Getting old school with the title there. When we used to name the school computer lab passwords after our guinea pigs and hamsters, "Hello World" was kind of a thing on the internet. Also, remember, Garage rhymes with Carriage.
I'm just now realizing that in general the harder I think about things the worse my decisions are, so I'm trying to be a little more impulsive and much less deliberating. I thought about starting one of these like three times, which is way too much. And now somehow I'm framing starting a blag (thank you xkcd, big fan) as a good decision!
Regarding the over-thinking thing, I was shoveling the driveway and sidewalk this morning and thought that I might shovel the sidewalk in front of my neighbor's place as well. When you grow up in the pacific NW in the 90's, you learn that that might actually be a bad idea, because my neighbor would naturally assume that I was shoveling it in disgust with their reluctance to do so (of course the snow had been falling for just a few hours and it's the middle of a weekday). I don't want to offend them! If I shovel for them, they would clearly feel obliged to reciprocate, creating more work for them. That would defeat the point. At what age do people transition
from reciprocating snow shoveling, to just appreciating it? They don't
look that old. Do people even reciprocate shoveling? They have never shoveled our sidewalk. Am I going to offend the next house down, whose sidewalk I don't shovel? I have to draw a line in the snow somewhere! And then what about the loaf of bread she baked us when we moved in? Does shoveling equal bread? Did I already pay-back that favor? Does this require her to double-favor reply? What if I double-shovel them before they can reciprocate? God knows I'm unemployed, I can shovel any time of day. What if it's my turn to reciprocate when we eventually move out, and it's summertime? Am I going to have to come back with brownies or weed their garden or something? I still haven't even had a real conversation with them. This might never stop. I definitely shouldn't shovel their sidewalk. Ok, you concluded that, so it's probably wrong. I better just do it quickly; I won't be caught. "Ha," I said to an old friend in my head, as I shuffled icily around their sidewalk, who used to argue with me about altruism, claiming that everyone was always in it for something, if only the praise or ego boost. Here I am, trying not to get found out. My first steps were skittish, nervously glancing. With each pass I was more confident that I would get away with. But O, how the snow just sloughs-off this shovel blade, clearly the radius is too tight! Who designs these things? I need another pass; I'm losing all the snow. Finally finished, and relieved to have escaped unseen, I moved to my other neighbor's sidewalk. Just as I got there, I heard a noise behind me. Drat, now I'm done for! What if I pushed the snow somewhere they didn't like it? I hope she doesn't bring out a loaf of bread!
As I turned, she poked her head out from behind the front door, waved, and said, "Thank you!".
