Little Victory

This cursor has behaved more like a metronome on ecstasy. I type, the cursor flies across the page. I stop, it flashes back at me; blinking mockingly. I think, the cursor accelerates leaving a trail of text in its wake. It pauses and catches its breath, waiting for me. I read what has been typed, then without thinking the cursor moves from right to left undo-ing everything. This periodic movement has been an on going theme all night. Each time I type, I re-read and delete it. Re-word then delete it. Alas, sometimes the thoughts and words just don't sync up. So here I am, blogging about my anthropomorphic cursor.

When it comes down to complaint letters my emotions always trend the same. I'm generally the victim of some travesty which pisses me off. Self-righteous and all I pen this injustice to somebody who cares. This is where things get a little strange, these spiels serve no purpose other than to entertain. I get a certain satisfaction writing these letters and deep down I like to think people get some value out of reading them. Don't get me wrong, I don't go around complaining about anything. I start off angry and end up laughing.

All letters are signed with my full name, contact address and phone number. Generally, I don't get a reply. So it came as a surprise when I sent off a typical whinge to my bank and received this as a reply.


I'm glad to report it didn't tick and contained complimentary wine. I wonder if it's poisoned...