Dreadful Nonsense

I decided last Monday that I was going to post up to this thing every day from now on, come hell or high water. This decision was based on the fact that, well, I've nothing better to do. Unemployment is a discipline that must be stuck to rigorously - one slip, and you'll accidentally find yourself applying for jobs, or even worse, getting a job. And I find that I spend the vast majority of my time, when not lying on the floor playing with the variety of dogs we like to keep in the house, sitting in front of the computer, aimlessly wandering around the various websites kindly listed on the right. And so I thought, well then, one aim for each day (if there is to be an aim at all for each day) would be to blog at least once, so that in years to come when I look back through the archives I can curse myself bitterly and vehemently for wasting what precious free time I was given, before my loveless marriage and being encumbered with such a vast amount of wealth and adulterous affairs, and all these prescription drugs I am intent on being addicted to in the near future.

Thing is, though, the degeneration of my finances has reached such a level that I'm starting to be forced to refuse any and all offers of social interaction, and have to instead rely on my own wit and whimsy for entertainment, and Mark Watson's book for company. Sure, there are those that text me on a regular basis, and I'm very grateful for their support through this difficult time, but Jesus H-ing Christ it's not quite the same as being out and about, is it? Added to the fact that one of those regulars saw fit to drop kick his phone across a room yesterday, and I'm facing the long and yawning silence that is my mobile, and no amount of promising debut comic novelisation can combat that.

Today, for example. Today I went swimming, wandered about aimlessly for a bit, played with a jack russell, tried to adopt a stray cat (my mother refused), had dinner with my uncle and his partner and then stared into the middle distance while watching a programme about Peter Cook that failed to make any claims not already covered in the last five documentaries about Peter Cook that I've seen. And. That's. It.

Mrs D was kind enough to ring me to invite me out, but because I've already been out once this weekend - last night, to see a band improbably named Porn Trauma at The Village (you do the google search for that band. Dare you. Double dare you. Why are all the websites prefixed by the word "healthy"?) with my sister who - screetch! - knows one of the band, so I had to be good and stay in tonight, pleading severe financial restrictions. Mrs D eventually took this as some kind of worthy excuse, but has promised to meet me in a pub tomorrow for a swift half to make up for it, because I don't think I can go that long without leaving the house, or seeing someone that's not a blood relation of mine.

So, the problem I'm now faced with is, what the hecking hell do I blog about? I've done nothing today! I've got nothing of interest to talk about! Sure, I could write about the cat that me and Edel found outside the house for a while, but lord knows I'm starting to sound like a Crazy Cat Lady already, without introducing actual stories about actual cats into the equation.

(A brief but related aside: myself and my younger (but not that much younger) sister Edel have recently experienced the trauma of being at a wedding of a peer, and suddenly coming to the realisation that (a) we're not getting any younger, (b) we're not married and (c) we'll more than likely die alone. Apparently this trauma is usually faced by ladies on their 30th birthdays, but we've decided to be efficient and go through the trauma earlier to save time and energy. Edel decided that her plan of action would be to find a husband at the first opportunity, get married, and therefore save herself a life of regret and wasted opportunity. My plan was to get a lot of cats, and then when I die, at least they'll have something to live off until the stench tips off my neighbours, and I get buried in an unmarked pauper's grave. Edel said it would better to plan to get married.)

So really, this post is a long winded way of saying I've got nothing to say. I think I've made a claim like that more than once in the past history of this blog, and I've no doubt at all that I'll be making a similar statement some time in the near future. Meanwhile, you should all continue on with your normal lives. Nothing to see here, etc.

This entry was posted on 18 September 2004 at 10:49 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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