Freeday 12 February 1999

Tonight I'm not in the best of moods. Not even washing and fluffing my hair and dressing in a green shirt makes me feel quite ebullient. I hate my workplace, as you may know by now; well, scorn and despise it rather. And I feel I've been giving it a bit too much lately. The last couple of days I've been so tired that I have had problems staying awake the last hours on job. And that's it simply not worth, since it is essentially meaningless. My job there makes sense within the framework of the workplace, but the whole thing is just made-up work. Like basket-weaving which presumably keeps retarded people feeling productive, this paper-moving business works the same wonders on those of somewhat higher intelligence. But it takes more to deceive me. In fact, it seems I have to do it myself.

It's only Friday night, and already both my hands hurt. I am willing to look into a nose-driven pointing device as soon as I find one. "Nose Mouse" anybody?

In the Future, "we" (those who are alive by then) will presumably have a wireless link between the computer network and a small brain implant, so we can effortlessly control any equipment with a thought and perhaps also call up information directly to our brains. You may quote me as believing that when I see it, but it sounds sort of cool at evenings like this.

I may have emotions, but that does not mean they have me. There is always something I can choose to do. If I can't sleep, I can stare at the wall. As long as I do it of my own free will, whatever I do is an expression of me. I am alive, not just an object to which things happen, but a free soul that make things happen. More than soon enough this body will go back to being just an object. I don't kill time, it is my life. To populate it with reality and dreams is my responsibility and my privilege.

BTW, the cosmologists have recently found out that the universe is not slowing down but expanding faster and faster, presumably driven by some yet unknown energy. Well, fancy that. My personal universe have been behaving like that for quite a while... :)

As usual, Rosa's Wardrobe.

Visit the Diary Farm for the diaries I've put out to pasture until they buy the farm:
January 1999
December 1998
November 1998