Sober Thoughts

I'm lucid to you

extends hand out for a virtual handshake So nice to finally make your sort of acquaintance.

Hello the pleasure is all mine, anonymous

hand is extended for a prolific handshake in which you will find out because I'm now telling you that my hand is lukewarm

One thing about having a thing for every month opening a small blue notepad, taking a pen to jot and group the latest transactions from HSBC then again into a spreadsheet, is that I can see exactly how much I've ever spent on beverages of the alcoholic variety. £5,342.

#Diary

I struggle with writing. To produce anything I'm proud of takes time because something written for the first time is littered with things I don't like. I constantly revise the vast majority of posts as I write. Depending on the tone of the post, and the incremental value I want each word to have, one paragraph can take as long as an hour to type. I love stream of consciousness writing but reading it back can be frustrating.

I will have repeated myself across sentences. One sentence will not be well enough linked to the previous one. I'm terrible with speling and missing out words. Sentences will not be in a preferable order. There could be a better word to use or a clearer turn of phrase. It's impossible to get it write first time (ha!) just because I don't know where a piece is going until it's gone there. I only know what's wrong when I've seen it.

I'm a massive perfectionist. I'm constantly going back to old posts to re-engineer a sentence or swap out a word. I do the same with the reports I produce at work, probably with some detriment to productivity. By having this sober thoughts blog, I sought to have a place where perfectionising wasn't necessary. It's not pure brain dumps around here, but it's probably as close as I'm going to get.

There's no post on hereisdistant.co.uk that hasn't been touched up on a day after its original posting. Recently I've spent a lot of time going over every single post making sure a hair isn't out of place. There was a lot fluff. Whole paragraphs got culled unless there was a nugget of interesting phraseology or an idea that actually added something. The longer pieces barely resemble what they started out as. See in particular:

On Religion On Mental Illness On Salary On Football

After a year of blogging I think I've found my blogging voice and it's not here on sober thoughts (this is just my voice as it is down the pub albeit a bit more personal). I've moved posts from hereisdistant.co.uk to here if they don't meet the standards I've self-imposed. I'm proud of hereisdistant.co.uk and could potentially show it to people I know in real life.

I might rework this into something called 'On Writing' at some point that says all the same things, but in a better and clearer way.

At Home

Putting on shorts and not looking forward to embracing the cold. I'm a footballer tonight. Picking up empty beer bottles from the living room. I don't mind mess but like to tidy.

At Work

Oops, I spent the whole day sneering. Oops, I accidently said what I thought. Thanks for the pay rise, you've outdone yourself capitalism. If the private sector was spilt onto the floor, I'd lick it up until I got a stomach ache.

At the Supermarket

Almost going to a person then changing my mind and using a self checkout. It won't haunt me.

At everywhere

dreaming standing dreaming attending dreaming dreaming dreaming.

#AtHomeWorkSupermarketEverywhere

Stories are not by their nature fictional. The contentious definition of truth isn't the only reason news isn't just recited facts. News is always curated with an agenda, although with varying degrees of bias. A narrative is always made up, unlike my mind which teeters continuously. And the next story. I think I'm being watched. My fiction is a scarf and my facts are morning dew.

No no no to the onslaught of another thing I don't want to hear. Last night's dream defined how I wish things to be. It's hard to accept anything less.

Help help help against the things I cannot bear to read. WiFi and mobile internet are turned off on my phone. I'm drafting this on notepad, posting tomorrow.

Left left left go my eyeballs. How's a young boy like me able to cope without the internet? I might explode or attempt to prematurely sleep.

TAKE A LOOK AT THESE HANDS

I'm finally back home tomorrow after Christmas with the family and I can't wait. The first thing to do is to have sex. No idea if it'll make me feel better. Probably not but

I'M A TUMBLER

I can be such a delight to myself when I'm on form. I can admire myself like I can no one else. Admiration for other people seems to translate as jealousy very easily. I don't like that.

ALL I WANT IS TO BREATH

I was considering doing a post about how privilege manifests through overly entitled, wanna-be-working-class, sad, culturally engaged, 20 somethings (my friends). But it's too specific a group to be audience-relevant and I don't like getting angry or overly sociological🎈

DON'T YOU MISS IT

I'm considering sacrificing something in my writing by ending all sentences with the balloon🎈 It would be a big step towards creating a recognisable brand🎈I used to dislike emojis but now I think they're a huge avenue of language that can be used in really interesting ways🎈

Good day🎈

I'm simply quite bored at the moment. I miscalculated how much time I wanted back at the parent's house. Taking a total of two weeks at Christmas now seems very excessive. I can't see girls or friends as comfortably as normal so I'm finding myself with not much to do. Anticipate some more blog posts with not much to say. I'm actually looking forward to going back to work 🙄

Surely there must be something online to get angstdignant over! ;–)

The internet is too big, I don't like it. I've already consumed quite a bit of good content from her today. I feel like I have now a bit of an opening for some e-communication. Anything slow paced though is not my speciality as I'm a slow replier to the point it becomes more like a task than recreation. Which is why I enjoyed the intensity of Omegle as a teen. I spoke to a lot of people back then.

I upgraded my membership here to pro. It was mainly out of stupidity, because adding static pages to my blog isn't worth the additional dollars. Actually, only now am I realising that it costs less in £, so it's not as much as I originally thought. I'm happy to support this place and I've already been going for a year, so it likely isn't a fad that I'll get bored of in 2020.

I start thinking about whether the chosen topic is consistent with past topics. I get caught in thinking posts have to be a certain length. And it goes on

I had this problem when I first started blogging. I created a separate blog for non consistent content. With less restrictions, the new blog turned out to aide creativity far better than the original. For me, I'm not too keen on any identity I have becoming a brand.

That is the question. The scene is that there are four girls. Three of them want me unequivocally. One of them continues to see me but diffuses sexual tension. Guess which one I'm interested in. This might actually be the nearest to heartbreak I've ever got and I hate it.

Girl 1: I could say anything and she'd love it.

Girl 2: lives within a narrow world view which has a lot in common with mine. I could say anything within that large intersection and she'd love it.

Girl 3: she does most of the talking and is not overly taken by things I say but is still easily impressed with my lifestyle and good nature.

Girl 4: Has no obvious interest in finding out more about me.

I don't know grief or heartbreak.

ok cool pal

I've not experienced pain or oppression.

Maybe I did but I don't remember

I'm not persecuted and I reject rejection.

Lol I realise I'm overly safe

I ask myself when my blogging is at it's most fucking prolific. Only in melancholic moments with undertones of sexual frustration do I even seem capable of noticing the crevices and chasms supposedly in my life.