my heart of silk, etc

17Aug10

This evening has not been a good evening. It has been a decidedly bad evening. So I made this. To get away from the belly-upness of everything just for a bit.

I must not make this my Place of Ranting. No, this is a place of calm and reflection, home to only the mildest of gripes and sulks. All I will say is there is an ocean of difference between SAVE and SAVE AS, discoverable in the merest of split seconds.

And I especially hate it all being my own stupid fault. So much better when I can hang blame on the world’s idiocy or the ineptitude of others or something. But no, ineptitude and idiocy all mine (as Portishead might say).

What a waste of a stupid blinkered boring evening. I’m so riled I’m feeling the urge to use CAPS LOCK. That can’t be good. (Mind you, it’s probably about as violent as I get… unless of course you count a bit of passive aggression amongst loved ones.)

Anyway, some other stuff.

Auckland twice in a week. I think I like Auckland more now than I ever did. Or maybe I like myself more in it. If that makes sense. I do find the humidity profoundly bad for my soul, though. And my hair. Especially my hair.

Supermarket checkout philanthropy (or my lack thereof). I think I just failed a bit as a human being. I witnessed myself failing as I was failing — right in the very throes of my failure — and still was powerless to do anything about it. The guy in front of me was short of cash by about five dollars or so and had to keep subtracting things from his groceries. First the bananas, then the bread (and then something else after that but by then I was too busy pretend-transfixed by displays of condoms and chewing gum to know what).

I just wanted to give him the money. But I think I thought it would be patronising or something. Or just strange and inappropriate. Or that he’d find the gesture humiliating. So I didn’t do anything and then I felt stink about him going home with no bananas or bread and whatever else it was he was forced to sacrifice at the checkout. And I have been thinking about it ever since.

The concept of oddness (specifically with regard to socks). I paired up a shitload of orphaned socks last night, most of them black but each pair ever so slightly varied in blackness, rib, knit and what-have-you. It was immensely satisfying. It felt constructive in a way that most things don’t. Like putting the world back together, each small thing in its rightful place, one sock at a time. 

And speaking of putting things back together, I should probably go and reattempt to claw back the four hours of painstaking work I just lost at the fucking stupid click of a button. What a moron. Or maybe I will just play biro hockey with Sylvie for a bit…

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