powered by SignMyGuestbook.com |  |
2000-02-18 Every day for a couple of hours I am blinded by the sun reflecting off the cars parked ouside my office window. Today, there's only one in the visible stretch of parking spaces -- it is a white station wagon, parked in the spot that exactly reflects the full glare of the sun through the window into my door, right onto the spot where I sit and face the monitor. Now, much of the company does not have views of the street and would consider the natural light quite a boon. There's just so goddam much of it. All right, halfway through my generic corporate sandwich for lunch and the car has moved. I don't know why I wanted a homogenous-American-culture sandwich today. Safety in numbers. Follow the goddamn herd. If you like what everyone else likes then there will be no problems. Which, if you consider that this morning in line with the other corporate drones at the coffeehouse, I was dressed in all black and musing to myself about Rage Against the Machine's "Wake Up" (from the Matrix Sountrack) and its concepts of personal liberty and Corporate/Governmental subjugation of this nations' cultural and political dissidents, is a little ironic. Don'tchya think? Either that or I'm just distracted, and trying not to continue having the argument in my head that I should either be having with someone else or shouldn't be spending any energy on at all. I was just distracted when I put six or seven or eight or more spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee. (I lost count.) I've just been distracted, which is why I go home and compulsively play Nintendo games, which helps keep me from having to think at all. Distracted, which explains why people have to repeat what they say and why I forget so many things and why I get that sick feeling when people call or talk to me at all, the one that's like a voice in my head, but not a "voices in the head" voice where you could take pills and be rid of it. NO, this is just me, wasting cycles of brain power to tell myself bad things, to call myself bad names, to denigrate the people in my life and tell me that I fucking deserve whatever the outside world does. It's a question I've often asked, but never quite got a good answer for. Is it possible to tell when your own sanity is slipping? Update. Much later. Sun is nowhere near me, and instead there is a large, bright moon staring at me through the window in the still well-lit, blue-orange-pink chrome gradient sky. A highly manipulated Björk is tinnily blaring from my computer speakers. My brace is tight on my mouse hand, and every now and again I adjust it, tighten or loosen it, or push the hard metal plate back in. Oddly enough I have been working steadily since lunch several hours ago and have managed to produce something on a Friday afternoon before a three-day-weekend. I am calm and cool. Perfectly in control. Iron willed and steely-eyed. Amazing what one can do by simply walling up certain parts of the soul. By plating one's emotions in metal. Amazing also, the difference between my days and nights. Five years ago, I had wild, crazy, hedonistic nights and boring, ordinary days. Now my days are frantic and maddening, and my nights are calm and quiet. I've grown so used to it that I hardly notice anything has changed. I hardly notice anything at all. _Casey
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
