Month: December 2004

Damnit, I should be writing my essay; but I’m ensnared by XMPlay’s current random playlist which appears only to be picking music which must be played very loud

– Can’t get Blue Monday Out of My Head (K Minogue remix)
– Starman (David Bowie – encoding’s a bit ropey on this, must have done it a long time ago!)
– Rock the Casbah (The Clash)

At least my laptop’s capable of producing a lot of noise through the headphones.

Rock the Casbah!

The downside of this is it does remind me of the one really great thing about my parents house. Being noisy. Being in the middle of no-where means you have to have absolutely no concerns about bothering the neighbours. I miss being *really* noisy. My 200W/Channel amp is sat under my bed because, well, we use Lauren’s anyway (mine’s not got a remote); and frankly, turning my amp beyond about 1/3 is probably enough to do serious damage to the house. It used to be capable of making the block of flats I lived in vibrate (you could feel it through the walls) and that’s the kind of *loud* I sometimes need.

The death toll keeps on rising; I actually wish I’d finished my training so I could go out and actually help these people. I mean, they need people with medical training; and I wish I could help. I can’t.

23,000 dead, current estimate. 23,000 people. 23,000 individual people with lives, with belongings, with families, with jobs. 23,000 people with thoughts, dreams and ideas all dead.

It is incredibly shocking.
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I wonder if my ex, Donna, knew the term Donna con Donna refers to Woman with Woman? Hrm, I didn’t either, but that’s before I bought “Queer Facts” – a lesbian and gay trivia book, which I’m now forced to dip in and out of. ‘s full of fun facts. I also picked up a copy of Tipping the Velvet (the novel) and a sort-of book called Far from Dull, which is essentially a lot of (generally really well taken) photographs of places with strange or silly place names. All of them were half price. I wanted to buy the new Ben Elton novel but it’s still only in hardback, and half of 17.99 is still an awful lot for one book. And then I realised I don’t even have the previous Ben Elton novel; but that wasn’t on sale. Nor was either of the recent Robert Rankin books.
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I just had the best conversation:
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So I didn’t stop for a sleep. After a bit of a doze, and a bit more faffing with the work, I decided (‘cos I’m clever like that) that watching “The L Word” while my mum and dad were asleep was a good idea. I knew that I just couldn’t watch it with my parents around; I mean, it was just… not going to happen, okay? (more…)

Still tired. Think I might stop for a bit and kip.

I am so tired. I want to sleep. I’m trying to keep myself awake with music, but it’s dark in here, dark and warm and just nicely comfy. Even the White Label Remix of 9-5 is failing to fill me with energy. I’ve written some stuff on child development. It’s probably bollocks. I’m so tired. I’ve not got my contacts in, so I could just go to sleep. I’m going to be really pissy when I get home and have to put all these bloody diary entries up. I wish I had an internet connection here. I don’t like ringing people at Xmas, y’know. It’s a family time, not a random friends ringing up time. Also, I’m at my parents and I feel bad about using their phone, but they live in a valley, and no mobiles work here, not properly. Up in my bedroom I get an intermittent signal, strong enough to send and receive messages (usually through the process of it failing and me leaving the phone there trying to send).

Most of the time it says “No Service” or “Emergency Only”.

Still, I could sleep here, on this comfy little beanbag. That’d be nice.

I’ve only really been properly up for 4 hours, and I’m absolutely shattered. I think it’s the warmth (sitting against a radiator, ‘cos the rest of the house is so bloody cold); the sleeping in (which is rare for me); and the semi-darkness (my parents tend not to have their lights on very much – I think my dad finds bright light uncomfortable).

I just want to sleep – which is bad, ‘cos I need to work. Nyargh. Sleep? Work? Sleep? Work…