In other news :
Oct. 2nd, 2002 10:03 pmTenebrae was excellent on Friday. I spent the whole time talking to people and can't even remember what they played, although I'm sure it was excellent. I danced to something and banged my head - the lump's gone down now, but it was quite impressive on Saturday. Saturday was a big march, and a drink and some pool, and a party, and was fine.
Sunday was dreadful. Monday was better and I got some stuff done at work. Donnla turned up afterwards and we sat around listening to records and eating pizza.
Tuesday was dreadful. I felt totally worthless from the moment I got up. Interestingly, my new boss had arranged to have a chat with me about work and stuff generally during the afternoon. I don't think she heard exactly what she was wanting to. "So are you working towards promotion?"
"Errr . . . . no."
"Oh. It wouldn't take much effort from where you are."
"I don't want to be around here that long. It seems a bit futile."
So we ran around various arguments for and against, and I stonewalled. She seemed disappointed that i was so set on disappearing as well, which I suppose is nice, and asked if there was anything that could be changed at work to improve matters. There isn't, of course, anything at this stage. Lots of things in and out of work might have made a difference two or three (or more) years ago, but not now.
Anyway, it was the Calling later, and I felt a lot better.
reddragdiva turned up, and it was good to have a chance to chat with him again. My set was the usual mash of overplayed superannuated drivel, but there you go. People won't have to put up with it much longer.
Today was more productive than yesterday. A couple of things got done. Not finally finished done, but 90% of the way there. Teetering on the brink.
Quote of the day's from the Illearth War :
"You have a great respect for facts."
He breathed carefully around his sore heart before answering. "No. I hate them. They're all I've got."
Sunday was dreadful. Monday was better and I got some stuff done at work. Donnla turned up afterwards and we sat around listening to records and eating pizza.
Tuesday was dreadful. I felt totally worthless from the moment I got up. Interestingly, my new boss had arranged to have a chat with me about work and stuff generally during the afternoon. I don't think she heard exactly what she was wanting to. "So are you working towards promotion?"
"Errr . . . . no."
"Oh. It wouldn't take much effort from where you are."
"I don't want to be around here that long. It seems a bit futile."
So we ran around various arguments for and against, and I stonewalled. She seemed disappointed that i was so set on disappearing as well, which I suppose is nice, and asked if there was anything that could be changed at work to improve matters. There isn't, of course, anything at this stage. Lots of things in and out of work might have made a difference two or three (or more) years ago, but not now.
Anyway, it was the Calling later, and I felt a lot better.
Today was more productive than yesterday. A couple of things got done. Not finally finished done, but 90% of the way there. Teetering on the brink.
Quote of the day's from the Illearth War :
"You have a great respect for facts."
He breathed carefully around his sore heart before answering. "No. I hate them. They're all I've got."
no subject
Date: 2002-10-02 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-02 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-03 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-03 02:58 am (UTC)And while, for reasons of my own, I can completely empathise with feeling the need to leave Cambridge, this place won't be the same without you. Not at all.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-03 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-03 01:41 pm (UTC)That's the theory, anyway.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-03 03:49 pm (UTC)And for moping like this, I sentence you to reread Generation X.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-04 03:20 am (UTC)And don't worry, I'll find something to run to. Any old job in Edinburgh, if nothing better comes up.
All aboard
Brenda's iron sledge
please don't call me Reg
it's not my name . . .