Dan Q
[this post has been partially damaged during a server failure on Sunday 11th July 2004, and it has been possible to recover only a part of it]
The Register have this story and photo, taken in Aberystwyth: can anybody identify the woman in the picture?…
[picture removed]
So Paul, Claire and I are in The Flat. Paul’s reading, I’m coding, and Claire is playing the piano. It’s half past eleven. The doorbell rings.
Who could that be? None of us are expecting anybody, and most of the folks we know have already left town to be with their families, etc. I go downstairs and open the door. A confused-looking young man smelling of beer looks in at me, confused.
“What’s the piano?” he asks.
“It’s a long instrument with lots of keys, but that’s not important right now,” I reply. Somehow this humour is lost on him. “It’s my girlfriend,” I continue, “She’s playing the piano upstairs.”
“Oh,” he says, “Tell her she’s very good.”
So I did.
Random.
Perhaps the most disturbing dream yet since I started on this weird medication. And I promise you that if you know the people starring in it, you’ll be scared, too…
Warning: Sexually Explicit Content – You Have Been Warned
I only remember fragments of the dream, but two particular images stand out:
Just thought I’d share those images with you so you know what my head’s going through. Fucking weird.
[this post has been partially damaged during a server failure on Sunday 11th July 2004, and it has been possible to recover only a part of it]
Feel rotten. And I’m supposed to be back at work, today. Called in sick, especially apologetically.
Had another lariam-induced mood swing yesterday, and became especially grotty to people, so went and excluded myself from them for awhile. I’ve made an appointment to see the doctor next Monday, pre-emptively: if these side-effects don’t get any better by then (I’ll be taking more of the drug today) I’ll ask about switching to one of the alternative meds. After all, as margi said, if I’m becoming intolerable in quiet company with friends, what am I likely to be like under the African sun with strangers.
And if today’s pill brings everything into line, I can cancel my appointment. Winner.
In other news, as promised, below is a picture of my beard in it’s new “Ming The Merciless” (Flash Gordon, for those of you with no film culture) configuration. And yes, I mean the 1936 one:
[picture removed]
It’s really quite scary to look at the original Flash Gordon and realise that…
Claire and I came up with the following definition:
Quamplicated [adj.] – being or relating to a thought about something on your person or some sensation that, by nature of thinking about it, alters the target of the thought.
All of last week I’ve been seeing people who are leaving. Yeh, I know, I ought to be used that by now, but it seems somehow more final now I’m graduating, too. I’ll still not-see them just as much, but in this case it feels like it’s my doing or something. I don’t know…
…in any case, my head’s full of Cambrian cocktails: we had a gathering in their party room, upstairs, and ate vodka jelly. We played kiddy games and drank adult drinks. Then we played adult games. Ahem.
Can anybody else remember which subspecies of camel is which? Or where the word ‘lesbian’ comes from? Fascinating.
I feel funny. And I have less beard (and so look less like a coconut).