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Last night I wrote a stupid userscript to exploit a stupid XSS vulnerability to add a stupid feature to a Web-based chat room I’m in.
Everybody else’s name is coloured in accordance with the theme they’re using. But mine… can be a rainbow, or an image, or something else entirely:
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Driving across Witney today my music player randomly selected Pagan Wanderer Lu‘s The Frosted Pane. Just like the first time, I was absolutely wrecked by the heartwrenching lines that show the bout of depression he’s singing about is interminable, as the seasons pass with him still unable to see the world in the clarity and colour he’d enjoyed before:
Trick or treaters
I see them through the frosted pane
Carol singers
I see them through the frosted pane
My wife and daughter
I see them through the frosted pane
Probably it wouldn’t have hit me so hard, but things have been tough lately. There’ve been plenty of times (not always the obvious ones) over the last few weeks where my “healthier” coping strategies haven’t really pulled their weight and I’ve definitely found myself resorting to flumping, overeating, or “just one more glass of wine”1.
The experience reminded me of a blog post published about four-and-a-half years before the death of David Bowie2. A philosophy of depression, published pseudonymously by “malbo21”, describes the strategies the author finds successful in managing their depression.
If you believe it’s the tree in your neighbour’s garden that’s giving you depression then you can’t cut it down. You can’t ask the neighbour to cut it down. So maybe you start to resent the neighbour? You resent the way he puts out his bins. You resent the way he parks his car. The way he laughs all the time and looks happy. You resent the fact that your friends don’t agree what a dick your neighbour is. Stupid friends, they’re just like him – with their laughter, and car parking and bin putting out. Wankers.
So maybe it’s your friends who are making you depressed as well? After all you do seem to be depressed whenever you’re around them… You remember that one occasion that you were out when everyone else was having a good time and you just wanted them all to fuck right off. You sat there thinking what unbearable idiots they all were. And yeah sure, you were tired, you were a bit drunk, you’d had a stressful day… but those things have happened before and you were fine. So it mustn’t have been those factore, it must mean either that your friends are awful irritating people, or that some external force called ‘depression’ is manifesting itself via your friends, your neighbour, and that fucking tree!
Looking back on it with the experience of, y’know, studying for a foundation degree in counselling and psychotherapy in the interim, the fundamental strategy suggested here might be described as self-reflection, internalising your locus of evaluation, and developing your authentic self. A Rogerian hat trick, and exactly the kind of uplifting humanistic approach I might expect from somebody with malbo21’s history3.
Chopping down the tree is as easy as getting your ass in the garden. Feeling better about the tree is harder, but it might lead to greater insight and to genuinely solving the problem.
That’s a simplification. I don’t intend to minimise it! The post’s still great, and it’s reinforced by some excellent examples and metaphors. Putting fancy words on it doesn’t undermine it. Humanistic psychotherapy is of that special category of magic that still works even when you know the secret!
But fucking hell, having a human brain’s hard sometimes, right?
Mostly, I just want my normal life back. For a while there, I felt like I’d got shit mostly figured-out. Ruth jokes that I’m the kind of person who likes to carve out a comfortable rut that they can sit in, and while she’s mostly used it as a metaphor for my tendency to find a job I love and then stop considering the possibility that there might be a better one… I think there’s an analogy there for the rest of my life, too.
I like to know what I’m doing and where I’m living a week from now. I like to know where my stuff is. I like to have my own space and make my own mark on it. And while I also like to explore and adventure and to be surprised, I like to do so on my own terms: I like to be able to “turn off” the crazy-times. If that’s being-in-a-rut, then yeah: I like being in a rut.
But all the disruption in my life right now doesn’t give me that feeling. It makes me feel unsafe and unsettled to not know where I’ll be living in the near future, or how it’ll be paid-for. It leaves me uneasy to have my routine broken, re-cast, and broken again: even if it’s just little things like… normally, I try to get myself 5-10 minutes of piano practice on weekdays, while my lunch heats. But the piano lives on the ground floor and it’s not in its best state and even if it were… that’s not where I am.
When supporting a person in emotional crisis, I like to consider their window of future vision. A person in the most-critical of distress might not be able to tell you what they’ll do tomorrow, because they struggle to imagine a tomorrow in which they still exist. As their distress eases, they expand their window to be able to see past hours, then past days, eventually past weeks and months: to be able to plan a future that has a place for them in it.
Distress causes a person to close their own window. But uncertainty in your life closes it for you. The reason I don’t know where I’ll live (or work, given that I work from home!) in two weeks is because, well, that’s uncertain! It is, at least, easier to be rational about a window of future vision that’s being closed by an external factor… but it still isn’t a pleasant feeling.
Ugh.
All of which is to say, I guess… thanks, Spotify and Pagan Wanderer Lu?4 Thanks for throwing a stumbling block right in front of me when I was already limping. Thanks for tripping me up such that I landed on a 15-year-old blog post, written from a dark place, and had to look back on it from a somewhat dim5 place of my own.
There’s light at the end of the tunnel in the saga of our flood. My brain just lags a little behind, I guess.
1 By the metrics, I’m doing better now, on F-Day plus 22, than I was earlier on: even with Lu’s successful attempt to bring me to tears this afternoon, I’m now crying fewer days than not, so that’s a win, right?
2 Why do I mention Bowie’s death? It features in the first line of the song and acts as an anchor in time to the events it describes, as well – perhaps – as a catalyst.
3 Obviously the author’s using a pseudonym for anonymity, but I’m pretty confident that I could pick them out of a line-up of “everybody I ever helped train to volunteer on an emotional support helpline that happened to be underpinned by similar psychological principles”, possibly with my eyes closed.
4 Clearly this whole thing is the result of an RNG/PWL collusion!
5 This bit is a coded way of saying “no, I don’t think I’m depressed, just… fragile”. This footnote is a non-coded way of saying the same thing. Footnotes are great. Why don’t Andy’s lyrics come with footnotes, hmm?
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My workplace is now name-and-shaming/praising engineering teams based on a ranking of what proportion of their PRs use generative AI, with more-vibe-codey teams scoring “higher” than less-vibe-codey ones.
There are no metrics to back up the assumption that these teams are more-productive, or produce fewer regressions, or develop and maintain their skills better. It’s just supposed to be a given. When challenged, senior management falls back on “it’s used at [name of large company], so we need to use it too” arguments.
Fuck.
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Happy Dead Dad Day to those who celebrate (which I guess, in reality, is just me and my sisters).
I could have really appreciated being able to phone my dad, today, to talk about the ongoing challenges with making my house habitable after the flood.
Ah well. At least we’ve now got (some) electricity in (some of) the house: that’s an exciting development. And we’ve got somewhere to live for the next two weeks: that’s good news, too.
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Note to self: when running a big ol’ 13 amp dehumidifier through an extension cable that’s longer than you need, do not leave the excess cable on the spool, or else what you’ve made is a 13 amp electromagnet and that shit gets hot. 😅
(Fortunately nobody is stupid enough to sell me a 10 metre, 13 amp extension cable without a thermal cut-out.)
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Sometimes I feel like I’m resting on my laurels.
The most-important thing that I’ve given to the world is almost-certainly Three Rings. Three Rings facilitates several volunteer-years of volunteer work every day. Over the last 23 years it’s become so essential a service that several major charities – and innumerable smaller grassroots groups – can’t conceive of how they functioned without it.
A distant second is probably FreeDeedPoll.org.uk, through which I’ve helped tens of thousands of people to change their name for free. Plus, through this I’ve learned enough about the law that I’ve been able to support people fighting discriminatory behaviour by high street banks, and trans kids whose parents don’t support their identity, and dual-citizens standing up against illiberal laws in their ‘other’ countries, and divorcees whose estranged exes won’t let them share their name with their children.
Everything else is a far-distant third. All the voluntary work, all the open-source, all the… everything… will probably never leave a mark so significant as, y’know, those two. (If any of this sounds like a humblebrag, I’m sorry: that’s truly not my intention.)
What if I waste the second half of my adult life producing… nothing? At least: nothing of even remotely-comparable value? Have I “peaked”? Have I already done the most-good for the world that I ever will? Where will that leave me in five, ten, or twenty years?
Ultimately, the problem is that I might never be “enough” for my own standards. Possibly what I need isn’t to “make more things”, it’s to “have more therapy”!
But for now: this is what weighs on me from time to time.
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I feel like I’ve spent the last week or so half-assing everything. Both at work and at home I’ve started countless tasks but finished almost none.
Not entirely sure what’s gotten me. Some opportunistic bug that’s left me feeling run-down, but not quite enough to call myself “sick”? An insufficiency of sleep? Too damn little sunlight this time of year? Not enough fibre (which is apparently the solution to everything this year)???
Whatever it is, my body and brain wish I were hibernating, and are making known their displeasure at my having to do useful things like wrangle children and code. Thinking’s a little bit like wading through treacle.
Wake me when it’s spring. Meanwhile, I’ve picked out two tasks that, if I can complete today, will at least make me feel like I’ve achieved something this week. Let’s see how we get on.
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At first I couldn’t get behind the “reboot to 2016” trend. It feels like if you want a nostalgic “simpler time” you need to go back around two decades, not one1… plus 2016 wasn’t even that great, was it?2
But so far, I’ve got to admit, 2026 feels like it’s off to a… challenging start, too. Several of the folks closest to me seem to be struggling, and it sucks.
Don’t get me wrong: 2026 doesn’t suck like 2012 sucked. It definitely doesn’t suck like 2017 sucked.3
But… I don’t know, it just feels like the first couple of weeks of 2026 have been… “playing on hard mode”.
Fortunately, I’m backed by the same kickass family team that handled the (tough!) challenges of those previous years, so I’m confident that we’ve got this.
But for a couple of moments, I’ve been enticed by the idea that maybe we could reboot ourselves back a decade! Wouldn’t it be nice if wishing something hard enough could make it so!
Anyway: better get back to trying to make this year… better. There’s lots of time left to turn it around, at least.
1 Although the trend’s been spearheaded by Gen-Zs, so I guess 2006 will be earlier than they can remember, if they were born at all!
2 The UK voted for Brexit, the USA voted for Trump, and Turkey failed to overthrow their authoritarian leader, resulting in even-tighter crackdowns on civil liberties. The USA saw its deadliest ever mass-shooting (at the time) at the Orlando Pulse gay nightclub, Islamic extremists killed and injured hundreds in France, and Hurricane Matthew flattened Haiti. We lost Carrie Fisher, Prince, and David Bowie. If you’re reminiscing about 2016 as a “good year”, you might be doing it wrong.
3 If you know, you know.
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It’s Thanksgiving, and so the vast majority of my team and wider colleagues – who are based in the US – are off. That’s fine, I figured: a chance to me to get my heads down for some undistracted coding time.
The Universe had a different idea:
On the upside, today I learned a lot about the internals of the system that was at fault. 🤪
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I hate being ill.
Not (just) for the obvious and immediate reasons: (this time around: the nausea, the musculoskeletal aches, the dizziness) the physical symptoms.
It’s a psychological issue I get hung up on. It feels wastefully unproductive to put aside time to rest and recover; extravagantly selfish to take care of myself before others: an unearned luxury to lie in bed while the rest of the world works.
Clearly there’s a deeper issue here. Feeling (seen as?) underproductive or not pulling my weight is a real hangup for me. I’ve long established a pecking order of my priorities that puts my self-care… pretty low down.
That turns out to be a general psychological sticking point for me, probably for most of my life. I’ve been working on it for a few years, though, and I think I’m getting better at it. This morning, I managed to stop myself from staggering downstairs to help ensure the kids got up and ate breakfast, before a bleary-eyed stagger to my desk to check my work email. Instead, I’m still just lying here in bed, an hour after my alarm rang.
I still hate being ill. But maybe I’m getting better (at it)?
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Things lost by the eldest child by the end of her first two weeks of secondary school:
I can’t point fingers: I was at least as absent-minded myself.
I must’ve driven my parents crazy, too.
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By a convenience of dates, I can today count in exact months how long I’ve spent in each of three phases of my life:
(I drew a pretty pie chart but a crash ate it.)
Or in other numbers: I’ve now spent ~70% of my adult life, or ~41% of my entire life, living by a name I chose for myself.
I used a deed poll to change my name. And nowadays – with several iterations of my personal documentation issued over the 18½ years I’ve been using my name – it doesn’t even come up any more, except when somebody observes “hey, that’s an unusual name you’ve got there!” I haven’t even looked at my deed poll in over a decade, for example. My name today is more well-established as the one I was given at birth was by the time I reached adulthood.
And so it occurred to me this weekend, while I was reimplementing FreeDeedPoll.org.uk: because I was born in Scotland, there’s no reason I can’t also get my name changed on the one remaining bit of documentation that still has my birth name: my birth certificate! Scottish law allows me to have this retroactively changed for a modest fee, which would result in a re-issued birth certificate that showed “Dan Q” (with my birth name included as an “also known as”).
I’m flip-flopping on whether I should. Want to see my pros/cons lists?
Pros:
Cons:
I don’t know which way I’ll eventually fall on this. Considering how… inconsequential it’d be, either way, to my day-to-day life… it’s surprising how much of an itch it is, at the back of my brain!
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Last night, an undermaintained VPS of mine went kaput.
The data’s all fine, and most of the services I was running on it came back up in new homes without difficulty, but just a handful of things are still down, including textplain.blog and freedeedpoll.org.uk, ugh.
Not the best start to a Friday when I’ve got a backlog of day-job work to do.
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Outside of Christmas Day, I don’t often get to use 6+ hobs and both ovens simultaneously, but I appreciate the ability to do so when I need them.
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I spent most of a day getting my new development environment set up, because I kept hitting issues that nobody at my new employer had experienced before. A “perfect storm” of coincidences that conspired together to completely wreck my chance of a simple setup.
The factors?
If any one of those statements were not true, I wouldn’t have had any trouble. But the combination of all four of them meant that I was getting proper segfault-death crashes.
I blame Apple. Who removes instructions from a processor within the same family‽ (I’m sure that in reality there’s probably some important reason for it that’s beyond my ken, but still!)