"Blah" is probably the most eloquent summary of this entry

I am such an unassertive people-pleaser, and I hate it. It's what keeps me from really writing here - I think I have quite a lot to say, but my enthusiasm is dampened by the idea of having to apologize for and defend everything I say, or potentially landing myself in awkward situations (I suspect my boss reads my blog). I do have interesting, impersonal things to talk about as well, but I keep telling myself that I'll start a new blog, do it up properly, and then bother with actually insightful entries, instead of silly ones. Like this, for example.

I haven't been doing much lately. I have been terribly inert. I get home after work and feel like I absolutely don't want to move, despite doing pretty much nothing at work. Tonight I passed up invitations to three absolutely fantastic parties so I could stay home instead and do fuckall. I only get out these days to go to the gym, and then I ruin any progress because I'm not disciplined enough to stick to a healthy diet. Good grief. I'm ashamed.

I suspect my lack of motivation has something to do with my work scope and the environment. Under the current circumstances at work, I am simply not in a position to be actually productive, which results in being tasked with the pesky little things that everyone else avoids. Being on autopilot mode for hours and hours is really draining, or at least makes it difficult to snap into intellectual shape when I'm finally free to do so. Also sitting all day in a chair that was designed with negligible consideration towards ergonomics is rather displeasing (and chronic back pain has been proven to cause more unhappiness than loss of a limb or the death of a loved one).

Anyway, I don't know who reads this blog anymore, but at some point in the near future I'm going to ditch this blog and write elsewhere. If you're interested in an update on the new URL, leave a message with your email (and name, preferably). All comments are moderated.

Writing a book

"Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist or [sic] understand. For all one knows that demon is the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's personality.

"Good prose is like a window pane."

-- George Orwell

Living in 2019 - part I

“How are your dental treatments coming along?”

“I had a bunch of fillings…” He trails off in the manner of someone reluctant to announce bad news. “..all over the place. Terrible.”

“And your root canal?”

“I’ve not done anything about it.”

“I see.” A meaningful silence.

“It’s okay!” He enthuses jokingly. “In like ten years I’ll be having new teeth growing from my stem cells…”

“Or you could get a steel jaw.”

“Hey. That is also true – adamantine teeth.”

I have to scoff. “And what if you accidentally bit your tongue?”

“Don’t you mean my adamantine tongue...?”

“Who would want to kiss you then?!”

“I would simulate your kissing me.” Duh, his tone says. He smiles, obviously proud of himself.