youngraven: (Default)
I've been up to ninety the past few weeks, so I've not felt terribly compelled to make a posting (by that I mean even less so that usual). So... yez get bullets, 'cos I'm still not particularly arsed to write whole! omigod! sentences! Snrk. 

Oh, and since one bullet is of a sensitive (to myself) nature, comments will be switched off. Here is the rule (as I don't believe I've stated it here): if I write about something and announce that comments are switched off, it means I want no discussion of it in my presence, by any means (physical talk, email, text message, carrier pigeon, any communication medium at all), unless I bring up the topic myself. No exceptions. Full stop. I'm more than willing to spill every gut I've got if need be, but ever on my own terms. 

So. With the fine print over and done...

  • 2011 -> 2012 was a bit more of a bump and a skid than hurrah, it's the new year!
  • Shaddow and I got riotously sick towards the end of it, and I'm still sorting myself out. It's meaning some lifestyle changes. Irksome, but 'I'm a tree, I can bend' (--Lily Tomlin).
  • My cat, Beanies, passed just after the new year. 
  • I won that contract, and it's been an effing blast. 
  • I've blown out Bríd's head. 
  • My car's making A Noise, and my dad thinks it's yet another thing that the eejit garage in Atlanta ballsed up. 
And... now I'm bored of this, I think. So the bullets worked out to be a bit more like sentences. Ah well, eh? Next time I'll remember to be terse. I've since gone back and turned the sentences into bullets. I may write actual entries about each one, or I may smile at the text I copied into a text editor, and then close without saving. My prerogative (which is a word I cannot really say). 

Et cætera

Sep. 11th, 2009 11:09 am
youngraven: (Default)
These days I find myself at a loss for livejournal topic. It isn't as though I've been living in stasis, mind, but rather I can't form words to describe what I'm getting up to at all. You know, beyond anything that would elicit a dull, lifeless murmur of 'omg. bored now.1.1.1'  sort of thing.

I will respond to questions should anybody feel thus inclined.

Otherwise, here are a few (possibly) random bits:

The ginger's fading out of my hair. It is. I've been noticing something different about the colour of it recently, and on closer inspection, I've realised it's that some of it's gone missing. I've never been anything that one could label a proper ginger, but it was sort of the base colour upon which all of the others rested (sun exposure would bring it more forwards). Now it's becoming paler and doesn't strike the light as it once did.

Pout. Ochón. Do not want.  

*****

This morning, I sat opposite a chap got up in a crisply pressed blue shirt, smart khaki trousers, and brand-lickity-new black trainers. Nothing at all remarkable about that, yeh? Only down one side of his otherwise seriously immaculate (this bloke clearly pays to have the washing done) attire, were...tyre tread marks? Shoe prints? They were black and hatched, whatsoever caused them. I also noted a few drops of dried blood at the elbow. I wanted to say to him 'mate, what the eff happened to you?!' only he was sleeping. Or dead. I'm sure he was sleeping. Poor divil. His friday morning hadn't gone as he'd hoped. I could see the outline of his mobile in his shirt pocket, so I doubt he was robbed. My other two theories were: Skirmish with Golf Cart or Eaten by Escalator.

*****

And speaking of trains, I never quite know how to behave once I'm in one. Providing I've not a book to read, mind - then it's simple. It's never that I'm possessed of an urge to prance up and down the car butting heads with people and bleating like a mountain goat (although that would liven up the morning slog, I'm sure). Rather I don't know where to look. Out the window would be preferable, but at times that isn't possible. I try never to actually look at the other people on the train, but rather to see them by looking round them. I try to keep my expression neutral and inscrutable, but in actuality, I'm sure I wear a silly, wide-eyed, moony cow face. I'm surprised that nobody's called me 'Flossie' yet. On trains, I've found, it's difficult to retain and honour personal space.  

I'm likely giving it all too much thought.

*****

Pluots are fantastic; I highly recommend them.

*****

Spandex (which sadly has come back) remains a privilege, not a right.

*****

And speaking of fashion, the 80s have come back as well. The brightly coloured buffalo plaids, the narrow-legged blue jeasns, the lacy gloves without fingers in - the lot. I feel as though I'm running about in 1986, and you know? I'm not a bit surprised. When I think back on the colours and trends of the actual 80s, I see it all as nacre to sparkle over the limping economy and the downtrodden masses. To me, it was rather a bleak decade. When it all really hit the fan a couple of years ago, I began waiting for 80s fashion to return in earnest, and lo - it did come.

I almost fell prey to it, then I stopped myself, and said 'this didn't go so well for you when you were 13 - what do you reckon has changed'. Nothing. I blushed hard and quitely returned everything I'd collected.

*****
My flat's smart and tidy.

And that's me done for now.

Slán agaibh youse.
youngraven: (och)
I know I've used that title before. It was just as revolting then as it is now. Hurrah that.

My Bad Cat Calendar's offering for today is likely to offend somebody, so I've covered it over with my Podlike Being. My Podlike Being's first offering for the morning is 'The Kilburn High Road'. That song always fills me with a mad desire to get filthy pissed and burn things down.

I'm not entirely certain why.

It's another song that Floggin' M play astonishingly fast live. Seriously, the corners of the room had begun to curve inwards. If the song had been another minute longer, the universe would have frayed round the edges.

Edges. Ha. )

I was an unforgivable 20 minute late to the office.

'S all I got, me dearies - and to think you've just killed ten minutes of your life at reading it. Seems damned unfair, dunnit?

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