Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Modern man.

The title of this post and indeed the post itself is as drenched with irony as the floor tiles underneath your grandmother's old, rusty, refrigerator is with melted ice-water. It's ironic in the way that there's no mention of a real example of irony in the song 'Isn't It Ironic' by Alanis Morissette, as Ed Bryne pointed out in his legendary slating of the "moaning cow". It's ironic, basically.

If it wasn't for my beautifully talented partner and her immense skill in basic Microsoft Office manipulation, none of my University assignments would have ever been presented on time. When I say "basic", I genuinely mean "basic". You wouldn't believe how confused I get with the simplest of tasks. Sure I can type quite efficiently, copy, paste, highlight, underline and change font size and style; but that's pretty much it. When it comes to the nitty gritty pretty titty stuff, there's no bleeding chance I'll figure that out.

Whatever happened to good old pen and paper? If it were up to me, everything would be hand-written. Sure the people who find electronic methods easier should by all means be allowed to present their work electronically, but the option of penmanship should also be available. The first question I asked when I was given my first assignment at University was, in fact, "Can I write it myself on a piece of paper? ... With a pen?"

I also can't stand how the older generations all say it's a shame that the young 'uns don't know how to write any more and that it's all about typing nowadays. Who the fuck do you think gives us the order to type and email and print and present everything that way? We don't all do it on our own accord. I know I bloody well don't.

The reason why I'm typing this -ironically- is because I genuinely wanted to write out my frustrations on a piece of paper with a piece of pen, but then I realised I haven't posted here in a while so I felt like I should. Aren't you glad?

Good night, the interwebz.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Melancholy.

Have you ever experienced that feeling which so surpasses regular boredom? It goes through your whole body as you feel like doing nothing but staying in bed or just sitting outside smoking a solitary cigarette and brooding about why it is you feel this way.

You know you are essentially a busy person with a semi-active social life and quite a few things going for you in general, not to mention all those pleasant people we refer to as friends; yet you can't quite knock the feeling that you just don't want any of it. It is quite annoying, isn't it?

Though it isn't depression, you know you are intrinsically a happy person and this is just an odd mood, right? It will pass as you get along with your life, leave the house and meet life head-on. But does it really pass? Or is all that just a distraction from the dreaded feeling itself?

Of course the next step to this feeling is probably depression, perhaps not clinical, but still real. One of the main feelings linked to clinical depression is, in fact, this very same one. However not all dogs are white just because I own a white dog, get it?

It annoys me when people self-diagnose, and I should know how that goes because I've done it myself. It's a completely different story to wake up one day in a bad mood characterised by lethargy and actually living and relishing in the lethargy itself. Think of it this way, that mood you get once in a while where you just can't be fucked to do anything? That's what people who are clinically depressed carry around constantly.

Annoying isn't it? This melancholic feeling. It's as if I lust for it though.

Good afternoon, the interwebz.