"I was wrong. This changes everything..."
I am so fucking bored.
I've noticed if I start the day off doing nothing then I'll find it very diffcult to start anything even remotely to do with work at all for the rest of the day. If however, I start off well I can then continue that throughout the day and not be tempted into playing solitaire, emailing friends, and writing blogs. You can see quite clearly how today started.
I think my problem is that today was the first day in ages that Evan's unemployed - meaning he's at home and I'm not. This has a knock on effect in ways far beyond the obvious slightly short of cash thing. 1) Who the hell do I speak to on email all day now? 2) I have to leave our lovely nice new flat thats all warm and that has an Evan in it to come to pissing work. and 3) its all just bollocks.
The one unbelievably amazing thing about today though is we've had no bosses and no snivelling little Jewish princess to adhere to when choosing music for the office. The three of us who are in have therefore been indulging in the one band that we all agree on. Tool. Tool and their debut full-length album Undertow to be precise.
Its an album I've been listening to for years and can still find bits on that I've not noticed before. A word that has been puzzling me will suddenly become clear and give the song a new meaning. I love that. Undertow is an album that's dark, unforgiving, shameless and angry and centered around two subjects: drowning and anal sex. I mean what more in an album do you want? And you get to yell "I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this shit blood and cum on my hands." and it kinda rules doing that.
I'm off for a curry on Brick Lane tonight and seeing some band at Catch 22 in the fashionable depths of Shoreditch. I fucking hate Shoreditch. I'll be one of about 3 people there not addicted to crack, not obsessed with Pete Doherty and not wearing fucking awful vintage clothing that doesn't match or my mum's net curtains as a dress. I should run a tally of how many people barge passed me with their shiney plastic 1940's handbags and sneer at me as I get in their way. Wankers.
I am wearing faded skinny black jeans though so maybe, just maybe they'll let me through the gates.
To be honest I kinda wish they don't so I can't go and so I can go home to my new lovely flat, an Evan and Grand Designs. Fucking love that program.
I've noticed if I start the day off doing nothing then I'll find it very diffcult to start anything even remotely to do with work at all for the rest of the day. If however, I start off well I can then continue that throughout the day and not be tempted into playing solitaire, emailing friends, and writing blogs. You can see quite clearly how today started.
I think my problem is that today was the first day in ages that Evan's unemployed - meaning he's at home and I'm not. This has a knock on effect in ways far beyond the obvious slightly short of cash thing. 1) Who the hell do I speak to on email all day now? 2) I have to leave our lovely nice new flat thats all warm and that has an Evan in it to come to pissing work. and 3) its all just bollocks.
The one unbelievably amazing thing about today though is we've had no bosses and no snivelling little Jewish princess to adhere to when choosing music for the office. The three of us who are in have therefore been indulging in the one band that we all agree on. Tool. Tool and their debut full-length album Undertow to be precise.
Its an album I've been listening to for years and can still find bits on that I've not noticed before. A word that has been puzzling me will suddenly become clear and give the song a new meaning. I love that. Undertow is an album that's dark, unforgiving, shameless and angry and centered around two subjects: drowning and anal sex. I mean what more in an album do you want? And you get to yell "I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this shit blood and cum on my hands." and it kinda rules doing that.
I'm off for a curry on Brick Lane tonight and seeing some band at Catch 22 in the fashionable depths of Shoreditch. I fucking hate Shoreditch. I'll be one of about 3 people there not addicted to crack, not obsessed with Pete Doherty and not wearing fucking awful vintage clothing that doesn't match or my mum's net curtains as a dress. I should run a tally of how many people barge passed me with their shiney plastic 1940's handbags and sneer at me as I get in their way. Wankers.
I am wearing faded skinny black jeans though so maybe, just maybe they'll let me through the gates.
To be honest I kinda wish they don't so I can't go and so I can go home to my new lovely flat, an Evan and Grand Designs. Fucking love that program.
posted by Fang at 9:04 AM
3 Comments:
Grand Designs was great last night.
Is that the Ska/punk catch 22 you went to see?
Grand Designs rules. Did you ever see the one where two gayers built a 3-storey white cube on the beach?
No no - thats the venue's name. And what a dive it is
don't be bored at work! email me (as long as I'm at work) and i'll talk (as I'm sure you're aware) .
I'm more of a Most Haunted person myself, all that paint n stuff..
bleh!
Post a Comment
<< Home