Work To Feed The Soul?

Man, I despise nostalgia. Just spent a few hours having the annual chat to Lindsey T, school sweetheart, about what-could-have-been. It's all-good for shits and giggles but it just re-animates feelings that died a long time ago and is made even more fruitless by the fact that everything else has changed and it's impossible to hook up anyway.

Also diagnosing myself with another condition, Alcohol Induced Soft-Core Kleptomania (Not to be confused with Necrophilia). I woke up this morning with a new, huge road sign at the foot of my bed. Added to my growing collection of items that have made their way into my room and it's pretty obvious I have a minor condition.

The health plan's finally starting to produce some results. With the working out and proper eating I'm beginning to feel and see some changes. Upper body strength is up and with the consumption of fish on a daily basis my head feels much sharper. Also, with resolutions in mind, moving out is now on the back burner. I just realised how unappealing working full time is, and that some major sacrifices of in my current lifestyle would be required just to make ends meet. I guess it's better waiting 'til a full wage is thrown in my direction, making money an obsolete issue.

Vimto is getting it's own paragraph now, and not just because it tastes like you're drinking Ribena straight out of someone's arse. A bottle that had done nothing all day just exploded over my keyboard, and I just realised that it's an anagram of Vomit (which ironically leaves a better after-taste in your mouth). Everything about this so-called 'drink' is wrong.

Tell Me All And I'll Tell You

It's remarkable how many skeletons can emerge from numerous closets in a single week. Act I: The song and dance of finding out that people you held a reasonable opinion of are actually bithces, that some just love stirring the shit, watch alcohol cheapen someone you know, and that others are incapable of accepting you as you are. Act II: The dirty little secrets and information everyone has stashed away in the back of their minds, just laying dormant 'til something activates them again. Then the curtain falls.

Watched the matrix the a few days back and I'd totally forgotten how brilliant and sexy it is. Although through all of the effects, philosophy and fiction there's one thing that literally jumps out of the film; question everything you know - what you're told, what you do, all the rules and norms you follow, even your existence. It's also fascinating to see how the characters become so dependent on many different things - power, others, love or looking at porn. Pretty deep huh?

I think I saw my real Dad the other day, assuming that he's still in the same job. Even after a few 'near' sightings I'd still have no idea how to act, or what I'd say if he approached me. Seriously, what a douche. On the note of spastics I actually saw a 'chav' take on an articulated lorry today. I don't think it crossed his mind that it could have turned him into strawberry jam within a second, idiot. He was just so sure that either:

A) The multi-ton lorry would stop
B) He could dodge it with little notice
C) He would be able to punch straight through it with a sovereign.

Last night was the first of the 21st birthday parties, and what a night it was! Good to see all the ol' schoolmates back together, catch up with everyone and drink hours of the evening out of my brain. Wilson's birthday always gets the ball rolling, two more this week and another few pencilled in for the next month, makes me kinda look forward to my one too, hope it kicks ass.

Conscience In The Gutter

In patches for over a year Leanne has repeatedly infiltrated my thoughts, pity that it’s taken me that long give up on her. After several pseudo dates, even Forrest Gump and a sexy meal couldn’t induce a single kiss, so I’ve accepted that nothing’s going to happen. A few weeks ago I was stuck between failure (which isn’t flattering) and relief (that I’m not kidding myself on any more). Although on the good side I can officially say and do anything to her without worrying if it looks or sounds cool.

On the good hand Onion Terror managed to grab an award at this year’s Fudgees; Best Punk Band, which is ace because we’re not even punk, but shit because almost all the other bands in the category had split up. Lost out on Best Performance by one vote, Gutted, although it still called for a big celebration. The 10 Easy Wishes gig a week later was also a night to remember, but that’s a completely different story involving profuse levels of alcohol and cat food, kinky.

The observation on humanity today is the personal space that dominates everything these days. Mobile phones and music players are just two of the things that ensure everyone has there own private area, detached from everyone else’s. I was on a packed bus the other day and between tracks on my MP3 player I couldn’t hear a single conversation around me; kind of worrying when we’re supposed to be a civilised society.

I’ve also managed to diagnose myself with constant tiredness. No matter where I am or what I’m doing all I want to do is fall asleep. Most weekdays I have a siesta, and I’m even missing lectures because I can’t get out of bed. The worst thing is, my days aren’t busier than they were last month. I can only hope that this is a phase, because the last thing I want to be is a human sloth, although going to the toilet once a week to crap out most of my body weight does sound appealing. Unfortunately in a year, an average person uses the toilet 2,500 times.