Saturday, October 06, 2007

on warm feet and cold necks

Welcome back, internet! As ever, 'long time no see', and, as ever, not an awful lot to chronicle, but, as ever, I feel I've been neglecting this thing and, as ever, I'm making a short lived effort to rectify this.

I'm currently sitting in the dark, my face warmed by the gentle, radioactive glow of my laptop's screen (although I'm not sure about that apostrophe: can inanimate objects be possessive of things? or is that a too philosophical a point to even consider at this time of night? or is this the perfect time to consider such lofty things? as often is the case of this time of night) and my gonads warmed by the vesuvian heat emanating from the area where I suppose the processor lives in this rather pleasant, streamlined little device.

While I sit here, with my feet out of the duvet because they are too hot, my neck frozen by the gentle, arctic breeze shuffling through the open window behind me, my future children dying of heatstroke, I am am at somewhat at a loss for what to write. More than anything, I feel quite lonely; but it's not the kind of genuinely 'down' lonely that might move me to write something prosaicly emo; now is the kind of 'desperate' lonely that would cause me to prattle and dribble any more neurotically and cause women the world over to turn their heads and cluck, 'tch, men!' (although womankind, rest assured, a little attention would not go amiss!); rather I am 'expectant', or 'pregnant', with loneliness. The kind of loneliness that shipwrecked sailors never harbor, placed, as if by the hands of a dietific player of Risk, on a remote island with little chance of rescue. They, you see, live without hope, lying to themselves just to eke out their days clinging to sanity to the point where it drives them mad. Do I know such people? have I ever been shipwrecked? have I read accounts? No, but I have seen dramatisations, and feigning knowledge is almost as good as having it in this day and age, especially if it's for the purpose of spinning a good yarn. Not that this is a good yarn. Far from it.

You see, as to why I am stocked to the brim with lonely hope, expectant sadness, is because I know that change, oh so swiftly, will be visited upon me, and ocassionally by me. Friends I haven't seen for nigh-on four months will be common faces once more; illicit rendez-vous (plural) once again a thing of habbit; once more staying up until two in the morning and drinking to the point of renal failure is something I can call a hobby. Not to mention the mountainous work that shall be piled upon me will become de rigeur. 'Mountainous' is actually fairly accurate as a descriptive: the climb to it's summit is treacherous, dangerous and, above all, painful regardless of your condition; and, of course, there is every chance that it will collapse, falling all around you in a deadly flurry of paper and dashed optimisms.

All the same, I'm making the most of it for the time being. It's a little hard, seeing as only one of my housemates is around at the moment. As much as I get on with him we both move in different circles, meaning I rarely catch a glimpse of him and, when I finally do, our tastes differ so much that it's not especially commonplace that we want to do things together. So, until tomorrow night at least, I am mostly confined to my room, living off of Shreddies, watching Samurai 7 and LURKING MOAR on facebook.

Anyway, I end this post with a promise: I WILL ENDEAVOUR TO POST MOAR, lest I fall in a ditch and am left their for several hours, drunk and complaining loudly.


Spence said...


x x x x x

Anonymous said...

Oooh, Joe, your blog went pretty.
Lol, I'm anonymous. Easily amused am I. =(

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