I want to go to Russia

But it will take lots of saving. And it means I can't have the nice job for less money because I will need more money to be able to do savings. And there's no work in my intray today. And yesterday was long because there was little work. Today will be longerererererer...

Perfection Please

I like this blog very much and this post has made me feel much better with regards to screwing up at work (I'm a typesetter) because typo's are indeed very honest. (see the update below the blue drawing) The disdain and ridicule mistakes often met with is probably a disappointing reflection on our societies' need for perfection and omission (oppression?) of error in order to pursue our daily life without undue hesitance or concern caused by those too inept to carry out their job properly. So I've decided to leave the errors that have been the process of creating this post and will now endeavour to regret less so that I may learn more from my mistakes rather than chastise myself vigorously when things go wrong.

Correlation & Coincidence

Surely things will only correlate if they coincide (please excuse my mathematical ignorance) in which case, a correlation of any kind is only a reflection of a perception imposed on a series of coincidences. Probably best illustrated by things that you would think would correlate, but when documented, they just do not coincide on a regular enough basis to qualify such a conclusion. Yet without each other they would not persist. So that they do not coincide does not mean they do not correlate. All it means is that the relationship cannot be tracked or demonstrated in a graph. Is it then intangible?

Need more silly

Otherwise it's boring.

anot

Metaphors and similes strained out of me by the twenty pence tea leaf catcher, snatcher, devoider of thought
The Silver Band plays out my way, littered by cracked snails' carcasses and a crushed egg sarcophagus.
Slugs feet crush bamboo canes, tirelessly tormenting the tomatoes, who reach desperately for the wall and the sky.
The logistics of laundry is never more acutely felt when there is little left to launder but linen and lampshades.
Spitting neighbours, empty favours, unnecessary rhymes to convince of sublime...
The cat chases milk collars, distracted from the execution of hair toggles by the scratch, skitter and stubborn stare.
I never knew how to write and I was never more aware of this than now, when I want to, there is no coherent creation to be borne. A train of thought, a pointless aching consideration of why. Why what? I have been wondering about the nature/origin/reason of tradition, and quickly concluded that it is a 'social construct' (forgive the horrid phrase) that despite the superstition, religion, age, cultural/regional roots etc, the initial conception and growth of a tradition must be to create a community, to breed familiarity and commonality among people, to aid loyalty, a sense of belonging to a group of people.
Although people will share interests with others, is it possible to be entirely independent in an interest, to not feign interest in a certain aspect of a common passion so as to strengthen an alliance (albeit on false ground).
Is it possible to agree to disagree and accept another into the fold, to trust their loyalty in spite of differences, to respect them as an individual within the collective. Or are we all six again, devising a reason to ostracise the child we don't like, and coercing others to isolate them also, rather than simply stating that we don't like them.
*ramblerambleramble*

Cheese

Things are really grating this afternoon, not sure if this is hormonal or the accumulation of irritant, which began most notably last weekend. In observation, I try to abstain from being quick to judge, or unfair about individuals habits or idiosyncrasies, but it would seem I'm fed up of being forgiving I am increasingly of the opinion that people should get a grip and get on with it. And stop exaggerating and sensationalising events unnecessarily so as to render the situation irreparable. Reality is rubbish enough without topping it off with soap opera drama. But then I suppose the truth is mundane and can often lead to a simple solution, and if it's not hard, what is the point?

Start Again

Again

Obviously

Trying to be sensible and grown up with pennies with an idea of saving only works if you have something to save for. The desire to save for something implies an ambition or aspiration towards the something.
I stumbled across my old Amazon account the other day where I'd written in the summary that after university I wanted to travel around the world, working in as many places along the way as possible to fund it.
I can't even save up for a pair of shoes let alone a work visa and plane ticket. Getting bogged down in the mundane to enable myself to fund something I've only managed to get bogged down in the mundane, unable to fund even that.
Ultimately, all I do is annoy myself and irritate those around me by persisting in doing fuck all. Someone once asked why I lived in the city if all I was ever going to do was work as a bar maid, since I could do that anywhere. Worse, in trying to be indignant about this statement in relaying it to another person, they agreed with it as being an astute observation. I have since disappointed myself by moving out of the city and continuing to work as a bar maid.
I believe most of this may be down to me having concentrated so hard on establishing what it is I don't want to do, don't want to be, don't want to happen in my life, I've no concept of what it is I do want. The only clear ideas I have in my head are the negatives, and as such, they seem to be the only ones likely to materialise (thus far at least).
Being scared of my own ambitions and aspirations isn't much help either, and considering that I'm the only person who considers me incapable, it's ridiculous.

Title:

6th June
I don't want to do anything, even though I know I'd feel better and quite good about myself if I get up and go swimming before work in the morning, I can't convince myself to do it. Even with good reason to go, as someone pointed out to me, with my back starting to hurt again, and hurting as much as it does, you'd think I'd do something about it.
7th June
I did go swimming! My back feels ever so slightly less broken and my arms aren't talking to me anymore. I shall possibly swim again tomorrow.

Mouldy Slugs, Slate & Cat Crap

Because the cats think they're fancy and believe they deserve to defecate only in the finest Welsh slate, which would be some fricking expensive litter. But I don't understand how the slugs became mouldy.

Pretending to garden in a decked and concreted yard is my new favourite hobby; far superior to doing the laundry and tidying the house hobbies. Tidying the plant pots is much more mucky and rewarding, although the poor plants aren't necessarily benefiting as much as they could, because, as it goes, I'm not to good at defending their honour against marauding slugs and quenching their thirst so that they may thrive and blossom.

What do I actually want to do?

Answers on a postcard please. "One", "Me" and "Vegas" are not valid answers.

BBC News Front Page

Possibly the most depressing first page I've glanced over in weeks. Personal state of mind is not accounted for in this analysis. Almost as much fun as the mythical 'England flag/shirt/nationality' ban.

Living within the boundaries of the National Park for London's Racists, I am ashamed to say I've found racism is contagious, but hopefully I have noticed the symptoms in time to eradicate them completely. It's an ugly feeling.
I have also found that presented with the option for conflict or resolution, where the argument isn't at all well founded and the solution is a potentially humiliating truth (humiliating in as much as people don't like to stand down from their misappropriation of opinion), the horse that never lived will be flogged into life in order to be grusomely (and misguidedly) slayed on the altar patriotism (in this instance anyway).

I don't like this place.

Groan Up

I have creaked slowly into my mid-twenties to discover the common title afforded to adulthood has been misspelt somewhere through the ages. To me, 'Grown Up' implies a sense of completion, fulfilment, the realisation of potential, but these are not things I have experienced. Then again, I could be misconstruing that to take responsibility for oneself, to varying degrees, is what being a 'Grown Up' is, which is probably wrong, but is the premise on which the rest of my ramble is based. 

This ramble will also include unnecessarily fancy words where simple ones would suffice and rubbish grammar; most notably, phrases of note highlighted 'as such', in the style of the MD of the company I work for who had us send out letters urging customers to call us on the 'usual' number if they were in any doubt as to any 'issues' which might beset their publication considering the 'issues' we have suffered the last few months.

Since I never 'Grew Up' in a physical sense; having my age questioned in Boots for scissors, being asked for ID in HMV and being directed to the junior section for swimsuits (in a sports shop, not HMV) are all indicators to me that I haven't achieved the adult 'look', I have realised that growing up is most likely the learning to whine and complain authoritatively.

(I just accidentally smudged a small flying insect on the screen, which was both unintentional and unfun)

There is now a cat reclining across my stomach pawing my arm with his claws out and his eyes shut. So I'm giving up. He also brought a rather distraught Blue Tit in this evening, which wasn't fun, since we managed to release it unharmed from his jaws, only for it to fly off into a wall in a panic, only to be caught by the other cat who was not so gentle with him.

Ridiculosity

That would be contemplating the imminence of passing the threshold of my mid-twenties... becoming over a quarter century old is rather daunting. And that the 'n' button on my keyboard is rather stubborn is rather irritating. Since I've brought this fact to light it has become more cooperative.

It would seem the embarrassing things come with age, e.g. random attraction to John Cusack, washing my trainers because they really are too grubby for casual Friday at work, other stuff that I'm not yet prepared to admit to.

Time passes quickly, mostly because it is largely occupied with work to earn money to support myself whilst trying to finish the training for an occupation that will earn more money and consume less time thus enabling me to possibly consider pursuing my real interests. Which I'll have likely forgotten about by the time I get there. Which I think I've forgotten already. But then interests tend to be distractions from the more pressing matters of life like bills and responsibilities, and are vocation and passion just acceptable terms for escapism. Escaping in plain sight with the excuse of personal fulfilment.

Really, what I'm worried about is that I've reached the year in which my driving licence is to be renewed, which means a new photograph, which means a lot of photo booth turmoil in the pursuit of a decent image that will ultimately be inexplicably distorted by the DVLA

Jaw Ache

My nightmare indicates that I am avoiding a situation, feel inadequate and oppressed, punishing myself for negative/bad habits and have some emotional/aggression issues.



This has left me with an ache in my jaw which is rubbish.


And there is no heating at work, because somone didn't pay the electricity bill. But there are lights and other electrical equipment. But no work for me to do. Which is quite boring after 5 weeks of little work to do.

Started thinking in words again!

So I could write bad poems if I liked, except that I forgot the words that I thought, but am glad that I remembered that I thought them in the first place. Ace.

Lion Cat

I don't know what it is that makes her make this face. It's odd because she's purring all the time she looks like this, but doesn't look particularly happy about it. Just before this picture was taken her jaw was much wider and more set in the 'Lion Face' expression. Just after this picture was taken, she bit me. Probably because I'd discovered one way to get her to pull this face is to tickle her tummy. She doesn't like that.

Grumbly in my Tumbly

I've had a stomach ache since Monday afternoon. Last night I was deciding that everything is pointless, and reading through my blog I wish there were more optimistic moments. A lady I work with is the most inspirational person I've ever met when it comes to embracing optimism, revelling in life, enjoying what you enjoy, and choosing not to regret anything. Maybe the ache is a lack of Joy, or the lack of nurture for any Joy I possess.

I thought this was quite cool

Newspaper Club is a service that helps people and communities make their own newspapers. www.newspaperclub.co.uk

For How Long Or Short Can You Hold A Thought

I want to look up a word, by the time I've typed dictionary into google I've forgotten the word.

There is a train of thought I wish to pursue with some more thinking, upon thinking that I wish to think about this thought more I forget the thought.

It has just taken me ages to remember the snapshot of someone else’s life that I witnessed yesterday that made me wonder what an average human person is, and the possibility that a perfectly average person would probably turn out to be below the average I would expect.

I stood in disbelief listening to a mother making excuses and deferring responsibility onto her child, explaining to the teacher that the reason her six year old daughter didn't have her book bag that day was because the child forgot it and left it in the car, and the reason she doesn't regularly read her school book, is because the child forgets to remind her(this also explains why her reading record book doesn't get written in by the parent, as the child hasn't read anything to record, and the child has forgotten to tell the parent that the parent should be doing so) The teacher explains that if the problem is that her school book has been lost, to let her know and they'll arrange a replacement. This is met with more excuses. Teacher closes with grace and diplomacy by explaining that the book bag and reading issues have been raised with the child previously, and that she had reached the conclusion that it would be best to discuss it with the child's mother, as she would resolve the situation and maybe take on some of the responsibility to help her daughter to remember to do her reading and bring her books to school.

It reminded me of a conversation I overheard on the bus between a girl and her phone, explaining the reason for her enrolling on a hair and beauty course at the local college was that her only other option was to sign on. And while part of me admired her determination not to sign on, I was confused and disheartened that she would pursue something in which she had little interest, because she didn't seem able to consider that there may be more appealing opportunities outside of the 10 mile radius in which she exists.

Describe the smell of static

I have recently become more aware of the smell of static in the office. Upon mentioning this I realised I was the only person who has noticed this and added further credence to my 'odd one in the corner' credentials. That said, I'm still most likely the 'most sane person they know', to paraphrase a previous description of me.
I'm not sure if the smell is related to a recent affliction that has swept through much of the networked electronic equipment, which creates a new little hurdle most days. Though this is not a bad thing. I made the mistake of getting quite good at doing my job quite quickly and accurately when faced with an overflowing in tray and no replacement for my colleague.
Now that the process has been largely simplified, most of my self taught skills (which I am despairingly proud of) have become redundant. I don't get to play on the cool stuff that would give me the skills to work elsewhere in the industry, and this position is pretty rigid in its dead-endedness.
Not that I ever intended to stay here, but I can't say I anticipated to be working for a company that has decided to buck the industry trend, to neither it's benefit or credit, and has left me in possibly a worse position than if I had never worked in publishing before.
The prospect of becoming self employed is becoming ever more distant, since it relies on my completing the training. If I'd completed it within the six months I had intended to, the momentum might have acted as motivation for at least eighteen months. As it is I'm stagnating in an office with no future, failing to complete yet another course of study, and questioning my lack of ambition, desire or enthusiasm for anything.
Last night, it was suggested that the way to determine your purpose in life is to write a list of possible purposes, and when you happen across the one that makes you cry, you have found your purpose. Flaws in this theory include the poor person committing endless possibilities to paper until they sob in desperation at not seeming able to determine their purpose, thus committing themselves to something irrelevant. Another flaw (more in the person than the process) would be to list ideas that are not appealing and find yourself crying at the things that you don't want. But surely this is more down to spending too much time concentrating on what I don't want and what I don't want to be, until this becomes the sole focus of thought and ends up the outcome of existence.
So what do I want.

JobjobJubjub

The sheen on the shine of the job is most definitely tarnished, and the shine shone it's last a while ago. With it went the gleam in my eye that accompanied the interest in learning new (though decidedly mundane) things to do in this employment.
It's certainly deaded, and would work quite well as a support in creating an environment in which to do the things I want to do, if I knew what I wanted to do or felt in anyway creative.
Contentedness does not invigorate creativeness (in myself at least), and I'm fed up of the blandness left in its' place.
Discipline, near financial stability and a dream of achieving an ideal home envrionment are no where near as cool as I thought they might be, and it would seem clawing ones way back from that potential abyss is more difficult than one would anticipate.

?shva=1#

The first time I saw this was after pressing the refresh button on my gmail, and thought it was a rather cool reference to the deity. Then I realised that it appears on every page when I'm gmailing and became disheartened.
I've only just realised that it would still apply regardless of the process that produces the page.
Ninny.

Feel bad for making them move

Sat on the sofa, covered in cats
Throbbing feet and sublime smile
Consequence of a good shift.
Jonathan Ross interviews Jeff Bridges,
which is a good result
for late night channel hopping
Then Courtney Love and the new guard of Hole
start to play
Bit crap really.

Void & Truth

I can't identify which one contains the other. Neither combination is comforting. Work has earned me few skills which would transfer to a job/career that would hold my interest. It has earned me few skills which could even be transferred to similar employment within the industry.
The surrender of ambition and dreams to supposed discipline has had a messy handover, particularly since I've realised that one cannot exist without the other.
I'm not sure if it's the distraction of painfully cold toes in a cold, cavernous, under populated office; the brain trauma caused by excessive hours of mind-numbing work; a lack of friends or a shrinking of personality that has diminished my sense of creativity.
It is most likely that none of these apply, as my staunch alliance with apathy and disinclination is entering its tenth anniversary. To celebrate the decade without desire or personal conflict seems apt.
Conversely, on merit, I would appear to be happy. There's no emotional strain, ache or choice fizzing in my head, there are no questions about what I should or shouldn't do. No placing myself in situations I know will spawn anger and pain. Everything fits, rewards a reaped from the seeds of effort that have been sown. Metaphors, dialect and accent are often mixed, melted and redistributed to set the scene as accurately as possible.
But the void can't be located and the truth is as yet undefined.