Monthly Archives: August 2005

An Odd Mood Lately

I spend my time squar­ing away every­thing in my room so that I’m com­fort­able enough to write. The extra cables are gone, as well as the ran­dom receipts and bus trans­fers that some­how end up on the car­pet. My mir­rors are all in place, mak­ing the room seem twice as big, but I when I look I only see myself, slouched com­fort­ably in my chair, hood over my head. Even Dolly has won­dered in to lay her­self flat on the emp­ty floor. By the time I’m done clean­ing, I’m at a loss for all the things I’ve been try­ing to get into well struc­tured para­graphs.

A new episode of Trailer Park Boys is play­ing on Showcase, and I’m watch­ing it with the sound off because too much infor­ma­tion would ruin the fourth sea­son, some­thing I’m deter­mined to see in order from the begin­ning. Ricky’s in a high school, com­plete­ly out of place as a thir­ty-some­thing man in shop class try­ing to make some hash or grow some weed or har­vest some kind of nar­cot­ic, and this only adds to my amuse­ment.

I’ve been let­ting my hair grow out, à la Matt Heafy in the video for Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr. Somehow, I’ve only now dis­cov­ered that my hair nat­u­ral­ly grows towards the front, and by brush­ing it for­ward, it still looks respectable when I haven’t had it cut in a month and a half.

I’ve been in an odd mood late­ly. Thoughts branch off in my mind, but noth­ing seems sol­id enough to fol­low through. Inspiration always comes the day after today.

Damn The Consequence

One of the keys to blog­ging is to nev­er give a shit about what any­one else thinks. Never write for an audi­ence. Never cen­sor one­self based on what oth­er peo­ple may say. Never be embar­rassed or ashamed to admit any­thing.

Otherwise, one isn’t being true to one­self. If there are those who are nosy, those whom we’d rather not have read­ing, that should nev­er be an issue. I may have my fair share of creepy inter­net stalk­ers (one is already more than enough), but I refuse to let that stop me from say­ing what’s real­ly on my mind.

It may be dif­fi­cult to let go, but it’s worth it. The free­dom is com­plete­ly empow­er­ing. Blogs are a per­son­al space, as pub­lic as they may be, and should be treat­ed as such.

Expression is an act that should nev­er be hin­dered by some­thing as harm­less as opin­ion.

More Sickness

Hence the absence from work. It feels like the long week­end burned me out, and I need anoth­er one. Thank god it’s already Wednesday.

Really, it’s prob­a­bly just a mild stom­ach bug, caus­ing my body to reject every­thing but very dry, thin­ly sliced toast that comes in packs of eight, named after the stage name of Australian opera singer Helen Porter Mitchell. I sus­pect that I’ll also be able to con­sume col­la­gen processed from pork skin, cat­tle bones, and cat­tle hide, but I’m still wait­ing for it to set in the freez­er.

I feel so help­less when I’m like this. I gen­er­al­ly don’t wor­ry about much, but health is the only thing that I can’t look at cere­bral­ly. I’m not even com­fort­able writ­ing this. It just keeps mak­ing me think of how bad I feel. Too nau­se­at­ed to fall asleep. Too tired to do any­thing else.