It’s raining like God hated everyone down here on some deep and personal level, I can feel myself coming down with a cold and I’m shattered. Why isn’t tomorrow Saturday, dammit?
Volume
It’s Saturday, and I’m at work. Grim. Still despite the swearing and cursing and muttering “bastard fucking network” and “shitfucking machine” at various bits of computer hardware, there is one advantage. It’s sad and small, but it’s keeping me sane.
You see, I can’t sing. I know this. I’m not sufficiently stupid or evil to inflict my singing on anyone, unless I’m at the satge of drunk where I’m seconds from passing out anyway.
But I have an entire office building to myself, this morning. So I’ve got Nick Cave playing at immense volume and I’m singing along as loudly as I like.
I said it was small and sad, didn’t I?
Zombie
How is it that I can sleep for almost 12 hours, and then two days later, find myself staring at my screen thinking “must…sleep…soon”? Trying to decide whether or not to go clubbing with the rest of them tonight – am I so tired that I won’t make it, or is this just half-past-four-on-friday fatigue?
Sudden Coma
Last night, I intended to lie down for half an hour, until Andrew was done with the modem. I thought I’d use the time to do some planning for an on-line comics I’m currently assembling in my head. That was at about 8.
The next thing I knew my alarm was going off at 7:30 this morning. Apparently, I wasn’t over that jet lag like I thought I was.
Hypercomics
Opi8 has had a facelift. Go and read After Days of Passion. You life depends on it.
Well, no it doesn’t, but if you’re producing on-line comics and you’re still using conventional narrative, then you should pack up and go home now. You are old and your day is done. Men like Ben and Antony will be along to put you in the shade and show you up for the has-beens you are if you persist.
Morrison
Every time I read an interview with Grant Morrison, I become increasingly convinced that he’s not actually mad, but instead, very, very clever indeed.
Strange Company
A Day in the Life of Strange Company. This made me alugh out loud. Strange Company was founded by my mates Hugh and Gordon, a couple of years back. At one point, I almost took a job with them, and would still like to work with them on something, one day when we’ve all got the time. Either way, I thought it was a good article – I remember the “before” part of the equation, and it’s nice to see the “after”, as the company grows into something bigger and better. And I really must get around to that trip to Edinburgh to catch up with old friends. Urgently.
Done
OK, I feel less sad now. It’s ten o’clock at night, the joy has left me, and now I just want to go home and collapse. But I no longer feel like I’m letting the side down by not getting everything I need to done for 9A. Although I’m sure one of my partners in crime will remind about something I said I’d have done weeks ago as soon as I next check my mail.
Coding
God, I’m such a sad wee geek. I’m sitting here in the office at quarter past eight at night, drinking some really poisonous work coffee, and eating toast, working on Ninth Art, and I’m actually enjoying it. I’m sure I shouldn’t be happy that it’s a lovely summers evening and I’m sitting here at a computer. I mean, yeah, I’m achieving things, but honestly. And would you look at the state of my desk?
Communication
I came back from my holiday intending to send e-mails to say hi to all the lovely people I met while I was away. It’s been almost a week, and I haven’t even sent one. Guilt, guilt. I’ll try and get around to sending them tonight. Honest.