Next Of Kin

Next of Kin

It has to be one of the worst computer systems I have ever encountered. A sorry monologue of history, laid out in dates and numbers; a salient reminder that I am little more than a series of user names and passwords attached to yet another number distinguishing me from the other numbers which tell similar stories. And, no sooner have I entered all the dates and data, another reminder pops up periodically to inform me – remind me – that the process of reducing my life to binary will never end. I have to keep feeding it information continually to satiate the beast, at least until the next time.

The one reminder I despise more than any other though is the one requiring the details of my next of kin. I suppose the first question popping in to your head right now is something along the lines of: why does this one irk me more than the others? And I will tell you, in the plainest of terms; I don't have one. At least, I don't have one who is close enough to turn up at a moment's notice should something serious or horrible befall me.