When I go to the bathroom late at night, I turn all of the visible lights off. The only light remaining is the small red LED on my headphones. I pretend I'm somewhere else, and I reflect. There is no whir of harddrive churning, of blades spinning, of air conditioner humming. There is only the faint echo in my ear of whichever vain ballad I'm ascribing to, and the not-so-faint echo of the various thoughts in my head. It is nice. I feel at ease.
Winamp randomed from Big Man with a Gun to the acoustic version of the Fragile
and I realized
Trent Reznor is a genius.
I also realized it was the first time I was able to count that pause and land correctly when the piano came back in. In the complete silence in the bathroom.
And upon realizing all of this
I also realized
It randomed from Big Man with a Gun to the acoustic version of the Fragile.
And my head exploded.
Does the problem really lie with me? Or is it society?
That was easily the best time I've ever had. My throat feels as though it is covered in brambles, my feet are detaching themselves, my back is bending into my stomach, my temples pound, and my ears have gone out to lunch. But god damn if that wasn't the best fucking forty-five dollars I've ever spent.
I'm laying on my ridiculously uncomfortable bed with my knees bent because the bed is very short. My feet hang off the edge of it at night, but it's probably because I slide down the bed as the slope of my pillow decreases as I shift around. Er, anyway. Tonight is the first time I've touched this laptop in at least 3 weeks. It was laying under a blanket by my closet, and I actually had to dust it off. Good work, me.
I decided I would blog about anything, and everything (well, not everything), that comes to mind, just to see if I can work some creativity or desire or anything into my system other than continual anticipation for that which will never happen. Don't ask me what this means -- it's pretty much general, although there are a few cases that aren't general -- don't ask what they are.
I guess the most immediate thing on my mind is my schedule for the next few days. In about 10 hours I'll be going out with Daniel and his parents for lunch and to see some kind of a show. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but they're paying for it, and it promises to be better than sitting around waiting for nine o'clock.
At nine o'clock, we will be amassing at Will's apartment to watch the Nine Inch Nails concert DVD
And All That Could Have Been. This is primarily for Phil, who is an NiN noob and who has to see it. It is also in preparation for Monday. I will get to that in a bit.
Then I have to wake up at nine o'clock (AM, this time) on Monday to tell my bosses that I accomplished nothing over the weekend. (Alternate scenario: I miraculously get some work in tomorrow night or something, but... yeah.) They'll be pissed, of course, but they can't fire me because I'm the only programmer on several website projects and they wouldn't bring someone in to familiarize with our environment because it would put the projects even more behind schedule. Also, if they bitch too much, I'll remind them that they pay me $7.50 an hour and that they get what they pay for. Although, I probably wouldn't even say anything.
Off-topic: While resting my hands from this weird typing position, I remembered that my roommates owe me $200, soon to be $300, for electricity bills. I'm too antisocial to go ask for it, so I'd rather sit here and stew about it. It doesn't help that Daniel keeps egging me on. He doesn't owe me anything.
Another off-topic: My stupid ceiling fan runs constantly because, with the door closed, this room heats up like a motherfucker. It's probably because I keep the computer on all the time, but it's necessary, believe me. I also have a floor fan to circulate the hot air. I will cherish winter.
Anyway, yeah. MONDAY IS THE NINE INCH NAILS CONCERT. Six years of fanboyism finally pay off, and for only $45. The combat roster is me, Will, Phil, and Geoff. It promises to be awesome. This time, I have a fucking ID.
Uhh... yeah. So, what else.
I recently found out that Bjork is awesome. I can't stop listening to her music, and it's pretty much all I want to listen to, with the exception of random NiN and Radiohead tracks.
Today I "competed" in a "competition" with some guy who is almost as good as I am at computer science. So I guess that means he is as good as is humanly possible. It's cool to meet other tech-savvy people here. Well, not "cool" exactly, but you know what I mean.
The other night I watched half of Evangelion with Brian Freyling because... well, it was Thursday night and there was absolutely nothing to do. Well, I could have done work, but fuck that, right?
I went to the R.L. Turner homecoming game. Everything at Turner got way worse when I left. I'm serious, too. The band sucks. The football team sucks. The new people suck. Maybe I just have a new perspective... you know, one that actually has merit.
After that, Will, Phil and I went to a midnight showing of Office Space at Cinemark 17. The tickets were $4. And I have now seen Office Space in theaters. So, win win?
We got 60 eggo waffles and 9 Starburst Smoothie Shitpiles. The smoothies are already gone. They're so sugarlicious I drank them all in 4 days, and my heart exploded. I feel like an awful person for doing that, but... so damn tasty. Currently working on the eggo waffles. (We're living large. And I think I'm still losing weight, somehow -- or at least not gaining any.)
Daniel fucked up our network setup today and so I got more and more irritated as the day went on. Without the internet, I had some time to read more of the Sandman, so I did. Then I napped, then he fixed it, and I yelled at him some more.
Then I had to update our ongoing Diplomacy game that got slightly delayed because of our late nights on Friday. I managed to fuck over Ross pretty well. Wee. Aw. Sorry Ross.
I'm too tired, hot, and distracted to discuss anything deep or even meaningful.
I have about $7 in the bank.
I'm getting paid soon.
Things are looking up.
But immediately afterwards, down again. There is nothing to keep me going, really.
It took me 20 minutes to write this post. How was that?
I NEED MORE FUCKING MONEY GOD DAMN IT.
Comment on this post if you want me to start blogging substantially or if you couldn't give less of a shit. (Seriously.)
A Love Song for Bobby Long = cubicle life is not life at all.
When people want to talk to me, I'm too busy for them, and when I want to talk to people, they're too busy for me. Argh.