waiting for godot

i wonder when sitting beneath the tree in my backyard, attempting to remove my boot,and ruminating on suicide while waiting for godot(in this case the cable guy, dish network technician, ups, or any of the hundred other people that force you to be home bound between the hours of 8 and 5), who exactly it is that gets their appointment over with first thing in the morning so that they might be free to frolic? i have cleaned and re-cleaned my house while waiting and made forays into the miniature world of matchstick art. i built a french quarter out of matchsticks and fully intended to show it at my next art show but alas, it burned. it seems that new orleans, even a tiny version of itself is still prone to great conflagrations. we, the mites of this mighty metropolis are scurrying about in our own theater of the absurd.
and i got all that without even checking the morning paper, which i am sure will only reinforce my belief that the universe makes no sense. it is like the anonymous crack line in new orleans, that when you call, a recording tells you to leave your name and number and someone will call you back. alrighty then!