I didn't sleep well last night.
I inadvertently murdered the peacock butterfly.
Yes, the nice one I took a picture of.
No, I don't feel particularly good about it.
Yes, I stepped on it in the dark.
Yes, I probably, as I was debating, should have let it go - or at least moved it somewhere that I wouldn't step on it.
In any case, it put a sour note on the morning debate. The morning debate was whether I was to go to a wine tasting or not. I decided to go. Good champagne at 1030 in the morning, even if I have to spit it out, consoles my guilty, butterfly-murdering conscience.
The tasting was nice. Some of the wines were good. Met some old colleagues. Then, for no reason, I looked at the back of my clipboard. There was an old name tag on it. It said "Andy Cook Luvians Bottle Shop" on it.
How fucking weird is that? My old flatmate/boss/best mate's clipboard? At a tasting I nearly didn't go to, and wouldn't have gone to if I hadn't killed the butterfly? The wines were overshadowed by a sense of weirdness and destiny for the rest of the tasting. I kept expecting something hugely important and life-changing to happen. I had another glass of Tokaji just to make sure I didn't miss it.
Nothing else happened. We ate lunch, I said goodbye to my mates and grabbed my car with 2 minutes left on the meter.
It was kind of disappointing: destiny quickly replaced by peculiar coincidence. I'm beginning to think that's how the universe works.