Normally I am not one to believe in signs. Â Every time in my life I have thought I have seen something that indicated I should make one choice over another, the only thing I can say is that nothing fantastic has ever come of it. Â I’ve never won the lottery using numbers sent to me by cosmic alignment, nor on any day where I bought a ticket because something said I should. Â Of course, I also can’t say these supposed signs didn’t steer me away from danger. Â As far as I know, I’ve never decided not to get on a particular bus and that bus ended up exploding, or missed a flight that crashed, or avoided any other disaster by listening to signs.
However, it has come to my attention that this week, the one which signifies the end of my current contract job leaving me unemployed, is the forty second week of the year. Â 42. Â The answer to life, the universe and everything.
Should this mean something?
Job ending, unemployed… 42… “Don’t Panic?”
It’s probably a good time to check your towel too. Have it available for any interview (“What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.”)