80's revival and the office smut fest
Dissertation finito!
I proudly took my paper baby down to the printers to have it bound - handing over my bundle of words like I'd written something important, then I saw the real masterworks - big, gargantuan volumes that would do nothing less than kill a man by their sheer weight. But, you know, I bet those people have eyes deader than mine right now.
An occasion worth celebrating anyway - but it's all I can do to keep my eyes open and my head from crashing down onto my keyboard. At least now I can peep my weary little head out from under the avalanche or deadlines and get some oxygen and maybe even a teensy snatch of a life. Mostly I just feel too thoroughly exhausted to do/think/feel/say anything. At some point this whole exercise of working and going to class 7 days out of every 7 has got to give before I fall to the ground stone cold dead.
The other week I went out for my lovely friend G's birthday. He chose the painfully, self consciously cool Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes bar. Very good choice in theory, in practice more of a pain in the ass. Filled with young twentysomethings dressed in 80's tastic gold chiffon revival and t-shirt dresses. Now I grew up wearing this stuff and the fact that I'm socialising amongst people wearing it because it's 'fashion' just makes me feel a little old. Apparently there were famous people there too - but in my usual oblivious manner I missed them all. I just loitered in a corner, argued with Frank about his fucked up vision of a benevolent dictatorship and his worrying likeness to Pol Pot and was harrangued over my negative tendencies, beause he views my realism as resounding negativity. Foolish boy.
In a round up of other news - a boy that I work with got fired for downloading copious amounts of hardcore porn on the central office PC. I'm trying to fathom how someone could be so incredibly stupid to not cover his tracks. Some of this porn was so tremendously hardcore that I was even a little disturbed. After he left, the three of us remaining in the management team were doubled over by the hilarity of it all, then we all lapsed into an uncomfortable silence at the thought of A sitting in the office enjoying smut fest xxx orgy beastiality peep show 3. Hmmm - the mental imagery this conjures up sure aint pretty.
Yesterday winter arrived - it snowed, I took pictures. Hurrah.
I proudly took my paper baby down to the printers to have it bound - handing over my bundle of words like I'd written something important, then I saw the real masterworks - big, gargantuan volumes that would do nothing less than kill a man by their sheer weight. But, you know, I bet those people have eyes deader than mine right now.
An occasion worth celebrating anyway - but it's all I can do to keep my eyes open and my head from crashing down onto my keyboard. At least now I can peep my weary little head out from under the avalanche or deadlines and get some oxygen and maybe even a teensy snatch of a life. Mostly I just feel too thoroughly exhausted to do/think/feel/say anything. At some point this whole exercise of working and going to class 7 days out of every 7 has got to give before I fall to the ground stone cold dead.
The other week I went out for my lovely friend G's birthday. He chose the painfully, self consciously cool Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes bar. Very good choice in theory, in practice more of a pain in the ass. Filled with young twentysomethings dressed in 80's tastic gold chiffon revival and t-shirt dresses. Now I grew up wearing this stuff and the fact that I'm socialising amongst people wearing it because it's 'fashion' just makes me feel a little old. Apparently there were famous people there too - but in my usual oblivious manner I missed them all. I just loitered in a corner, argued with Frank about his fucked up vision of a benevolent dictatorship and his worrying likeness to Pol Pot and was harrangued over my negative tendencies, beause he views my realism as resounding negativity. Foolish boy.
In a round up of other news - a boy that I work with got fired for downloading copious amounts of hardcore porn on the central office PC. I'm trying to fathom how someone could be so incredibly stupid to not cover his tracks. Some of this porn was so tremendously hardcore that I was even a little disturbed. After he left, the three of us remaining in the management team were doubled over by the hilarity of it all, then we all lapsed into an uncomfortable silence at the thought of A sitting in the office enjoying smut fest xxx orgy beastiality peep show 3. Hmmm - the mental imagery this conjures up sure aint pretty.
Yesterday winter arrived - it snowed, I took pictures. Hurrah.