Coded green.

Saturday 8 November 2003

Small bush with a few yellow leaves

Pic of the day: On stony ground, but not giving up.

Short on Saturday

Let's see... I'm writing this on Monday night, what can I remember from Saturday?

The weather must have been decent, because I walked to the shop and bought my groceries as usual. I think there was some wind. Special for this walk was that I didn't play music on my MiniDisc, as I habitually do. I think I was planning for the muses in my head to talk to me about the novel, but instead I thought about work. This is not a pleasant thing, but can be quite distracting. Time passed quickly.

I have whined this week about the pain in my arm. I am happy to say that as time went by without going to work, my arm gradually improved. I have given some thought to this, and believe I have arrived at a conclusion. When I am at work, even normal movements can easily cause pain because I am so tense. I wear my muscles as an armor, because my basic attitude is that I am behind enemy lines, so to speak. Even though nobody actually threatens me in my current job as a computer guru, the basic connotations of my workplace are still such that I feel a bit as if I am part of a conflict. I can not really say anything more, out of consideration for my workplace. But the basic point is this: No matter how relaxed and leisurely my actual daily tasks are, I still wear this armor. This, I believe, is why the same tasks cripple me at work but not at home. (Although now that my arm is already ruined, I have to take care at home too.)


Besides thinking about work, I did the usual Saturday things: Made dinner, played computer games a little (The Sims), and wrote the journal entries for the previous couple of days. I also thought I would write on my novel, but for some reason that never came to pass.

Catwoman was back. This did not improve my arm, but overall I don't resent it. (If I had, I would have told her. I can be painfully blunt if needed.) She sometimes says interesting things; this is impressive in itself, from a human. Most of them try to act as if they were very shallow. Only when they are drunk do they admit to thinking about the most important things in life; and by then they are too drunk to think clearly at all. So finding an honest human is always good. She asked me a question that I found difficult to answer; and now I cannot remember it. The memory of that question is selectively erased, although I remember my answer, which was no answer at all. Intriguing!

And then I went to bed. I probably saw an episode or two of anime first, but they blend together.

Yesterday <-- This month --> Tomorrow?
One year ago: Limit break
Two years ago: Games that lovers play
Three years ago: Religion: Virus or vitamin?
Four years ago: Human reproduction for aliens
Five years ago: Midi Resurrection

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