Daily Log

Sleeping in is an art. For it to be really good it must be unplanned. Slightly against the rules. And, be decided that you are being defiant. When you wake up from a proper sleep-in, you feel wondrous. The day greets you already bright. Breakfast tastes sweeter.
As the day gradually kicked in I prepared for nothing. The only plans I had were a family dinner at Panchoes. I looked around at my need to clean and decided to go for a walk. I walked to the Borough. I think there is a formula for the stupidity of people. One of the variables in this formula is the number of living creatures they have to think for. Therefore people with dogs are morons. And when you group a lot of them together, in say, a shitty flea market style bazar, they half themselves again. It is difficult to believe that people can be so oblivious to others.
Dogs tangled and fighting and children falling off bikes, I ventured through the shit storm once more to walk home. A few random people decided to talk to me while buying coffee. I started the first conversation, which lead into a drawn out recollection of where I was known from. Then a random Kiwi interrupted AFL talk to add in the all blacks victory. I was taken slightly off-guard. She seemed nice enough, but the segue left me at a loss.
Home again, I tried to fill time with eating at TV, but it would not do. I cannot get lost in the toxicity of intellectual poisoning like I used too. The sublime averageness of all art at the moment is disappointing. I want to see mountains again. I headed for some sun, and then to the beach.
For the second time in four days, after zero times in two years (maybe three), I ran into medium. This time I was needed. It is nice to be useful. All of the diatribe I have learned - perhaps one percent of it is useful - I finally got to use a small portion to be helpful. This is of course a few minutes after I had sent the creepy email of the world. And it wasn't even email, it was Fmail. I have finally asked permission...
Completely understanding the general nature of the planet to ignore the genisis of an idea. I could not. I have admitted to my unusual freak, and, feel slightly dirty for it. Perhaps this is the feeling I should have had all along. But how else do people get ideas? If they really looked at them, I am sure a creepy origin would be in everything. I have owned up to mine. It may destroy it, but if it is to be destroyed then it should be.
But not by me.
After an unexpected green tea. Where my minuscule knowledge of psychosis was applied, I walked medium back to her post. Returning home I made to clean, cook and generally tidy the office for the week. I again tried, and this time succeeded, to watch an old movie.
Dressed and directed, I drove to Mum's to pick her up for Panchoes. She was, for the first time in ages, going to be on time. But unfortunately the lack of flow in her new living room preoccupied me to complete distraction and I had to arrange it. Against medical advice, good advice this time, I hurt my whiplash a little by moving the couches. Once complete, the room felt warm and acceptable, and I felt hurty and a little violated.
Family dinner was great and painful; like all good things. People harassed me on quitting my job, and being unemployed. And I assisted their generality by offering dismal projections on my new business venture. It is strange that when anybody has a foothold to proffer an opinion, they do, and they become condescending in the process. Some people put in an effort to empathise, which actually felt good. Others sat on horses high and prophesied a doomed end to my insignificant flight of fancy. Little did they know, a doomed end would be a welcome alternative to returning to the halls of our august leadership.
With the pleasantries out of the way, we all returned to harmless and fulfilling banter. Once the group had reduced to less than eight, conversation actually started. We finally discussed more than tip-of-the-brain anecdotes. We all ended up laughing. It was great after the free-for-all smack-down of a large group. I do despise groups. Like at the shit market, people trip up on unseen dog leads and step in the poo of their trembling animals. It has always baffled me that any type of group gathering could be enjoyable. Especially that people aim for it at the ends of their every week.
I think it must be the lowest common denominator formula. The conversation requires little-to-no thinking, which most people are highly adept in. It gives people a chance to pretend to be good at something, and get points on some mythical scoring factor known as coolness. And it distracts them from the mundane disinterest that their contributory-life offers them. At least at a group gathering they are expected to accomplish nothing. And they all succeed with absolute aplomb.