Drifting in and out of consciousness (oxfordhacker) wrote,
Drifting in and out of consciousness

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Slack as the proverbial fuck

Bah. Another fortnight's journal hiatus. Why so? Sometimes I am inspired, other times not. Perhaps this is connected to sleep. Some days (weeks) I feel like my head's full of smoke... I've been doing almost literally no work for this past fortnight either. I just can't bring myself to be arsed. This may or may not be a problem. I should work so I can keep this job, because I quite like it really. However, the main reason why I quite like it is that I don't have to do much in the way of work. Hmmm... The thing is, I don't really know what I do all day. Archie and Jo occasionally ask how my day at work was. I tend to reply that I can't remember. It's a flip brush-off, sure, but that doesn't mean it's not true... I suspect that music is part of the reason. Long ago, Dawn taught me that putting one track on repeat can encyst your brain, insulating it from time. Often at work I'll sit filling myself with looped input: Radiohead waxing and waning in my ear, a repetitive task (work or leisure) being taken care of by hands, eyes and brain that know their roles and require no input from me. I end up in state akin to deep concentration in that it takes me a while to respond to anomalous input. The crucial difference, however, is that in this mind-set my experience seems to be entirely subliminal. Where is my conscious mind? Where, in fact, am I? Is this a trance-state? Is it more like meditation or sleep? It would be too marvelous if I were to attain Nirvana through listless humour-site surfing and 'I Might Be Wrong.' These periods of unconsciousness still unnerve me, though. It's like thinking back to a party and realising (as I frequently do) that I can't really remember anything that happened after my first bottle of wine. What was doing my experiencing for me when I wasn't there? I feel like I should be on the alert for a coup from my brain, once these tastes of autonomy make it cocky...

Perhaps doing this journal is good for. It stimulates my conscious mind like almost nothing else at work does. Even my witty banter at the lunch-table is mostly automatic. They deserve nothing more. In fact, perhaps my disinclination to write this was the first probing attempt by my brain to weaken my defenses. Wow. Hey kids, writing a journal MIGHT JUST SAVE YOUR MIND! Although on rereading this, it may already be too late. I wonder if it's a good or bad sign that the person that I'm paranoid about is myself...

Still, things have been happening. I have some notes which may or may not make it into being actual journal entries (though it'd be a shame to waste them) but I'll stick to last weekend for now. Jeremy returned on Friday, looking really quite happy, which was good. We sat around, drank wine and ate Pringles. The others played a quick game of 'Witch Trial', but I was much more in slumping mood. A strange thing happened. Ian mentioned that he needed a best man for his forth-coming wedding, and mentioned that he was trying to decide between Jeremy and me. I, rather churlishly in retrospect, pointed out that Jeremy had already been a best man, and Ian agreed that it must therefore be my duty. I am still willing to believe that this was a case of semi-drunken camaraderie, but this rather touching gesture gave me pause for thought. I am, as he pointed out at the time, the oldest friend of his that he still sees on a regular basis; and thinking about it, the reverse is more-or-less true, too. I suppose if this offer is official, I shall have to stop being so openly dubious about the institution of marriage, and perhaps even stop being rude about Ian behind his back... Anyway, a quick bit of research reveals that I would get to marry Ruth if Ian is indisposed, and get my pick of the bridesmaids if not, so at least it's got good perks...

Went to Becks' house-warming with Jo on the Saturday night, which was unfortunate, in that it meant I missed the final gig at The Point, a fairly horrid music venue above a pub with an excellent taste in bands. Also Oxford City Council (or whoever) arranged the big public fireworks display for that night as well. Given this, it would seem a little unfair to judge Becks' party harshly by comparison, and it was quite fun I suppose, though almost no-one else I knew was there. As per usual, the second half of the evening is shrouded in alcohol, though I'm rather pleased that I have a vivid memory of the brand-name of the Margarita mix in which I was indulging, which I did my best to imprint on my brain as it was rather nice. I always intend to moderate my alcohol intake in such occasions, knowing full well that the alternative is my body and brain having a nice time without me, but it's tricky to exert sufficient concentration and control. I guess I could just bite the bullet and not drink, but that would be unfortunate. I do like getting slightly drunk, and I like certain alcoholic drinks. Still, self-discipline (or rather, self-moderation) has never been my strong suit. Perhaps I just need practice. We shall see.

Other news: finally got hold of a copy of 'i love it when a plan comes together', the new single from the rock of travolta. They seemed to have distribution problems (well, HMV had never heard of it, and Virgin kept saying "we'll have it tomorrow, probably". Corporate whore-beast edifices, both of them.) but I popped round to Polar Bear and they had a copy, of course. I was just concerned that this would affect the single's place in the Top 40, and so it proved: no sign of them at all! I assume that they'll chart next week... I was slightly disappointed that it was not backed with the inspired 'Shitter, Saggier' which they opened their supporting slot for Radiohead with. I feel sure that this had been promised, perhaps by NightShift. Must ask my mate Captain Caveman about that...
- Actually it is on there, after some blank space at the end of the last track. Hooray! I was just being impatient.

Ah well. I think I've made up for my late arrival this morning, so if I stay at work any later people (or rather, the one person left in my department) will start to get suspicious...

Current site: The Zodiac-Batman Connection. Not, sadly, a reference to the Oxford night-club, but the serial killer. Endearingly bonkers. Extra bonus fun: this pop-up ad: 'Hate other people's banner ads? Why not make them hate yours?'
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