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Busy at work, but that’s a good thing.  I’m getting used to working hard now.  I’ve always been a bit of a slacker, doing as little as I could get away with.  I’d only work hard if I was trying to distract myself from something that wasn’t quite going right in my personal life.  But nothing is going wrong now.  (At least, not overtly wrong.  Of course everything isn’t *perfect*, because nothing is ever perfect.  For a start, I’d like Mike’s health to be better.  But nothing is wrong wrong, if you know what I mean.)

So yeah, I’m learning not to be lazy.  I’m a busy kind of lazy.  I’m happy to be active doing stuff, but only if it’s stuff I want to do.  I have a low tolerance for being told to do things, and I only put up with it in a paid-job-related context because I need to get paid.  But in my job at the moment, I’m pretty much free to do what I want within reason, and that’s ok with me.  I get paid better now, as well, so I need to take some responsibility and actually get off my arse and make things happen.

Two weddings to look forward to in the next month!  I like weddings.  Everyone is there to be happy.  I like social events in general, with the exception of anything labelled ‘networking’ that exists in the no-mans-land where work and social cross over.  For me, ‘work’ and ‘social’ are two concepts that don’t mix well except when there are clear boundaries, like going out for drinks after work.  The idea of being sociable *because* you’re working is kind of alien to me.  Whenever I go to one of those things I always look for the person who seems almost as awkward as me, and they’re usually a weirdo.

There was an article in the news recently about how a family with two kids apparently needs to earn £37,000 a year to live in a ‘socially acceptable’ way.  I don’t believe it… but if you consider that the figures for London are included, I guess I can see that it could average out to that.  Living quite some distance from London, though, it doesn’t seem that realistic to me.

Somehow I feel too lethargic to go into one of my rants now, despite not having the Guardian website to vent on.  Not about the cost of living, not about 50 Shades of Grey, not about ‘women’s issues’ or anything.

I made the mistake of going back on Keiyoru’s old livejournal and reading through some entries and it took me back in a surreal way.  It reminds me of when I used to care a lot about things that really don’t matter at all.  Never to that extent(!), but I did used to get proper *into* projects.  I kind of miss that.

I had a dream last night that I massively fell out with my mum.  I was a teenager again, and living at home, and I was writing something in a diary or notebook and for some reason we ended up having a massive shouting match and I was telling her I hated her.  At the same time I was desperately trying to get some sort of message across – I can’t remember what – and feeling totally furious that I couldn’t make her believe me.  Then I dreamed that I was with Mike and it was dusk and we were watching a helicopter circling above us and it contained the Olympic Torch.

I keep feeling like I want to write things down in notebooks because I get sick of typing everything.  Also, handwritten notes are more private than stuff on the internet.  There is nothing private about a blog, really.  I can’t write anything too personal about my life or work in case I’m identifiable and get other people into trouble.  And that’s all this is meant to be – a private space to vent and diarize.

Course, I could always make my entries private.  That would be the obvious answer.  I think I’m attention-seeking after all.  But maybe I will use the private function at some times in the future.  Maybe this really is for me more than for any audience, real or imagined.

This is just me thinking aloud now.

I was just trying to find a pic of me cosplaying Közi, but no luck – I can’t find it anywhere, and fear it may be lost on The Dark Web.

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