gossip

granting the heinousness of all evils of gossip, ranging from true personal spite and malice, suasion of political manipulation, self-braggadacio, blackballing of innocent and guilty alike, it accomplishes one crucial element more effectively, often more intrinsically, than all other forms of interpersonal communication. thanks to the conspiratorial nature of its compact, it makes friends of enemies, equals of heirachies, bypasses gender, race and age, all joining together in common speculation, stabbing and slander, to the satisfying shared cathartic pander of self-righteous pronouncements.

so when we're bitches, then all men are brothers.

needy sick (belated mother's day)

seems almost no one, not even among the resolutely strong nor staunchly independent nor vehemently denying, can resist a bit of attention when sick. some exteriors might seem like gruff reluctance, others outright rejection, (the other extreme being wanton neediness) but still all sick people like to be told to stay in bed, or take their medicine, or be excused from a bit of our daily responsibilities, or receive a bit more concern and understanding for what amounts often to a little secret self-pity.

it's our mothers' fault really.

watchmen

reminded of the old latin saw - quo custodiet ipsos custodies. who guards the guardians, or more strikingly, who watches the watchmen. having long been mistrustful of authority in general, to a fault, and almost to paranoia (as marked by a slight persecution complex), i suspect this deep-seated belief only motivates me to want to be in a position in which i cannot be 'watched'.

accompanying ingrained habits include always looking out for close-circuit cameras whenever i step into a building or room, always sitting with my back towards a wall, with full view of the rest of the room (i have shane to thank for that), and now having a sixth sense when eyes are trained on me.

the best recourse, obviously, is to become a watcher.

mind blank

somewhat vexing, stretches in a day given over to brain idleness, running on idle so to speak. Non-events such as waiting for something, inconsequential meetings, talks etc that require attendance but not participation, any form of background music, tv, even conversation relegated to instinctive phatic communion.

seems unfruitful, and triggers cognisance of meaningful things not yet done, or crucial contentment to be had elsewhere elsewhen. helplessness. perhaps this is the cause of most impatience.

not the same as purposeful idleness though.

flattery

ex-colleague messages to tell me my name and work are rather well-known (i suppose in the relevant circles) and well-liked (an even smaller circle perhaps). sufficient also for her to want to use some of said work in pc class. had to thank her for the compliment, but not entirely sure what to make of that.

apparently some people take to flattery, genuine or otherwise, very well. others display the english or asian reserve. or perhaps we can attribute this hesitation to ruined childhood and other low self-esteem or harsh perfectionist cliches. i think the optimal solution is graciousness to self - but i'm no expert on that, so.

crash

it's finally happened. somewhere between friday and monday the notebook’s decided its had enough. i lose three weeks of work (estimated) from the last backup. i lose a couple of half-written pieces i (surely) cannot recreate. i lose my ability to get to where i want and need to google my way around. i blame microsoft and their opaque and unnecessarily arcane windows os. i worry about items lost, i worry about hours lost, i worry about life lost.

i sit at a naked office terminal where people walk past behind me every two minutes. i keep looking over my shoulder, althought all i'm doing is typing out a report. i can’t do any real work on this desktop, nor any other. i can’t put things away neatly. it’s as if I permanently lost my house keys (with no blacksmith nor windows i can smash), can’t get access to my own home and have to borrow clothes, eat out and rent a hotel room.

i need a shower in my own bathroom.

hiatus

missed a whole month. busy. an excuse? conceivably sometimes our lives run too busy to express a thoughtful thought or a opined opinion?

here's a challenge: record all the words spoken in a given day. sort them by some arbitrary categories of choice. what proportion contains something meaningful said? is the majority an overload of information, question, rhetoric and complaint? is it impulsive judgemental comment, or cogency of thought? (i spoke only three words related to anything remotely connected to human emotion yesterday. i counted.)

worse for writing. wrote down anything at all today? (i signed my name twice yesterday. also wrote two paragraphs of a work proposal.)

(and already these last twenty minutes busywork presses.)