Monday, May 30, 2005
Oh fucksakes
How wonderfully simple it is to post pictures to your blog using something that seems to work and then just vanishes in a very helpful way. There's a shot of someone else's dog somewhere in this computer, and now it's been uploaded into something and resized and framed and all manner of lovely rational logical things which made perfect sense and gave me great satisfaction but how do I access it from here? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
What else do I not know?
One thing I do know, which I thought would just annoy me for ages - the identity of the stunning dark-skinned-shocking-blonde-haired woman I kept trying not to stare at late on Saturday night. I could not place her at all. Finally I realised sometime on Sunday that I used to work with her. She was in sales while I wrote ridiculous functional web copy in the other room of the Company that has now gone bust as it was always destined to. I did manage to compliment her on her amazing waist-length hair once and was rewarded with dazzling smile. I didn't know what to do with myself around her. Women are extraordinary. And doubtless much more of a headfuck than the other. So it's probably just as well that in spite of having unerring gaydar for bisexual girls I'm too stuck in the usual patterns of acceptable behaviour to get at all embroiled. Whew.
I want a holiday. I'm so tired.
What else do I not know?
How much money I have
How my advertising actually works
If I can make it all work and bring in enough money
If the charity people got their edit back because they haven't said and I've got a version of Word that hardly anyone else has which is pointlessness incarnate because clients can't open what I send them
Whether I'll be able to raise the deposit for a new place because I never put one down on this one and so there isn't one to get back, and whether any landlord will agree that a huge dog's security value will outweigh a huge dog's potential to cause costly damage to his fucking anaglypta'd craphole of a property
When I'll find a driving instructor who will teach me in my own car
If I'll pass my test before losing my nerve
What this random collection of symptoms denotes
Why things that look so great on paper and even assume the form of things that are great actually just do not work and are as mysterious as radio waves or insoluble mathematical problems and in their secret not-workingness are just as boring and baffling as being read a load of insoluble mathematical problems which are the utter and absolute antithesis of the excitingness and lusciousness which they once represented
And why everything in time breaks down into the prosaic like decomposing food - the most luxurious of which makes the most hideous fungal mess (while the shit which is more preservative than nutrient just remains untouched by bacteria. . .well, it's logical, really)
What I'm doing in here when it's a flat perfect blue sky outside and doubtless hot as heck
Why I feel obliged to go outside and make myself uncomfortable just because it's sunny
What the fuck I'm doing in a wider sense
One thing I do know, which I thought would just annoy me for ages - the identity of the stunning dark-skinned-shocking-blonde-haired woman I kept trying not to stare at late on Saturday night. I could not place her at all. Finally I realised sometime on Sunday that I used to work with her. She was in sales while I wrote ridiculous functional web copy in the other room of the Company that has now gone bust as it was always destined to. I did manage to compliment her on her amazing waist-length hair once and was rewarded with dazzling smile. I didn't know what to do with myself around her. Women are extraordinary. And doubtless much more of a headfuck than the other. So it's probably just as well that in spite of having unerring gaydar for bisexual girls I'm too stuck in the usual patterns of acceptable behaviour to get at all embroiled. Whew.
I want a holiday. I'm so tired.
