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.