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When scheduling my trip to go see my parents, I was extremely worried that whichever weekend I chose would end up being the wrong one. At least I was right about something.

Now that I'm going this weekend, I realize that last weekend would have been perfect, and this weekend fails. Not content to simply teach me my lesson, the universe is now gloating over just how wrong I was. The latest smackdown is that one of the cats we had when my parents lived here, Bubba, died yesterday. I don't really get emotional about things, and this is no exception (as usual, while I don't feel bad that Bubba is dead, I do feel bad that I don't feel bad), but the whole "could have seen him one last time"-thing is just one more thing to add to the ever growing pile of shame and bad decisions that is my life so far. Fucking hindsight.
I begin to wonder just how far the universe is going to go with this, and I'm going to be a very unhappy boy if one of my planes crashes this weekend. My sheer, unbridled rage at having been so wrong about which weekend to visit will bring me back to life, and I'll go on a rampage, and they'll make a video game about it.

Think about that, Universe, before deciding how important it is to you to get in that last "fuck you".

Oh, yeah, and it would suck for the other passengers, too.

Squeak
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