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

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Blood and taurine...

... the true breakfast of champions.

Very strange day yesterday. Wish that LJ hadn't been down so that I could have posted about it at the time (I could have typed into notepad and transferred it later, I s'pose, but it just doesn't feel the same, somehow). I can honestly say that it was one of the best days of my life. And I spent it at work, and some of it actually working. While over-analysis of happiness is, perhaps, missing the point, I can venture forth a possible explanation for the blissful state of mind in which I spent much of yesterday: C2H7NO3S, known to its friends as taurine.

Or not. I know fuck all about biochemistry, but I know what I like, and one of those things is Jo. But more to the point, another is the after-effects of Swinging Penguin (1/3 tequila, 2/3 Red Bull, 100% party fuel), presumably a result of one of the delicious cocktail of adulterants that make up Red Bull. I have only indulged in large quantities of this drink on a couple of occasions, not least because two litres (the smallest practical amount to make) costs over 20 quid, which in my book limits it to the 'special occasions only' category. Nevertheless, on every occasion I have done so, the effects the next day were marked. The first time, at one of Jeremy's parties, was perhaps the most notable, as the next day I woke up at Jeremy and Damian's, watched Bjork and Radiohead videos (one of which moved me to tears), then cycled back to my college room to go to bed and get some proper sleep. However, once in my bed I found myself unable to sleep, and wandered through to Archie's. I ended up lying on his floor, grinning uncontrollably, convinced at one point that I was able to feel the passage of neutrinos through my body, and later that I had become a gas, a condition from which I was only rescued by convulsive laughter at Archie's sudden near-panic that he'd left a packet of ham out of the fridge in the kitchen and that it might be growing warm. Until now we had put this state down to an unlikely and never-to-be-repeated combination of powerful anti-depressants, residual Swinging Penguin, unusually moving music videos, and endorphins from a thorough (and consensual) trampling I had received in the kitchen at the party. Now I suspect that, though the other factors were surely significant, the bulk of the responsibility can be laid at Swinging Penguin's door.

Permit me to elaborate. Yesterday I woke up on time and quite perky (for me), and arrived at work, licking blood from a thumb wound of the sort that my malicious (and useless) bike-lock holder seems to delight in inflicting. I sat, feeling somewhat less perky now, and swigged down a litre or so of water. The morning continued with its customary listlessness, until we were all asked to log out while our departmental server was rebooted, and so we sat, enjoying a rare, company-sanctioned opportunity to sit around and chat. I scooted my chair over to my neighbours, Greg and Jon, and we chatted in that vague, unfocused way of people who quite enjoy each other's company and are happy to just talk bollocks when the mood suits. The break-through came when Jon, apropos of nothing, got up, leant over to rest his face in Greg's in-tray, and slumped forward onto Greg's desk, pushing the tray along with his face. I watched, and felt a powerful sense of nostalgia. On reflection, I realised what it reminded me of: the sixth-form common room at school. I'm sure that it was typical, full of people who probably ought to be doing something worth while, but were choosing instead to wallow in a warm, comforting soup of vague boredom and willful pointlessness. You might play mindless card games with battered, incomplete decks, the communal equivalent of Solitaire or Freecell. You might rock experimentally further and further back on your chair until you break the delicate equilibrium, fall, and then get back up and start doing it again. You might even, if you had the requisite articles to hand, push a tray across a desk with your face, luxuriating in this conspicuous consumption of time.

The pleasant memories that this sparked began a positive feedback loop, as I realised that slackness is where you find it, and that things are, on the whole, pretty fucking good really. This spiraled upwards into a Panglossian bliss, as I realised everything is for the best, in this best of all possible worlds. Not least in the elements feeding this virtuous circle was the incomprehension, even mild shock, displayed by my colleagues as I grinned and did my best to exude and spread a little of the peaceful bliss that I had been vouchsafed. The contrast with my usual glib, cynical persona; the grin and occasional chuckle that in retrospect, while heart-felt, may have seemed a little sinister; the sheer incongruity of being genuinely happy at work; all of these caused disbelief in my co-workers, and more joy in me. I was incidentally initiating a mind-fuck of the most benign sort.

Lunchtime was particularly fun, as I sat smiling, alternating mystic insights and chirpy chat. Some found my mood infectious and we would end up both giggling at the fact that the other was giggling, other were, I think, disturbed yet intrigued. Of course, I preached the gospel of the Swinging Penguin, but I fear that some may have thought that overindulgence in substances less legal may have been a factor. This feeling lasted the rest of the day, interrupted only briefly by a rather more traditionally hung-over sensation, which I banished with a bit more water and a positive thought. Fortuitously there was a leaving do down the local pub afterwards, and I was able to sit in a somewhat calmer but still joyous state drinking London Pride and chatting with whichever colleagues I chose.

I finally left at about 9:30, swinging by the cheap Walton Street Chinese takeaway for the chicken and sweetcorn soup and special fried rice that I had been inexplicably craving for about a fortnight, than ate them at home with a little idle chit-chat with the house-mates. When they both, sadly, retired to bed (SEPARATELY, I hasten to add), I watched the first fight scene of 'Face/Off' (a work of true genius) whilst finishing my meal, and floated up stairs to bed. Fantastic day.

Still feeling quite happy now, though not nearly to the same extent. Good weekend coming up: party at Jo's, followed by dance music mini-festival with my Dad. Sorted.

Hey you kids, go out and be excellent to each other. And try some Swinging Penguin.

Peace. Out.

Current site: Martian FM. Fake news? Not actually like The Onion at all? From the UK? Respect.
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