January 9th, 2004



"Oh Christ, he's on about work again"

I have to fill out another job review form this year, one of those self assessment deals - bloody awful things that they are. On it there are two sections where you're asked something along the lines of "Where do you see yourself a year from now?", "In five years?". Now last year I filled it out like so:
"Where do you see yourself a year from now"
"Sent to prison by a military court for a crime I did not commit"

"In five years?"
"Promptly escaping from a maximum security stockade into the los angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government I would survive as a soldier of fortune. If you have a problem and no one else can help, and if you can find me, maybe you can hire.... me"

Now, as luck would have it, or bad luck, you never know what fate has in store after all, the reviews were never done last year. Possibly they showed more common sense than I credit them with in not quizzing us about our work when no cash was on the line. In any case, this year I'm giving serious consideration to:

"Where do you see yourself a year from now"
"Assuming I get a decent pay increase I hope to have all my debts paid off (credit cards and overdrafts and the like) and have a couple of grand saved up facilitating me in being able to drop this hellishly dull job at the drop of a hat."

"In five years?"
"Looking back over the four years since I quit the job and laughing. Most likely I will be commemorating the occasion bollock naked and hopped up to the eyeballs on cheap limerick smack"

There's probably no diplomatic way to phrase all of that though.

January is my least favourite month of the year. Like much of planet earth I am completly fucking skint. Unlike most januarys though, this one is a bit special in that there's something wrong with my right eye, it's been sort of... crying for the last week, more disturbingly when I rubbed it earlier this evening I felt squelching and when I blew my nose there was a disturbing sensation of air passing by it. I'd leave it until payday but I'd probably look shit with an eyepatch. My startling resemblance to Johnny Depp aside I am not pirate material.

So, insomnia. Something that is not helped by dozing off on the sofa from nine until eleven at night.

Just a short while ago I realised that my ring was missing, obviously it fell off when I was changing the rabbits' bedding so I had to spend ten minutes rooting around in the "fresh" bedding to find the bloody thing. Of course, the first thing the rabbits do when they get new bedding is to pee in it and crap everwhere so needless to say I was fucking overjoyed when I knocked over the bag of hay behind the cage and it fell out. It's not easy being a test subject for comedy cliches. No matter, I'll go yell at someone who deserves it tomorrow, there's never a shortage of them in our place. Heck, there's never a shortage of people who deserve a spectacular manbeating in our place. Of course, "deserve" is relative coming from someone who occasionally advocates public hangings for bad parking.

There's something unpleasant under my desk too, I know this because I felt it when I was feeling around for my credit card which had somehow become wedged under some carpet down there.

metalrabbit is back up tomorrow thank the Lord, it's a temporary respite but the boredom is getting to me. It's only a matter of time before I move on from playing with a katana to something really clever, like summoning demons for laughs. I might have charisma coming out of my arse but I can't do a chalk circle worth a damn and I suspect that's the sort of thing that can do permenant damage to a hardwood floor. There's something about someone who thinks a certain amusement park ride looks like "a vibrator of the Gods" that makes the days that bit more fun.

Time for bed, I have a big day ahead of me, searching through text files and being a smart ass and my hair doesn't just cut and bleach itself you know.

Sleep is for the weak and also the tired.

I never thought I could be happy to have a song stuck in my head. Normally they're about as welcome as a forgotten scalpel in the intestines but Bo Selecta's "Proper Crimbo" has been there for two days and though I feel sort of dirty for liking it, I like it. It's a damned sight better than the time I had "copacobana" in there for a week and "uptown girl" weekend might have been okay if it wasn't the Westlife version. I might get myself an mp3 player for these occasions, and also so I can put a soundtrack to my day.

If I were making new years resolutions I think I'd have two to make. The first being that I would hang out clothes once they were finished in the washing machine. Laundry is one of those areas where my good intentions go to hell a lot quicker than usual.
The second would be to throw food out of the fridge BEFORE it reached a point where I no longer know what the hell it was originally. There's a bowl in there that I suspect used to be cauliflower cheese but that's questionable. What it is now is anyone's guess.

Y'know, the weather might be shit but the wind makes my coat flap around something dramatic.