Tuesday, December 28, 2004
40/0, break point
It's funny how a spot of self-flagellation at the gym can ease all the worries of a rather woeful week. For a while, at least.
I discovered today that one of the last places to buy blank "old-world" cassettes is at 7/11.
While we're on the subject, I tried to top up my cash cards (I bought a spare yesterday, after being caught out one too many times by the stupid machines that do not accept mastercard electronic...) at 7/11 today only to be told by the pimply-faced server that "I can't do it here sir, you must step into the other queue."
Glance left, glance right. Raise eyebrow. (nobody else in shop)
"Over here sir."
ERr. okay. Shuffle right three steps.
"Okay. Wait a while. Someone will be with you"
server stares into space for a bit. Then shuffles right three steps and smiles brightly.
Re-minisce considers backing out of the shop in a hurry, but figures it's built into the hospital, so he's wearing his ultra-heavy stethoscope, and if need be he can swing it and put this nutcase out like a light.
Fortunately the rest of the transaction proceeded smoothly.
*****
Anyway, the reason I want a cassette tape is because I was wandering around on the piano sunday (I only feel... wrought enough to do this everything something troubles me enough to kickstart me, since otherwise it feels hollow and fake and I can't sustain it) and I created some pretty impressive stuff, even by my feeble standards.
Since I have the preliminary stages of BSE, I can't remember a thing about it now, much less replicate it. So next time this happens, I'm going to capture it on tape.
And if nobody's noticed yet, Sunday was a pretty bad day.
As were monday, and tuesday.
Tomorrow, I'm on call. Hopefully it'll be a better day then.
*****
I've had friends come and go over the years. I won't claim to be so callous as to not regret it.
I do.
But they fade with time, like old polaroids.
Only one of them is stored in the digital datavaults of my failing memory. Eternally preserved, in full technicolour detail. And securely locked away, where my conscious mind cannot access it.
I discovered today that one of the last places to buy blank "old-world" cassettes is at 7/11.
While we're on the subject, I tried to top up my cash cards (I bought a spare yesterday, after being caught out one too many times by the stupid machines that do not accept mastercard electronic...) at 7/11 today only to be told by the pimply-faced server that "I can't do it here sir, you must step into the other queue."
Glance left, glance right. Raise eyebrow. (nobody else in shop)
"Over here sir."
ERr. okay. Shuffle right three steps.
"Okay. Wait a while. Someone will be with you"
server stares into space for a bit. Then shuffles right three steps and smiles brightly.
Re-minisce considers backing out of the shop in a hurry, but figures it's built into the hospital, so he's wearing his ultra-heavy stethoscope, and if need be he can swing it and put this nutcase out like a light.
Fortunately the rest of the transaction proceeded smoothly.
*****
Anyway, the reason I want a cassette tape is because I was wandering around on the piano sunday (I only feel... wrought enough to do this everything something troubles me enough to kickstart me, since otherwise it feels hollow and fake and I can't sustain it) and I created some pretty impressive stuff, even by my feeble standards.
Since I have the preliminary stages of BSE, I can't remember a thing about it now, much less replicate it. So next time this happens, I'm going to capture it on tape.
And if nobody's noticed yet, Sunday was a pretty bad day.
As were monday, and tuesday.
Tomorrow, I'm on call. Hopefully it'll be a better day then.
*****
I've had friends come and go over the years. I won't claim to be so callous as to not regret it.
I do.
But they fade with time, like old polaroids.
Only one of them is stored in the digital datavaults of my failing memory. Eternally preserved, in full technicolour detail. And securely locked away, where my conscious mind cannot access it.
