In the Dark 1

It's hard to type in the dark. I'm finding that this late night routine doesn't work so well, I feel as though I've lost a great deal of creativity in getting this far. The early morning won't work, as wee man wakes easily in the AM, and late night isn't working so well because I keep finding other crap to do until it's as late as it is now (like almost midnight). It's really my own damn fault, I know.


Clean ubuntu install on the old machine downstairs. Looks interesting, maybe this winter I'll have a minute to check it out.

Bedtime. G'night.

Day 14 - Music Makes my Heart Go Bump

I used music in the past as an alert to others. If you came into my office hearing death metal, it's probably not a good time to ask me for something. Or breathe my air. Get the fuck out now. Go away. Go die. No, no, no.

Jazz sends a different message. I'm okay, maybe even laid back enough for you to bug me. Other musics, other messages. You get the idea.

I also used it to temper my temper. If I was angry, I'd play something angry, then gradually switch to something lighter, and my mood would lighten. There might have still be an undercurrent, a don't step on my broken eggshells or I'll snap, but in all, everything is going to be all right.

Things are different now. I guess I'm getting older. I listened to classical music all day today - and I completely brushed off that coworker (the one from yesterday and from infamy) as if nothing was the matter. I still didn't do the things they wanted, but I didn't get indignant about it. Hmm...


Also, I squished a strange bug. A curiousity. More on this later.

Day 13 - Burned up, Used up, Over, and Out

notes again


I've got a coworker that pisses me off. Not the usual you did something so I'm mad about it, this is actually a bit of a problem. Every time I so much as see that person's name in my inbox, my blood pressure goes up and I get defensive. They have caused me so many problems at work, sending work back again and again with the "well, I want it done this way this time" load of crap. I was seriously angry. Angry enough that if my boss (who is also that person's boss) asked what was going on, I would have said "It's that person or me. Your choice."

Of course, I realized that I'm a jackass long before I actually did anything about it, but that person is able to elicit the same reaction in me time after time. What is so special about the way they get under my skin that I can't stand?


Eventually, the fire went out - consumed all and had nothing left to burn. I grew apathetic (which is a problem in itself).


But not everything blows over - an ember remains. I have to decide what to do with it. Creative fire, the passionate flame - or SHIVA THE DESTROYER!



What good is anger? What purpose does it serve in this modern world? Is this yet another example of something left over that we haven't evolved out of yet?

Day 12 – The Pale

The war-weary return to work, their weekend spent beginning. It seems the battle is over, but there is no news from the front. Stragglers in their half-life stumble by.

The new week begins, but the purpose has been lost. The energy is gone. What are we fighting for?

My fickle mind is so easily distracted. Why is it so difficult to keep a particular switch flipped; “on” writing, “on” this topic, “on” this sentence?

The hardest thing in this age is staying focused. We're all chasing the attention, finally holding it down long enough to measure it before it runs again. Is it like a wild animal fleeing the tag? You can never tame it, only hold on as best you can and see where it takes you. Blink, and it's gone. There's too much going on.

Day 11 – Odd One Out

translated from the original

Sunday, at work. I am Sunday. I am the Sunday, the day of rest, the day of the end of the weekend; and I am at work. Back in the cave.

It's quiet, but not the same quiet as usual. More is happening than meets the eye, currents under the surface, the rolling waves whitecapping when they break the calm. The strange continues.

Day 10 – Wobbling on the Tip of the Edge of the Precipice

from notes

I'm burning. Not with the energy of life, but the frantic antics of pre-panic. You can see it. Frothy mouth, dank locks, wild eyes, anyone can see it. Stopping to breathe only means you have to break inertia to start moving again. It's better to keep moving.

Sideways 1

Short of completely falling off the wagon, I think I’ll just hang on the edge a little. I held my tongue, I kept my mouth shut, I said nothing while the world churned. A few more years of experience under my belt, perhaps. Perhaps not.

What the hell was that? That’s not even understandable.


Nothing exciting going on in here today, thankfully.

So I was thinking on my drive home last night about first and third person narrative, or at least what I call first and third person narrative – that is, I did this versus he did this. I find it difficult to tell a story in the third person. I tend to tell stories in the first person; I saw this, I did this, I, I, I. It’s all about me.

So is it some terrible self-centric view I have, or am I temporarily forgetting all the times I’ve told stories about other people? I have an idea that I find it easier to tell stories in the first person because I can experience it, even if it’s only in my head. It’s something I feel – I have trouble just making a story without feeling it.

Making a story? That’s an odd way to state it. Writing? Telling? No, I’m afraid making is probably right. I don’t write stories, I make them. I create them deep inside my person. Writing them down is the hardest part.

This stinks. On that note, Mythbusters and the New York Times Bestsellers list both prove that you can polish a turd. On the tv show, they use an old method from the Orient (and I know that’s not even politically correct, but am I supposed to say Asia? Which part? I don’t know). Seems to me that in the old Orient there are many things that take time and patience. Is it something from their culture, some slow thing, finding meaning in the simple? Sublime is simple? I fear it’s not so simple.

Argh, work.