When I was younger, my parents would send me to camp sometimes in the summer. The camp they sent me to eventually became one of my favourite places in the world, a place that's so filled with magic and wonder and happiness that it's the place I go in my mind when I meditate, when I need to centre and find peace.
It wasn't always that way. When I was young, camp was a little bit scary. 2 weeks away from home? Away from my parents, from my books and my friends and my music and TV and familiar sights? This was a Big Deal. How would I get through it?
One year I became particularly obsessed with the worry that I'd forget the music I loved. It was a rustic camp, where we slept in cabins and few of the building had electricity and while music wasn't forbidden, exactly, there was too much risk in bringing along a Diskman and CDs. (Yes, back in the dark ages, pre-MP3 player.) So some of the counselors had music, but not the campers. And I liked music that wasn't that popular. 2 weeks without being able to listen to any of it? I was sure I'd forget the lyrics, or the tune, or something.
Fearful that this terrible musical amnesia would come to pass, I spent the week before camp writing down the lyrics to every song on every CD I owned. Just in case. I put all the pages into a three-ring binder, to keep it all together. I reminded myself every day to pack it, when the time came.
I forgot.
And I didn't forget a single song anyway.
Monday, August 3, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
I Could Be, But I'm Not
It's around 5:30 in the morning. Also known as "that time about 4-5 hours before I go to bed," because night schedule.
And it hit me this morning (as it's been hitting me for the last few mornings), that I really should be making better use of this time.
Here's how my nights usually go, once my roommate has left for work.
~ Read some
~ Write any book reviews that need writing
~ Feed the cats
~ Wash dishes or maybe do a load of laundry
~ Fuck around on my computer for hours
Yeah, it's that last one that's killing me.
Even if I only wasted 2 hours a night browsing Cracked or TV Tropes obsessively, that's still 2 hours a night in which I could be doing something, anything more productive. I could be studying Japanese. I could be subtitling YouTube videos. I could be sketching stuff to get my drawing muscles back in the game. Hell, I could fold my laundry instead of using the drier as this weird temporary clothing storage box the whole time.
I could be reading more.
Which would, in turn, likely lead to me writing more reviews. This is not a bad thing.
And yet. Time-wasters on the Internet are, well, practically half of the entire Internet anyway.
Some part of me almost wishes I hadn't resolved the connection issues on my computer. Then I'd have far less of an excuse to waste so much time like this, and get back to doing something useful or productive or artistic.
Preferably all three at once.
This also probably wouldn't annoy me so much if I hadn't thought the same thing for the last three freaking days! Seriously, brain, if you're going to chastise me about being such a damn slacker, could you at least, I dunno, make me want to do something other than slack? Maybe? You think?
...Fuck that, I've got more cat videos to watch.
And it hit me this morning (as it's been hitting me for the last few mornings), that I really should be making better use of this time.
Here's how my nights usually go, once my roommate has left for work.
~ Read some
~ Write any book reviews that need writing
~ Feed the cats
~ Wash dishes or maybe do a load of laundry
~ Fuck around on my computer for hours
Yeah, it's that last one that's killing me.
Even if I only wasted 2 hours a night browsing Cracked or TV Tropes obsessively, that's still 2 hours a night in which I could be doing something, anything more productive. I could be studying Japanese. I could be subtitling YouTube videos. I could be sketching stuff to get my drawing muscles back in the game. Hell, I could fold my laundry instead of using the drier as this weird temporary clothing storage box the whole time.
I could be reading more.
Which would, in turn, likely lead to me writing more reviews. This is not a bad thing.
And yet. Time-wasters on the Internet are, well, practically half of the entire Internet anyway.
Some part of me almost wishes I hadn't resolved the connection issues on my computer. Then I'd have far less of an excuse to waste so much time like this, and get back to doing something useful or productive or artistic.
Preferably all three at once.
This also probably wouldn't annoy me so much if I hadn't thought the same thing for the last three freaking days! Seriously, brain, if you're going to chastise me about being such a damn slacker, could you at least, I dunno, make me want to do something other than slack? Maybe? You think?
...Fuck that, I've got more cat videos to watch.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Oh Good, It's Working Again
Turns out the problem with my Internet connection was the router. Which was solved by a simple reboot.
Oh, and also by not having my roommate monopolize a bunch of the bandwidth with file transfers. Looks like the secret is IN BEFORE TRANSFER, so that if I connect to the Internet before any files start moving from one computer to the next, the router says, "First come, first served," and lets me stay connected.
Limits other Internet-using things around the house, but at least the main problem is solved.
The main problem being how the crap I'm supposed to do various computery work when I have a limited-use computer. Most of the things I do involve having online access, specifically for writing and for selling the few things here and there that actually make me a little money now and again.
Now that debacle is out of the way, on to the next one!
Oh, and also by not having my roommate monopolize a bunch of the bandwidth with file transfers. Looks like the secret is IN BEFORE TRANSFER, so that if I connect to the Internet before any files start moving from one computer to the next, the router says, "First come, first served," and lets me stay connected.
Limits other Internet-using things around the house, but at least the main problem is solved.
The main problem being how the crap I'm supposed to do various computery work when I have a limited-use computer. Most of the things I do involve having online access, specifically for writing and for selling the few things here and there that actually make me a little money now and again.
Now that debacle is out of the way, on to the next one!
Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!
As expected, I was awoken today at around 2 in the afternoon, by the delivery of my new-to-me computer.
As I didn't expect from the emails I'd been sent from the shipper, everything arrived, not just half of what I'd paid for. So that was a pleasant surprise, and despite 6 hours of sleep, I set about getting it all put together and where it should be.
Which involved rearranging my bedroom, but that's neither here nor there.
And it all worked! Not a problem in sight, really, and I was pretty happy seeing as how I got a tower, monitor, keyboard, mouse, speakers, and wifi adapter for $300.
Only now, it won't connect to the Internet!
I was starting to have this problem with my laptop, which I'm writing on now because my desktop still has no Internet connection and I'm not able to psychically update blogs yet. I could connect to the network but sporadically, and more frequently, I'd get no Internet connection. Essentially making the whole network thing very useless. So I was happy to see that not happen on the desktop.
Until it did. I have no Internet connection at all. I've done damn near everything I can think of to troubleshoot, but for whatever reason, it now doesn't like the idea of going online.
Maybe all the cat pictures scares it.
Other 'Net-happy devices work okay. Obviously. Just the desktop. Which worked fine until it didn't.
Joy to me.
And it's way too late to be arsed to do much to it now. I'm going to wait until tomorrow, when I've had a night (day?) of sleep and I can tackle it with a clear head. I got the new system largely because the connection on my laptop was crapping out more often, so it doesn't exactly do me any good to have a Netless desktop and a sporadically-connecting laptop, because oh right, I just spent $300 on the damn thing, and it worked perfectly earlier!
My luck. Let me show you it.
As I didn't expect from the emails I'd been sent from the shipper, everything arrived, not just half of what I'd paid for. So that was a pleasant surprise, and despite 6 hours of sleep, I set about getting it all put together and where it should be.
Which involved rearranging my bedroom, but that's neither here nor there.
And it all worked! Not a problem in sight, really, and I was pretty happy seeing as how I got a tower, monitor, keyboard, mouse, speakers, and wifi adapter for $300.
Only now, it won't connect to the Internet!
I was starting to have this problem with my laptop, which I'm writing on now because my desktop still has no Internet connection and I'm not able to psychically update blogs yet. I could connect to the network but sporadically, and more frequently, I'd get no Internet connection. Essentially making the whole network thing very useless. So I was happy to see that not happen on the desktop.
Until it did. I have no Internet connection at all. I've done damn near everything I can think of to troubleshoot, but for whatever reason, it now doesn't like the idea of going online.
Maybe all the cat pictures scares it.
Other 'Net-happy devices work okay. Obviously. Just the desktop. Which worked fine until it didn't.
Joy to me.
And it's way too late to be arsed to do much to it now. I'm going to wait until tomorrow, when I've had a night (day?) of sleep and I can tackle it with a clear head. I got the new system largely because the connection on my laptop was crapping out more often, so it doesn't exactly do me any good to have a Netless desktop and a sporadically-connecting laptop, because oh right, I just spent $300 on the damn thing, and it worked perfectly earlier!
My luck. Let me show you it.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Early Morning Flutterings
I can just see the sky above the rooftops. It's turned from a vast black thing to a deep shade of midnight blue, though midnight has long past and that's probably a misnomer anyway. It's just light enough to distinguish sky from everything-below-sky.
I love this time of day.
It's very peaceful. Birds are just starting to wake up. Here and there a couple of lights are on in houses. But for the most part, the world's still asleep and I get to exist in quiet and calm and dark happiness.
I'm a bit of a night person. Can you tell?
Oh course, I'm tired as hell and desperately want to go to bed, because I've been awake since 3 this afternoon and it's been a long day. I've finished reading a book. I've written a book review. I've vacuumed the downstairs area. I've made a batch of lemon iced green tea. I've eaten too much pizza.
And my eyes are burning, and that little part of my brain is asking Oh god, why did you agree to switch to a night schedule, why did you think this would be good for you, why don't you just cut your losses and go back to being awake during the day because the day is when everything happens!
My brain's an idiot, by the way.
I like nights. I'm my most creative at night. I feel my most productive when the sky's dark and everything feels like the world just exists for me because everyone else is asleep and in their own world and I'm the only one left, so of course there's going to be nothing to stand in my way of getting a whole load of stuff done.
I'm not wrong. Not entirely. I'm just stuck in this stupid annoying transition phase because I only started doing this last week, only made the shift less than 7 days ago, and my brain and body haven't quite adapted to the idea that time is upside down and things are different.
Hence the tired.
Just got to push on for a few more hours before it's okay for me to go to sleep.
Even if I'll probably be woken up by a Fedex guy delivering a package that requires my signature. I hope I wake up just enough to sign my name but not so much that I can't fall back to sleep pretty much immediately.
Clarification: sign my correct name. I really don't want to be Grumpy McGooberpants, signing for half of my new computer.
Half, because the place I bought it has determined that pfft, I may have paid for the tower and monitor and keyboard and mouse and even some speakers and stuff, but I really only need the tower and monitor right away, and the rest can come at some unspecified future time, because Windows 7 Pro comes with an underappreciated psychic mode that will allow me to control everything with my mind until then.
Genius!
Signing off,
Grumpy MyGooberpants.
I love this time of day.
It's very peaceful. Birds are just starting to wake up. Here and there a couple of lights are on in houses. But for the most part, the world's still asleep and I get to exist in quiet and calm and dark happiness.
I'm a bit of a night person. Can you tell?
Oh course, I'm tired as hell and desperately want to go to bed, because I've been awake since 3 this afternoon and it's been a long day. I've finished reading a book. I've written a book review. I've vacuumed the downstairs area. I've made a batch of lemon iced green tea. I've eaten too much pizza.
And my eyes are burning, and that little part of my brain is asking Oh god, why did you agree to switch to a night schedule, why did you think this would be good for you, why don't you just cut your losses and go back to being awake during the day because the day is when everything happens!
My brain's an idiot, by the way.
I like nights. I'm my most creative at night. I feel my most productive when the sky's dark and everything feels like the world just exists for me because everyone else is asleep and in their own world and I'm the only one left, so of course there's going to be nothing to stand in my way of getting a whole load of stuff done.
I'm not wrong. Not entirely. I'm just stuck in this stupid annoying transition phase because I only started doing this last week, only made the shift less than 7 days ago, and my brain and body haven't quite adapted to the idea that time is upside down and things are different.
Hence the tired.
Just got to push on for a few more hours before it's okay for me to go to sleep.
Even if I'll probably be woken up by a Fedex guy delivering a package that requires my signature. I hope I wake up just enough to sign my name but not so much that I can't fall back to sleep pretty much immediately.
Clarification: sign my correct name. I really don't want to be Grumpy McGooberpants, signing for half of my new computer.
Half, because the place I bought it has determined that pfft, I may have paid for the tower and monitor and keyboard and mouse and even some speakers and stuff, but I really only need the tower and monitor right away, and the rest can come at some unspecified future time, because Windows 7 Pro comes with an underappreciated psychic mode that will allow me to control everything with my mind until then.
Genius!
Signing off,
Grumpy MyGooberpants.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
I Miss Who I Was
Sometimes I get hit with nostalgia. Sometimes it's fun. Other times, it's a bit painful. Like a scab you can't stop picking at, even when it hurts more with each flick of the nail and you know it's doing you know good, but hey, scabs gotta be picked.
Tonight's one of those nights. It's midnight, or near enough to, and I'm remembering all the late-nighters I had when I was younger, all the cool stuff I used to do, the obsessions I had that would occupy me for hours, days, sometimes longer.
I miss that passion.
I don't know where it went.
And I feel it a lot on rainy nights like tonight.
It's like I've misplaced pieces of myself and I can't even think of where to start looking. Somewhere out there, in a closet or drawer or hanging by a nail in an apartment I no longer live in, there's a younger me who's annoyed that I stopped learning Punjabi, who forgot the frustrating joy of trying to draw properly with a ball-point pen, who wrote wistful letters to a hypothetical future lover, who stayed up until 4 AM playing videos games because goddamn, the game is too good to put down for something as piddly and inconsequential as sleep.
The me who can't decide whether Final Fantasy VII or Final Fantasy X is the pinnacle of JRPGS, the me who had a few hundred dollars a month of disposable income, the me who exclaimed in geekish glee upon finding anime action figures in the comic book store. The me who would deliberately rent terrible horror movies in order to have a good laugh...
That me isn't really this me.
Don't get me wrong. That me has never had entire conversations with published authors. That me hasn't experienced the musical genius of Adam Lambert. That me that... Okay, I still watch bad horror movies to have a good laugh.
I guess some things will never change.
And there's nothing stopping me from drawing again, gaming like a fiend, learning Punjabi just because hey look, free online lessons! But it's not the same. In my memories, there's this carefree feel to the whole thing, a surety that I can goof off and not do things seriously because it'll all come out in the end, I'll get through, and along the way, I'll have learned a couple of nifty skills.
(Yes, this positivity came alongside clinical depression. Mood swings are fun. [/sarcastic font])
The me now? The me now is, well, more mature. 20s me is gone. 30s me is here. And 30s me has spent years prioritizing important stuff over fun stuff because fun stuff doesn't pay the bills. 30s me has experiences poverty and lousy living situations and the depression that never ends. (Yes, it goes on and on, my friends.) And 30s me wishes so hard that I could go back in time and spend even a month as that old carefree me, and do all the stuff that I don't think I can do anymore.
And you know the real pisser? If that actually happened, all I'd probably spend that month doing is setting up the long-term things I know will work out well in the end, like reviewing books, so I could get a jump on myself and maybe be successful sooner.
30s me is a bit of a buzzkill, sometimes.
Tonight's one of those nights. It's midnight, or near enough to, and I'm remembering all the late-nighters I had when I was younger, all the cool stuff I used to do, the obsessions I had that would occupy me for hours, days, sometimes longer.
I miss that passion.
I don't know where it went.
And I feel it a lot on rainy nights like tonight.
It's like I've misplaced pieces of myself and I can't even think of where to start looking. Somewhere out there, in a closet or drawer or hanging by a nail in an apartment I no longer live in, there's a younger me who's annoyed that I stopped learning Punjabi, who forgot the frustrating joy of trying to draw properly with a ball-point pen, who wrote wistful letters to a hypothetical future lover, who stayed up until 4 AM playing videos games because goddamn, the game is too good to put down for something as piddly and inconsequential as sleep.
The me who can't decide whether Final Fantasy VII or Final Fantasy X is the pinnacle of JRPGS, the me who had a few hundred dollars a month of disposable income, the me who exclaimed in geekish glee upon finding anime action figures in the comic book store. The me who would deliberately rent terrible horror movies in order to have a good laugh...
That me isn't really this me.
Don't get me wrong. That me has never had entire conversations with published authors. That me hasn't experienced the musical genius of Adam Lambert. That me that... Okay, I still watch bad horror movies to have a good laugh.
I guess some things will never change.
And there's nothing stopping me from drawing again, gaming like a fiend, learning Punjabi just because hey look, free online lessons! But it's not the same. In my memories, there's this carefree feel to the whole thing, a surety that I can goof off and not do things seriously because it'll all come out in the end, I'll get through, and along the way, I'll have learned a couple of nifty skills.
(Yes, this positivity came alongside clinical depression. Mood swings are fun. [/sarcastic font])
The me now? The me now is, well, more mature. 20s me is gone. 30s me is here. And 30s me has spent years prioritizing important stuff over fun stuff because fun stuff doesn't pay the bills. 30s me has experiences poverty and lousy living situations and the depression that never ends. (Yes, it goes on and on, my friends.) And 30s me wishes so hard that I could go back in time and spend even a month as that old carefree me, and do all the stuff that I don't think I can do anymore.
And you know the real pisser? If that actually happened, all I'd probably spend that month doing is setting up the long-term things I know will work out well in the end, like reviewing books, so I could get a jump on myself and maybe be successful sooner.
30s me is a bit of a buzzkill, sometimes.
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