Internet vacation

Taking a break from the internet is nice. I haven’t cut myself off completely—far from it—but I’ve made deliberate efforts to keep myself from investing all my free time in front of the computer. Alas, I have time-wasting powers far beyond that of the mere internet. Still, at least I’m not working as much on my geek tan.

Had a great meeting at work on Friday, where the new company slogan was unveiled:

Our spare is unusable. You will do it again.

I displayed my youthful indiscretion by pointing out that management had just ripped that line out of Evangelion; I’ll probably pay for that insolence by being assigned the pilot of Unit 03.

Saturday Brian and I watched a bit of Azumanga Daioh (I enjoyed the heck out of it, despite having seen those episodes recently) and the first episode of Read or Die. We were both bowled over by the lines—whether meant by the Japanese, or simply poorly translated—uttered by the Bad Guy as he was being pursued by the heroines: This sucks! I’m not happy!

(Come to think of it, those lines also works as the official office response to that Friday meeting.)

While away from the computer, I actually read small portions of these nifty objects called “books.” It’s been a long time since I last read of my own motivation, especially if you disregard the Stephen King horror stories I have a propensity towards. I can’t say that my general avoidance of books has been tamed (I’m not sure why I don’t read anymore; as a kid I used to love it), but this is a positive step.

I also thought some more about cleaning my room. It seems that I have to do an inordinate amount of preparatory thinking before I actually move on that task; all I can claim I’ve done so far is to have thrown out my remaining notes from college.

Yes, I can be a bit of a pack rat. I’m not horribly afflicted, however; you can see my floor and move around my room, which various TV shows have shown me cannot be done in some people’s houses. I possess no rusted-out car parts or portions of medical devices. The ever-growing idea of having to move my stuff, someday in the not-too-distant future, is incentive enough to get me started on purging my less-necessary possessions.

Actually, time makes the purging of objects easier for me. I like to hold onto things that remind me of past events, but the passage of time—especially when combined with the iron sieve that is my memory (“first it leaks, and then it rusts”)—soon renders many objects meaningless. So, while I save them at first, they often get purged the next time I clean.

If there’s ever a next time I clean, that is.


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