A finely tuned instrument
Somewhere before midnight, the winds got the better of our electrical network. I awoke when the generator started, and when it finally stopped in that hour before dawn, I was relieved. Turns out that our neighbourhood got off with the easy end of the storm. Fully twenty hours later, whole sections of the Island are preparing for a cold and dark night. No major storm, mind you. Just a good autumn blow. I suspect that the electrical system is a finely tuned instrument; one tree in the wrong place (across the wires) and everything stops.
Out in the Strait, one large passenger ship passed by. Not on its intended course, given that the sailing plan saw a route from Baie-Comeau to Sydney. The ship has since reversed direction, and is back en route to Cape Breton leaving me to wonder if the captain was distracted and turned to starboard too soon.
This evening, I’m running data conversion therapy. That’s where I obsess over files that are stored in the “wrong” format, and spend hours putting things “right”. In the end, nobody will ever know that I did this, or why. Put it down to too much time on my hands. I could always adapt my lifestyle: go for long walks in the wet woods, or try to teach the dog a new trick that he really doesn’t want to learn. Instead, batch work. Almost as if I had never left the workplace. Speaking of which, I’m now into the fifth year without a “boss” (supervisor, in HR speak).
