Re: The Last Word
Stardate 2122006.7
Monsignor Shadow's log
I got up early today, did some gymnastics, pulled on a worn old dressing gown and went for my morning coffee. We were all out of sugar and milk, so the coffee was black as space, but it was refreshing and helped me gather my scrambled mind.
Our ship blew up yesterday. It was hit by some kind of force blast from another ship we had never seen before. What a way to say hello, eh? Uh-huh. But fortunately we live in the shadow of the ship, so we weren't affected. I can't hold this event as anything but another worrying indication of the current trend in modern day space travelling, that of blowing up each other at first sight. Why do people do this? Is it some kind of involuntary manifestation of a subconcious desire not to have control over anything? Conciously every species wants the universe for itself, but only as a concept. Everyone gets twitchy at the prospect of getting their hands dirty with some actual work, and therefore their subconciousness forces them to blow up everyone but themselves so that they can have the universe without having to control it, which they would inevitably have to do if there was anyone in it.
Other than that, things are going great. The new computer database update was a blast, I can now convert document file extensions and play Sweeper at the same time!
By the way, that reminds me, the sweeper wants more pay. He's quite stubborn about it, deal with it, will you?
After breakfast I did some necessary paperwork - I can't procrastinate forever. My filing system needs a complete makeover but you just don't have time for these things, do you? The plant beside the desk has died, a folder fell down on it and broke its stem. I asked my secretary to get a new one tomorrow, preferrably in a slightly darker shade of light green.
I'm taking my lunch hour to write the log - I am obliged to keep up the records but I'm not given any work time to do it, I am expected to do everything in my spare time nowadays. Write the log, file papers, compile reports, read job applications... the stress of Monsignorship is killing me. My predecessor never had to put up with this shit. It's the extended bureaucracy that's causing it, it grows bigger and more impossible to circumvent each year. Of course, nothing can be more impossible, either it's impossible or it's in some way possible, but as long as I'm in charge artistic expression takes precedence over a mere matter of adjective inflection.
Anyway, I'm just rambling now... this has no significance to our mission. Nothing has really, the nature of the mission is such that nothing has any significance to it. Thus it is also completely insignificant, but we carry on with it, mainly as a matter of habit.
Over and out.
