Looking forwards   Leave a comment

Running back.

Tuesday. Tuesday? Tuesday! Well that’s three words down.

Tuesday wasn’t a day of note or import. It was a perfectly good day, don’t get me wrong; it had no disasters or mishaps or unhappiness. If it had, there would be more to write about.

I had houmous for lunch. I like houmous. It’s got quite a lot of calories in it, which is good because that meant I got all the way up to -1,034 calories for the day. Close enough. I ate 2,216. Mmm, calories.

I backed up and cleared out my work working directories, and added them to Subversion. Hurrah! It’s almost like being a proper programmer.

I went to the gym. Not only did I manage 200kCal on the treadmill without stopping, but I also managed to jog all the way home (“all the way” being about half a mile) without walking. Hurrah! Maybe one day I shall be fit in at least one sense of the word.

I played AI War. It is going well. Galaxy generation has been kind, and the human rebel minor faction is incredibly helpful, especially on planets with gravity drills. Don’t know what I’m wittering on about? The demo is here. Play it! It is awesome. Windows, Mac, and apparently runs fine under Wine on Linux. You have no excuse! The whole lot costs less than £20, too, even when it’s not on sale. That’s a lot of game; I’ve not played with everything turned on yet, I dread to think how busy that game would be!

I started five paragraphs in a row with the first-person-singular personal pronoun.

So that was Tuesday. Apparently WordPress asked (demanded?) this:

You’re now in charge of writing the messages in fortune cookies. Tell us our fortunes.

Okay. You’re one person. You’re probably going to live for about eighty years. You can probably write off the last five or ten, as your mind or body gradually fall apart. How far through are you already? How many do you have left? How long did the last year seem to you? Do you often think, “Gosh, has it been a year already?”? That was one-eightieth of your life. More, if you discount the part of your childhood before you were even sentient, and your inevitable dotage, as you regress with only oblivion ahead of you. I say “inevitable”, but it isn’t, is it? Who knows all the possible things that could kill you in the meantime. And after your death… Well, from your point of view there will be nothing afterwards. There won’t even be a you. But will the living remember you? For how long? What have you done to leave a mark on the universe? “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair”, goes the poem. How long will your works last, do you think? Perhaps you think your children, or grandchildren, will remember you. Will they? I barely remember my grandmother, and she only died ten years ago. Even if the last child you ever meet remembers you for their entire, long life, your memory will endure for a mere 1% of human civilisation to date. Human civilisation that has graced the Earth for about nine thousand of the four billion years since life appeared. Maybe you think humanity itself is your legacy? How long will that last? Think of all the ways that could go wrong; I’ve mentioned a mere few before. Perhaps some unknown, intrepid aliens shall sift through our species’ remains thousands, millions of years hence. Will they know you existed?

That would need quite a large cookie. Maybe, for pithiness: death and obscurity.


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