Wednesday, December 15, 2004

More diary

Friday night. Bussed into town. On the bus, a bunch of teenagers lipping each other as "bluds" gathered around me because of my chav dress and mood, perhaps? I thought the one was boasting about his drug dealing, but it turned out to be knock-off Prada garbage that had fallen off the back of a lorry.

The West End was full of dreadful office parties getting drunk and then going on to queue desperately for the small clubs, eg. on Oxford Street. Gave up trying to find a gay bar to buy a drink in, as it was getting late and they were all charging door cover. Was feeling very freaked after a week of prostituting myself to office temp agencies.

Saturday, helped get the Belkin 802.11g wireless LAN working on the Broadband at S's place. Cal had been trying all week, but he didn't have my background in networking knowledge, or my skill at attacking a problem using both methodical and intuitive approaches. It does seem to be coming back. But those idiot I.T. managers people always think I.T. people can only be measured by the latest gadget that they've played with, or worse, some ridiculous Certification Scheme.

Ridiculous how much you get for the money. A 4-port ethernet hub with an ADSL modem, wireless 54 Mbps LAN and 2 access points for £90? You couldn't get all that for £5,000 ten years ago! Technology is a cancer, and grows as quickly as one.

Met up with Del at 79CXR, he flew in, from the Gay Sex Desert call Dublin, for his birthday weekend. Got very chatty with some new meets, and (social intelligence-wise) crossed a new barrier on "what to do with a stranger when you've suddenly exposed their horizons of being fearful". Ignore the topic on discussion and just let them ride on it. It tells you more about them than they want you to know, which is another reason why they get defensive. And move on. There are 6 billion people on the world, and really, many people in the West all live in their own cosseted little fantasies, assiduously ignoring what they do not want to face. Why should I be any more responsible for unwittingly lifting the wool from their eyes, than say, a mother who drags her son away from some wretched computer fantasy game?

Got very drunk on 4 pints, and being social gave me a buzz, which with the expectation of a temp job, made me feel alive again. So on Sunday, I got a shag, for the first time in over 3 months. (New readers, note, I'm the kind of person who could not go without it for long, but these last three middle-aged years have been a trial from hell).

On Monday, I got word that I've got that Temp job, and the thought of money was more relieving even than the experience of real sex for the first time in over 3 months.

So I start in the morning. Everytime the dread thought pops up in my head, that I have had to sink to taking what I call a gay job, I shall just think of the pounds and pence per hour I'm clocking up. I don't think I've ever felt so coldly professional about taking a job.

So for the Winter Solstice, i.e. Christmas, I should be getting my first paycheque all year. I've never asked Santa for much, have I? Probably because I never get anything I need, and I only get the junk that nobody else seems to want.

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