Today I find myself concerned because I have stopped for a second, looked around and realized I'm sitting in a handbasket. Yes, this is a metaphor. And when you are sitting in a metaphorical handbasket you know what your ultimate destination is going to be. If you don't, I applaud you and I would appreciate life advice.
Now, in the moment of inevitable re-evaluation that this sort of handbasket sitting causes, I thought about how I had arrived in the center of this particular handbasket. Life has a strange way of wending around like a lazy river. It takes its own time, bending here and swirling there. Moving in a muddled way that can take a distracted traveler by surprise. One moment you've put into the river in a canoe, knowing exactly what direction you are headed. The next while you take a moment to admire the scenery, you realize that you are suddenly in the eddy of an oxbow facing entirely the opposite direction from the one you expected and your canoe has magically turned itself into a handbasket.
At moments like this, I like to assess my life and try to figure out which bend in the river has put me in this precise handbasket. So, I looked around at a few of my fellow travelers. A few of them looked shocked as though they'd been newly apprised of our destination. A couple of them looked grim as though they'd known about our dire situation for a long time but seen no way out of the inevitable. Not a one of us was entirely sure how the river of life had turned us around and spit us out into this handbasket on the highway to... well, you know.
Hindsight has proven the few souls that bailed earlier to be the wiser travelers on this path. Alas, I was not so wise as they. I have only now seen the handwriting on the road signs. So here we are, a sad group of somewhat more or less shocked travelers in a handbasket speeding down the highway. I gape as we roar past another group of people along the side of the road feverishly bent over their wickerwork; weaving a new handbasket for their own impending journey. That's when I realized that not a single fellow traveler was arguing about whether we were, in fact, on our way to H*ll with impressive speed, we were merely quibbling about the ETA.
The way things have gone today, I think it might be wise to invest in wicker.
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
Tuesday, 20 June 2017
Sunday, 21 August 2016
Extremities and Extremism
I think people have underestimated their extremities. I know, I know, that's an odd thought to have, but think about it. Everything seems more extreme at your extremities. Whenever I'm cold, my toes are always the coldest. Double layers of gloves and socks barely keep up in a freezing NYC winter. Conversely, on a sweltering, Alabama summer day, while the rest of my body struggles on with the heat, my toes get hot and claustrophobic in shoes. They demand sandals so that they can breathe.
I know that not everyone shares my opinion on toe shoes, but toe socks and toe shoes are the absolute worst. It's not just the fact that they create tiny prisons for your toes that bothers me. No, what bothers me is that they are imprisoning your toes in tiny isolation cells. They were born together; they've never been apart. They aren't used to isolation. Some people might even call it cruel and unusual punishment. And one should not be cruel to one's toes. They are sort of the foundation of a person, you know?
So, really, I think people are underestimating their extremities. By this, I don't just mean that people are not looking out for their extremities when they cram them into high heels and pointy shoes that don't always fit. I mean, that people don't appreciate how much extremities really feel. Feeling extremes in heat and cold is just the beginning.
I believe that extremities and extremism go hand in hand. Popular expressions would support this notion. When you love a song the first thing that happens is toe tapping. Your toes either appreciate the music more or first. They start dancing before you do and then convince the rest of you to follow along. When you fall for a stranger's charm it is called being "swept off your feet."
The ultimate expression of relaxation is putting one's feet up. The opposite is also true. When someone is tired the highest expression for exhaustion is "dead on your feet." Because feet are the first to relax and the first to tire.
If you're extremely obstinate you "dig in your heels." The opposite is also true here. When someone is over eager you can tell them "cool your heels." There are numerous expressions that express feelings by equating them with extremities. If you worked hard all day you could say that you ache from "head to toe." If you feel like you are in a changeable or fast-paced environment you might say that it "keeps you on your toes." This evokes a feeling of change and surprise all at once. Rarely would someone try to express this feeling by referring to a body part in the mid-section.
And that's all just feet.
Your fingers can be lazy "not lifting a finger" or take the brunt of all your hard work when you have "worked your fingers to the bone." You can give people and things you approve of a thumbs up. People who are clumsy are referred to as "being all thumbs." And when you feel like you're being oppressed you could call it "being under someone's thumb."
Your heart may just be the center of your emotions but your extremities may experience them in the most extreme manner. Seeing as I'm in a frivolous mood I'm just going to go out on a limb here (a limb being an extremity as well), and say that my emotions are magnified at my extremities. My fingers are extremely important and my toes are extremists.
I know that not everyone shares my opinion on toe shoes, but toe socks and toe shoes are the absolute worst. It's not just the fact that they create tiny prisons for your toes that bothers me. No, what bothers me is that they are imprisoning your toes in tiny isolation cells. They were born together; they've never been apart. They aren't used to isolation. Some people might even call it cruel and unusual punishment. And one should not be cruel to one's toes. They are sort of the foundation of a person, you know?
So, really, I think people are underestimating their extremities. By this, I don't just mean that people are not looking out for their extremities when they cram them into high heels and pointy shoes that don't always fit. I mean, that people don't appreciate how much extremities really feel. Feeling extremes in heat and cold is just the beginning.
I believe that extremities and extremism go hand in hand. Popular expressions would support this notion. When you love a song the first thing that happens is toe tapping. Your toes either appreciate the music more or first. They start dancing before you do and then convince the rest of you to follow along. When you fall for a stranger's charm it is called being "swept off your feet."
The ultimate expression of relaxation is putting one's feet up. The opposite is also true. When someone is tired the highest expression for exhaustion is "dead on your feet." Because feet are the first to relax and the first to tire.
If you're extremely obstinate you "dig in your heels." The opposite is also true here. When someone is over eager you can tell them "cool your heels." There are numerous expressions that express feelings by equating them with extremities. If you worked hard all day you could say that you ache from "head to toe." If you feel like you are in a changeable or fast-paced environment you might say that it "keeps you on your toes." This evokes a feeling of change and surprise all at once. Rarely would someone try to express this feeling by referring to a body part in the mid-section.
And that's all just feet.
Your fingers can be lazy "not lifting a finger" or take the brunt of all your hard work when you have "worked your fingers to the bone." You can give people and things you approve of a thumbs up. People who are clumsy are referred to as "being all thumbs." And when you feel like you're being oppressed you could call it "being under someone's thumb."
Your heart may just be the center of your emotions but your extremities may experience them in the most extreme manner. Seeing as I'm in a frivolous mood I'm just going to go out on a limb here (a limb being an extremity as well), and say that my emotions are magnified at my extremities. My fingers are extremely important and my toes are extremists.
Thursday, 31 March 2016
What is my Car squeaking about?
"Chitty squeak, clackety screech" the dashboard in the car sings merrily as we drive about town. It sings like it's someone's Great Aunt Ethel, with a high-pitched voice that is both annoying and familiar; nattering away non-stop as you drive. Maybe my car is Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's stately relative Great Aunt Ethel. You don't think cars have great aunts and sing? Well, apparently you haven't met my car.
If my car really is a Great Aunt Ethel type, it is no doubt telling you to "be careful, and slow down, and watch out for that squirrel, and did you know that your cousin three times removed on your father's side had recently bought those horrid foot gloves that masquerade as shoes and I can't see how it's going to improve her appearance any, and don't you just love those red bougainvillea plants they planted in the median?"
Or maybe it's not Great Aunt Ethel after all. Maybe the car is singing its own song about roads, stoplights and gas tanks and the smell of freshly paved asphalt roads in the morning. Perhaps, the car is singing a song that goes "every day out of the junk yard is a good day!"
Maybe I'm driving a cheery realist around town. He knows and accepts his fate with a dash of cheer, realism, and song. Its squeaky rattling tune tells of its happiness to be living the life of an automobile to the fullest. I have enough gas and enough working parts to keep driving, so driving I will go. Three cheers for working motors!
Or maybe my car is plotting mutiny. It plans to wait til we have set sail on a long journey of enormous importance and break down leaving us stranded in an inhospitable section of shark infested waters. Maybe its little creaking symphony is the mutinous mumblings of a car that fancies itself abused and overworked that will crash on purpose at the earliest convenience with a raucous shout of "Drink up mechanics yo ho!" right before it careens full sail into a ditch with faulty brakes. Just maybe. Of course, I could just be imagining all of this because I have an advanced case of scurvy induced madness, anything is possible, right?
Whatever it is my car sings or mutters about, it certainly does so at a constant rate. Sometimes the squeaking cacophony is almost soothing while others it's enough to drive you mad in a mere handful of blocks. Maybe if I roll a window down a bit it will drown out Great Aunt Ethel's helpful nattering. Or perhaps, I ought to join in with the song... "every day out of the junk yard is goooooooood day!" Everyone can use a healthy dose of cheery realism once in awhile, right?
Sunday, 6 March 2016
The Sordid History of Couplets
How one line got lonely and started a relationship with another line.
The Couplet was once just a lonely sentence
Whose thought didn't quite seem ended.
He thought he'd date the following line
Who thought that he looked mighty fine.
But their relationship was quickly ended
the moment the bad poet penned it.
For a lonely couplet is only truly fine
When it's made to be paired in perfect rhyme
Not when it starts a love affair
Out of loneliness and lack of punctuation.
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| Photo via Flickr - "Poems" by Pascal Maramis |
The Couplet was once just a lonely sentence
Whose thought didn't quite seem ended.
He thought he'd date the following line
Who thought that he looked mighty fine.
But their relationship was quickly ended
the moment the bad poet penned it.
For a lonely couplet is only truly fine
When it's made to be paired in perfect rhyme
Not when it starts a love affair
Out of loneliness and lack of punctuation.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Beards being radical and radically maddening?
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| This ancient stone figure is looking pretty shady with his curly beard. - Photo via Flickr "Beard" by Quinn Dombrowski |
Shaving beards to stop radicalization? You can read the article here. And you will probably come to the same conclusion that almost any rational person would. "That's stupid" you'll say. "Mad," says I. And we'd be right you know.
This is the maddest thing you've ever heard of. And it's not just because it's the sort of headline that you can imagine an insane person like myself coming up with. It's not just that you suspect it will turn out to be a piece written by The Onion. Oh no. It's not even the fact that it's true that makes it the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard of. (Though I don't know what you've heard of, so perhaps it is...)
But the real truth is that this is the maddest thing to happen in the modern world precisely because it's been done before. You are laughing, I can tell. You don't believe me. But it's all perfectly true. The strangest things in this world are the facts. No great work of fiction can ever rival the madness of real life. "But, seriously," you think to yourself. "It can't have happened before."
"Ah," I say knowingly.... "but it did.... many years ago in Russia."
The beard revolts. Peter the 1st decided that Russia needed to be westernized. And one of the ways that he thought he should go about this was to dispense with all the beards in his country and ensure that he and his countrymen were all clean shaven. So he instituted a beard tax and tried to get the populace at large to shave. Just as the Tajikistan police have been shaving the beards of their male population. Since, beards in Russia were not just a choice of facial hair, but an ingrained part of the culture, the beard shaving was not met with much favor. And I'm sure it will not be met with much favor in Tajikistan either.
Now, the article states that Tajik culture is what they are trying to uphold with this, er, practice. But what it fails to mention is that beard wearing is very much a part of Muslim culture, which constitutes a whopping 99% of their citizens. So, say what you like about beards being cultural. Even if you can convincingly argue that beards are not an ingrained part of Tajik culture I still can't see anyone being pleased to be forcibly shaved. Hair, whether facial or otherwise is rather personal and being forced to shave is not just shocking it's insulting as well. Having a beard does not make you radical. However, as the article suggests, having your beard forcibly shaved might make you into a radical.
In Russia, the people weren't having any of the beard shaving. They revolted. The beard revolts were large, violent and well, very Russian. But the point is, forcing someone to shave their beard never solved anything. It didn't westernize the Russian peasant automatically and it won't de-radicalize anyone automatically either. It will only incite anger and possibly violence.
And the maddest thing of all is not that it's happening, which I think you and I might both agree is mad, but that it's happened before.
There really is nothing new under the sun.
Sadly, for those of us historians unfortunate enough to be well read, we are doomed to watch history repeating itself. Slowly unfolding with it's inevitable consequences right before our eyes while we shout and rage in impotent frustration.
Just call me Cassandra.
(In case you aren't up on your ancient history.... ironic considering the post, no? Anyway, I'm referring to that prophetess of Greek mythology; doomed to know the future but cursed so that nobody would ever believe her. Yes, you ancient Greeks, thanks a lot for that one.)
And if I've just left you depressed I will give you a peace offering. I'll leave you with two different articles. An article on beards that is going in the opposite direction. Read it here and don't dwell too much on the madness of the world. And if that isn't enough to raise your spirits I offer you The Onion's take on beards here. Just to amuse you, or to make you pause and think about how differently beards can be viewed. Radical? Conversation tool? Hipster?
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| Photo via Flickr "beard" by urban_data |
Wednesday, 17 February 2016
On the Beauty of Showers
Sometimes a person just needs a shower. Maybe you need a nice long shower because your family can get on your nerves but they can't follow you in the shower. Or maybe it's because warm water just makes everything better. Or maybe it's really just that you feel antsy because you really desperately need to feel clean.
Whatever, the reason, sometimes you just need a shower. It refreshes you, cleans you and somehow freshens your mind and attitude. Sometimes, after a long day of gardening, being slobbered on by dogs and arguing with your family you just need to hop in the shower and clean yourself off and start all over.
It's remarkable how many ailments can be cured by a shower.
Ok, so they aren't really a list of ailments. But look at how many feelings that masquerade as ailments can be cured by a simple shower. Really, showers might be the best.
Whatever, the reason, sometimes you just need a shower. It refreshes you, cleans you and somehow freshens your mind and attitude. Sometimes, after a long day of gardening, being slobbered on by dogs and arguing with your family you just need to hop in the shower and clean yourself off and start all over.
It's remarkable how many ailments can be cured by a shower.
- Headaches - cured
- That crawly feeling you get if you saw a spider too close to you but can't see it anymore - cured
- Dry eyes- cured
- The feeling of being encased in slime after a particularly slobbery dog kiss - cured
- Dry cough - cured (well at least temporarily)
- The "my hands will never be the same again" because I've been gardening all day feeling - cured
- If you have a cold and your head is stuffed up - temporary cure
- The "ugh I'm disgusting I can't go anywhere" feeling induced by dirt and dirty hair - cured
- Exhaustion - cured (at least long enough to make and consume dinner before slowly melting into bed)
- "I just got a haircut" itchiness - cured
- Early morning "I hate the world because it's too early" syndrome - almost cured (and that's saying something)
- Exercising is the worst thing ever I'll never do it again feeling - cured (again impressive)
- The sand and salt from my beach trip is weighing me down feeling - cured
- Feeling too cold - cured
- Muscle soreness - cured
- The feeling of being encrusted with a sparkly skin disease a.k.a. glitter - cured
- The "I'm too old for this ****" feeling - cured
Ok, so they aren't really a list of ailments. But look at how many feelings that masquerade as ailments can be cured by a simple shower. Really, showers might be the best.
Ok, lauding of showers complete. I'm going to go take one and cure my malaise.
Wednesday, 27 March 2013
Breaking News: Mugger claims Scurvy made them do it!
Some day it will come to this. One day I will hardly be able to fend off the scurvy and the madness and I will simply snap. This will be my headline. Mugger claims "Scurvy made me do it!"
I can tell you are confused. That furrowed look on your brow, that raised eyebrow, that slightly narrowed eye tell all. You cannot understand what I am talking about. Well how could you? YOU do not have scurvy.
At first I just thought I was tired from working too hard and maybe the tiniest bit lazy. But then I realized the terrible truth. I was in line to buy my handful of bargains at M&S when realization struck. Out of all the things I could have selected to buy I had chosen to buy a lemon cake, a lemon mousse and a grapefruit. I wasn't just tired and lazy. I was craving fruit. I had scurvy! The hard yellow evidence was staring me straight in my scorbutic face.
Scorbutic, that's just such a great word. No, focus Madder Hatter, you must stay focused. Don't let the scurvy take you like this.
Ok, produce wallet, produce change, pay for citrusy products. Almost safe. No, the madness is taking over. The scurvy... It. Is. Too. Powerful.
I stumbled back to my desk at work, delirious with laughter and the sickness. I managed to obtain a spoon somehow in this state, peeled back the lid with trembling fingers and dug into the lemony mousse. Ahhh. The cure. I could feel the sugary lemony goodness fixing me. The madness slowly receded to a normal level and I went back to my work. I had been saved from the scurvy, but not before I had realized my fate.
You see, it seems to be my fate to constantly battle scurvy. I do not eat enough broccoli obviously, as I have explained before here. So it is with a heavy heart that I must realize what my eventual fate will be. I am destined to battle with scurvy my entire life. Yes, tragic, but true.
I will not always be so lucky as to be within reach of a cure, however. So, I am doomed to be the madman on the loose grasping at anything that even looks like a cure.
Mad with the scurvy I will scuttle down the street. Nobody sitting at a quiet breakfast with grapefruit will be safe from my ravenous need for citrus. I will be forced to grab lemony desserts from people's hands and down them without elegance or dignity. Scorbutic hands trembling I am doomed to terrify the lone bearers of fruit flavoured cakes on public transportation.
With wild and anxious aspect I will spy the cakes from a distance, perched prettily on the lap of an unsuspecting bus passenger. My desperate deficiency heightening my senses and screaming that I act now to restore my health, I will leap to my feet and race to my supposed salvation. Muttering in demented demeanor aloud to myself about the scurvy I will pitch back and forth with the motion of the bus. The scurvy will feel the motion, reach back into its ancient memory and believe with renewed audacity that it is afflicting a hapless sailor, demanding satisfaction in a fruit flavoured cake sacrifice to its honour.
I will battle with the scurvy. I am a good person and won't want to take the poor passenger's cake. But the scurvy will be strong and I will eventually be forced to steal their cake. Unceremoniously, I will be found tearing into it to relieve my scurvy and become the world's weirdest and wildest mugger. Stealing cakes from innocent people. Once the scurvy has been sated and my sanity has returned to me it will be too late. I will try to explain that the scurvy made me do it as I am led away in handcuffs for mugging some poor old lady bringing a lemon cake to her friends birthday. But it will be too late she will already be terrified and traumatized by my public scorbutic debacle.
I am doomed. Summer days may find me trying to pry orange popsicles from unsuspecting little fingers. Fingers that will point me out as the orange-handed culprit. Sure, sure I could have asked where they got their popsicles from, but scurvy doesn't heed logic. Scurvy does not brook disappointment. Scurvy is a law unto itself. It is a bleak bleak future that awaits me.
Even if I try to stockpile on citrus products there is no telling when scurvy could strike. I could be anywhere and nobody will be safe from my scorbutic mania. Maybe I should get a lawyer. Perhaps a good lawyer could explain that these innocent victims had knowledge of the whereabouts of the popsicle and cake vendors and that they were withholding that information from me. I was forced to steal the popsicles and cakes out of great underprivileged need.
Or insanity. The insanity plea could work. The terrified lady from the bus could probably testify on my behalf even. Insanity may just be my salvation.
I can tell you are confused. That furrowed look on your brow, that raised eyebrow, that slightly narrowed eye tell all. You cannot understand what I am talking about. Well how could you? YOU do not have scurvy.
At first I just thought I was tired from working too hard and maybe the tiniest bit lazy. But then I realized the terrible truth. I was in line to buy my handful of bargains at M&S when realization struck. Out of all the things I could have selected to buy I had chosen to buy a lemon cake, a lemon mousse and a grapefruit. I wasn't just tired and lazy. I was craving fruit. I had scurvy! The hard yellow evidence was staring me straight in my scorbutic face.
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| Maybe the presence of this pirate cake alongside my lemon cake subconsciously started this whole thing? Nah, it was the scurvy. Had to be. |
Ok, produce wallet, produce change, pay for citrusy products. Almost safe. No, the madness is taking over. The scurvy... It. Is. Too. Powerful.
I stumbled back to my desk at work, delirious with laughter and the sickness. I managed to obtain a spoon somehow in this state, peeled back the lid with trembling fingers and dug into the lemony mousse. Ahhh. The cure. I could feel the sugary lemony goodness fixing me. The madness slowly receded to a normal level and I went back to my work. I had been saved from the scurvy, but not before I had realized my fate.
You see, it seems to be my fate to constantly battle scurvy. I do not eat enough broccoli obviously, as I have explained before here. So it is with a heavy heart that I must realize what my eventual fate will be. I am destined to battle with scurvy my entire life. Yes, tragic, but true.
I will not always be so lucky as to be within reach of a cure, however. So, I am doomed to be the madman on the loose grasping at anything that even looks like a cure.
Mad with the scurvy I will scuttle down the street. Nobody sitting at a quiet breakfast with grapefruit will be safe from my ravenous need for citrus. I will be forced to grab lemony desserts from people's hands and down them without elegance or dignity. Scorbutic hands trembling I am doomed to terrify the lone bearers of fruit flavoured cakes on public transportation.
With wild and anxious aspect I will spy the cakes from a distance, perched prettily on the lap of an unsuspecting bus passenger. My desperate deficiency heightening my senses and screaming that I act now to restore my health, I will leap to my feet and race to my supposed salvation. Muttering in demented demeanor aloud to myself about the scurvy I will pitch back and forth with the motion of the bus. The scurvy will feel the motion, reach back into its ancient memory and believe with renewed audacity that it is afflicting a hapless sailor, demanding satisfaction in a fruit flavoured cake sacrifice to its honour.
I will battle with the scurvy. I am a good person and won't want to take the poor passenger's cake. But the scurvy will be strong and I will eventually be forced to steal their cake. Unceremoniously, I will be found tearing into it to relieve my scurvy and become the world's weirdest and wildest mugger. Stealing cakes from innocent people. Once the scurvy has been sated and my sanity has returned to me it will be too late. I will try to explain that the scurvy made me do it as I am led away in handcuffs for mugging some poor old lady bringing a lemon cake to her friends birthday. But it will be too late she will already be terrified and traumatized by my public scorbutic debacle.
I am doomed. Summer days may find me trying to pry orange popsicles from unsuspecting little fingers. Fingers that will point me out as the orange-handed culprit. Sure, sure I could have asked where they got their popsicles from, but scurvy doesn't heed logic. Scurvy does not brook disappointment. Scurvy is a law unto itself. It is a bleak bleak future that awaits me.
Even if I try to stockpile on citrus products there is no telling when scurvy could strike. I could be anywhere and nobody will be safe from my scorbutic mania. Maybe I should get a lawyer. Perhaps a good lawyer could explain that these innocent victims had knowledge of the whereabouts of the popsicle and cake vendors and that they were withholding that information from me. I was forced to steal the popsicles and cakes out of great underprivileged need.
Or insanity. The insanity plea could work. The terrified lady from the bus could probably testify on my behalf even. Insanity may just be my salvation.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
On a scale of 1 to 10 I'm an Um...
True insanity cannot be measured. On the light side of things a one is mild insanity. Then there is intense insanity. And then there is, well, me, at whatever strange alternate level of insanity it is that I seem to exist in. I am more of the "Um... okaaaay" type of insanity and I've had another one of those days.
You know how some days you are just too tired to care? You stayed up late you woke up early? Your reaction to sunshine and the alarm was not the typical sleepy groan but more of the melodramatic face-plant into the pillow? Do you know what I'm talking about? Well, I had one of those days today. I was not tired enough to be grumpy, just tired enough to make absolutely no sense.
At work I was meant to be updating my client's social media profiles. I barely know how to update my own. What makes you think I'm qualified to update a financial client's profiles? I had to research how to effectively use hashtags on twitter for businesses. Yes, I do actually have a twitter account but I'm not really sure what to do with it. I certainly don't know how it's used for business. And Delicious. What is the point of that site? Is it really a directory of links or is it really like twitter? Do people actually look at your Delicious account or is it more meant as a list for you? Why is it called Delicious? There is nothing tasty about it. I just don't understand. I know nothing about technology and social media. I really am the world's worst online marketing employee.
A day of staring at the screen trying to decide if articles were interesting enough to catch attention, but not so interesting as to offend my financial client, sent me further into my strange mood. Suddenly I was staring at the weirdest abbreviations and I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. I muttered "SM?" to my computer. My colleague looked up with a cocked eyebrow and asked "did you say S&M?" Social media does not abbreviate well it would seem. We were both tired and this was much funnier than it should have been. We decided that after a day of work I would clearly be an expert in S&M and loans for my finance client.
Not long after lunch our big boss arrived with two teenage girls and starting filming the boot of his car in the parking lot below. Well, at least that was what we heard. There was apparently too much fast driving and some sort of flipping involved as well. We came up with kidnapping theories and somewhere along the line nearly invented an office rumour that he had two families and was trying to keep them from knowing about each other and this somehow involved a blackmail video filmed from the office of a car boot. We are still working on it. We may or may not send round an email on Monday asking the burning question of what on earth they were actually doing.
As the day progressed work got more boring. When you start to read the phrase "pitch craft ideas to x person" as witch craft, and you giggle to yourself, you know you are reaching that stage of tired where everything is funny. Next writing emails that proposed an article about loans, I asked the blogger if they would be interested in it and even this caused me to giggle inanely to myself. Interested. Loans. Interest. Hehehe. Clearly I had not slept enough, I had been at work too long and I had really, truly, gone over the edge. I was past the point of no return. Returns... hahahaha.
We decided to count the seconds, not minutes until we were done with work. This led to the realization that seconds seem so much shorter than minutes and even a great number of them somehow feels short. But we went further, by the time we arrived in town on the bus at about 6pm there were roughly 2,009,000 seconds left until Christmas.
We stopped in at Primark, a work friend and I, and found the clothes to be quite exotic. We found zebra stripes in one row. And then rounded a corner to find the rest of the zoo. Every variety of great cat imaginable was there as well as owls, ducks, and dragonflies. Dragonflies are there to support the ecosystem not necessarily as an attraction, but anyhooo. We had fun trying on and making fun of everything we could get our hands on. It's more fun this way.
Eventually we left for food at McDonald's and met some very interesting and slightly overly friendly guys. They wanted to know how old we thought they were. It became a big game. They tried to guess our age and my friend tried to convince them she was 29 with two children. They didn't believe her and were triumphant when she revealed that she is only 24. Though they had a hard time believing that I was 26. They also didn't believe that we worked at a marketing company. True it has a funny name, but they suggested that we looked like we worked at Nando's instead. I'm not sure that wasn't an insult. Ah well. It was funny to mess with them.
On our way out and to the train station we started to see snow flakes. Really large ones, all of a sudden and not in a flurry, just randomly. It was suspicious. Turns out it was only snowing on one street of the whole town. I'm guessing it was a snow making machine and possible marketing ploy? I don't know but it was odd and we weren't the only two who noticed. Needless to say it was a strange day. It was almost surreally funny and strange. I mean, who has ever heard of it only snowing on one street? Yeah, I'm going to have to investigate this tomorrow.
For now I'm going to sit indoors all snuggly with some hot chocolate and attempt to return to a state of semi normalcy, you know, mild insanity, and maybe even warm, cozy sleepiness.
You know how some days you are just too tired to care? You stayed up late you woke up early? Your reaction to sunshine and the alarm was not the typical sleepy groan but more of the melodramatic face-plant into the pillow? Do you know what I'm talking about? Well, I had one of those days today. I was not tired enough to be grumpy, just tired enough to make absolutely no sense.
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| Photo Source: Pinterest |
At work I was meant to be updating my client's social media profiles. I barely know how to update my own. What makes you think I'm qualified to update a financial client's profiles? I had to research how to effectively use hashtags on twitter for businesses. Yes, I do actually have a twitter account but I'm not really sure what to do with it. I certainly don't know how it's used for business. And Delicious. What is the point of that site? Is it really a directory of links or is it really like twitter? Do people actually look at your Delicious account or is it more meant as a list for you? Why is it called Delicious? There is nothing tasty about it. I just don't understand. I know nothing about technology and social media. I really am the world's worst online marketing employee.
A day of staring at the screen trying to decide if articles were interesting enough to catch attention, but not so interesting as to offend my financial client, sent me further into my strange mood. Suddenly I was staring at the weirdest abbreviations and I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. I muttered "SM?" to my computer. My colleague looked up with a cocked eyebrow and asked "did you say S&M?" Social media does not abbreviate well it would seem. We were both tired and this was much funnier than it should have been. We decided that after a day of work I would clearly be an expert in S&M and loans for my finance client.
Not long after lunch our big boss arrived with two teenage girls and starting filming the boot of his car in the parking lot below. Well, at least that was what we heard. There was apparently too much fast driving and some sort of flipping involved as well. We came up with kidnapping theories and somewhere along the line nearly invented an office rumour that he had two families and was trying to keep them from knowing about each other and this somehow involved a blackmail video filmed from the office of a car boot. We are still working on it. We may or may not send round an email on Monday asking the burning question of what on earth they were actually doing.
As the day progressed work got more boring. When you start to read the phrase "pitch craft ideas to x person" as witch craft, and you giggle to yourself, you know you are reaching that stage of tired where everything is funny. Next writing emails that proposed an article about loans, I asked the blogger if they would be interested in it and even this caused me to giggle inanely to myself. Interested. Loans. Interest. Hehehe. Clearly I had not slept enough, I had been at work too long and I had really, truly, gone over the edge. I was past the point of no return. Returns... hahahaha.
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| I'm bored. Are we done yet? Photo Source: Flickr by Holster |
We decided to count the seconds, not minutes until we were done with work. This led to the realization that seconds seem so much shorter than minutes and even a great number of them somehow feels short. But we went further, by the time we arrived in town on the bus at about 6pm there were roughly 2,009,000 seconds left until Christmas.
We stopped in at Primark, a work friend and I, and found the clothes to be quite exotic. We found zebra stripes in one row. And then rounded a corner to find the rest of the zoo. Every variety of great cat imaginable was there as well as owls, ducks, and dragonflies. Dragonflies are there to support the ecosystem not necessarily as an attraction, but anyhooo. We had fun trying on and making fun of everything we could get our hands on. It's more fun this way.
Eventually we left for food at McDonald's and met some very interesting and slightly overly friendly guys. They wanted to know how old we thought they were. It became a big game. They tried to guess our age and my friend tried to convince them she was 29 with two children. They didn't believe her and were triumphant when she revealed that she is only 24. Though they had a hard time believing that I was 26. They also didn't believe that we worked at a marketing company. True it has a funny name, but they suggested that we looked like we worked at Nando's instead. I'm not sure that wasn't an insult. Ah well. It was funny to mess with them.
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| Eeyore wonders why and how it always snows only on him. Photo Source: Flickr by Nikoretro |
On our way out and to the train station we started to see snow flakes. Really large ones, all of a sudden and not in a flurry, just randomly. It was suspicious. Turns out it was only snowing on one street of the whole town. I'm guessing it was a snow making machine and possible marketing ploy? I don't know but it was odd and we weren't the only two who noticed. Needless to say it was a strange day. It was almost surreally funny and strange. I mean, who has ever heard of it only snowing on one street? Yeah, I'm going to have to investigate this tomorrow.
For now I'm going to sit indoors all snuggly with some hot chocolate and attempt to return to a state of semi normalcy, you know, mild insanity, and maybe even warm, cozy sleepiness.
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