. Humans have come far. For thousands of years. I am sure I’ll make it a few more.
Hisses, no hugs,