Found

I'm wondering what body part I might find next.

Street Art

...with Milk Crate
It's hardly Sculpture by the sea, tho.

The Always Off Generation

"The Internet of Things" is a cute expression I've been hearing a lot, in tandem with the idea of our evolution to an "Always On Generation".
But let's not forget the previous generations that make up the significant portion of our population. Each generation is in its own phase of transition – or not – to an increasingly info-techn-dominated lifestyle. They've been dubbed Digital Immigrants and I've found within them a sub-group I'm calling the Always Off Generation.

The Always On Generation will find this hard to imagine, but there are some people who treat the interwebs and digital communications like just any other household appliance. On the rare occasion they decide to use their computer, they'll need to first turn it on, and wait for it to boot. If they need to print, they'll take the pile of books and newspapers off the printer, turn it on, open up all the collapsible feed trays, and load it with paper (if they can find any). The computer, printer, scanner etc will be located in a remote part of the home, far from the main living areas. When people try to call the Always Offs (AOs) on their mobiles, they won't get an answer because, by default, the mobile will be switched off. Quite likely they're out and have left the mobile at home. The mobile will only switched it back on when it's absolutely necessary to make a call. Just like the radio and television, AOs turn things on when they want to sit down and use them, then turn them completely off again when they're finished.

As a guest in the home of an AO It was a little frustrating for me, who - like the rest of the digital generation - relies on connectivity, uses the computer etc frequently and is used to finding it always on and ready to serve my requests instantly. Isn't that why sleep mode was invented? Info tech usage by the AOs is targetted, appointment-style, one-way entertainment and info - just like sitting down to watch a scheduled TV show. Digital natives - who can barely come to terms with the concept of a broadcaster deciding what they watch and when - treat their comms devices like refrigerators; they can open them up and randomly snack on anything at anytime. No waiting.

When I mentioned this on/off thing to my AO host (while, incidentally, she was clearing stuff off the top of the printer and turning it on and opening up the top and bottom feed trays and loading it with paper) she explained, quite logically, that she doesn't use the computer very often. Days and weeks could pass, so why leave it on during that time. Fair enough. Why waste energy? Why have something on if you know you're not likely to use it?

I struggled a little more with the logic of the mobile phone offness. But then as Bjork said, "There's definitely no logic to human behaviour. The mobile's precursor is the land-line and I know that no-one from any generation unplugs the telephone from the wall socket – except perhaps for dramatic effect, or in pretty dire circumstances. (i admit I had to do it once) – and no-one's ever manufactured one with an on/off switch. Judging by the way the AO's use their mobiles, I can only guess, that if ye olde telephone DID have a big red On/Off switch, the AO's would be using it with impunity. Thankfully, someone invented the answering machine instead.

The always on generation will also find it hard to fathom that with such apparent limited access to modern comms, my example AO managed to live a rich and full social life. She meets her friends, in person, for lunches, coffee, dinner, theatre dates. Her social network positively thrives in her analogue world. The AOs have their own system, and their system still works.

As for my refrigerator analogy, well I raised that with my AO and she just laughed. Of course she'd never turn off the 'fridge. She doesn't want her food to rot!

Random Photo

New uses for portable wardrobes. But is this Street Art?

Untwittered

When little things happen throughout my day, they now come with an inner commentary of a limited character count; in the form of potential twitters or status updates that I'd never bother actually posting ('though no doubt there are some that would):

-> Ever since a friend pointed one out to me recently, I keep noticing dead chairs abandoned on nature strips.

-> Managed to cycle directly home without needing to stop at a single shop. Achievement!

-> Watched my toothbrush fall into the kitty litter this morning.

-> Two flat bike tyres in two days. Welcome back to Sydney's glass encrusted streets.

-> Looking at 2 fresh navel oranges on my desk, as I unwrap another block of chocolate. Office life: makes one want to eat junk.

-> Rental cars should be clearly identified at the back. So when you're stuck behind one driving really badly, you're more understanding and better know how to deal with them.

-> Waiting for the Voltaren to kick in.................

-> The banging started at 7.29. The builder's clock must be a minute fast.

Thanks to SMS, FB, Twitter, IM, micro-blogging etc etc, we now can easily communicate in single sentences, using shorthand grammar, with parts of speech omitted for speed and character limit. And a broadcast message to everyone you know is just as easy as one on one. But while that suggests that these technologies are changing the way we think, I suspect this tendency was always there and the technologies arose to enable our desire for bite-sized communication.

In the olden days, the postcard was a precursor - but only really suitable for travellers. Back then, no matter how little we had to say, we wouldn't phone up a friend and hang up after one sentence (...as a general rule. I'm sure some blokes would disagree). A fax message required a full A4 sheet of paper, electricity, stress and labour, and was thus a complete waste if it wasn't maxed out with information.

And so there was inherently a certain amount of padding required, to fill up the space and time in the call, letter, fax.

Now, the need for padding is gone, but we've just traded one kind of trivia for another. Communication is SO cheap and easy, many people don't even have to stop and think "Is this really worth saying?" Many love the sense of visibility and being-heardness that this brings so easily and immediately.

I'd consider a thesis on this theory, but don't think I'd be able to fit it in 140 characters or less.

Twitters I'm happily not responsible for:

"I can see a ferry"

"I love online grocery shopping!!"

"must remember to get a anniversary card for the parents"

"Just driven up the M1 in beautiful late July weather-pouring rain!!"

"off 2 have a late lunch. i've earned it."

"I just ate a cheese burger so big my gut has distended. Better have another one."

"spending time with tyler my son. watched americas most wanted"

"My gum is bleeding"

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This bag is not a toy

But cats can't read.

More inappropriate car stickers

Great car sticker. I applaud it. Yay.
However...... it was on the back of a car parked right across the bike lane.
Der.

some kind of irony

My car is at a standstill. I've had to stop. In a narrow, one-way street my path is blocked by a stationary truck. And i'm reading the big sticker on the back of the truck:

"Without Trucks Australia Stops"

incongruities

Snapshots of Bondi on weird dusty wednesday:

Woke up to bright red/orange light leaking in thru my blinds, and opened them to an orange world that shone orange light into all my rooms.

Mid morning, more normal colour and light has returned, but the air is full of dust. The distance disappears into brownish yellowish greyish haze. Instead of a horizon line, somewhere the ocean becomes the sky in a continuum of furry colours that are sort of like smog, or mist, or fog but really nothing like any of them. But exactly like a dust storm out in the desert. Not unfamiliar, just out of context.

Down on the promenade, a group of people in face masks walk past me. Face masks at the beach?

The atmosphere is as calm and muted as the light and colour. There are few people around. Then a black, tank-like a Police Public Order and Riot Squad SUV cruises past. The idea of a riot couldn't seem more ridiculous right now.

Just near home, a group of matching coffee mugs are arranged on the nature strip. And they complete the little set of this morning's incongruities.

Found

Broadway, 17 September 2009

To Sockington

EVERYTHING is a cat toy.

Displaced rage

I'm bothered and annoyed.

By the BMW sports car driver who cut across in front of me in the bike lane and stopped, so as to take a parking space.

By the pedestrians who don't look and just step out in the road in front of my bike (unless they're old - then I stop for them to let them cross).

By drivers who need to rev loudly and drive past me very fast and close, to let me know my bike is in their way.

By the driver who blew his horn at me for stopping in the right hand lane to turn right. I only have 2 hands to hold onto the handlebars while I brake on a steep downhill. I'm sorry I didn't have a third hand to indicate with. Truly sorry.

Fair to say, I'm more bothered by things when I'm riding - at the moment it brings out a kind of road-anger (rage is too strong).

But I was also negatively inclined to those four twenty-something girls in the cafe with their matching outfits and over-straightened hair, oozing that aura of self-absorption, privilege and superiority, who were totally unaware of the couple with the pram trying to squeeze past their chairs, while I was squishing my chair as far into the wall as possible to try to give them room.

I'm bothered by the state in which the previous tenants left the walls of this flat. And the state of the oven they forgot to clean.

And I'm annoyed that the leak in my bathroom ceiling is still unfixed after three months due chiefly to uncooperative neighbours.

It wasn't always like this. And these are pretty trivial things to be annoyed by. They should just wash over me, and It doesn't improve my life one tiny bit to be holding these thoughts. Quite the opposite.

So I have to ask myself, what is it that I am REALLY bothered about, hmmmm?

fatigue

Some days are like wading thru mud.
The gears on the bike don't go low enough on that hill
And the builders next door start banging at 7.29 am. They don't want anyone else to sleep in either.

City To Surf

7pm Saturday: Listening to the hum of the helicopter, scoping the area, practising for tomorrow.

6am Sunday: Lying in bed listening to them towing cars in preparation for the City to Surf.

11.30 am: My trusty bike lets me slip past the traffic jams, through the police blockades, and weave thru the random, messy pedestrians to get back home, while masses of race finishers and friends stream out from the beach along Campbell parade.

12 noon: Hearing the clippety-clop of mounted police on patrol.

2.30 pm: Listening to the fairly incessant hum of that TV helicopter finally flying away.......No, wait, it's back again.

From the Bay to Breakers in SF in May--where I went along for the sport of spectating, lured by promise of fantastic costumes--to the City to Surf in Sydney in August--where I pass thru it just to get home; a commuter now, no longer a tourist.

Bay to Breakers

Last weekend it was the How Weird Street Fair (sorry "Faire), and this weekend the annual Bay to Breakers. Seems there's always a big community event in SF, and an occasion to get your kit off. This morning I cycled over to watch the crowds run and walk across the peninsular - from the east Bay to Ocean Beach on the west, and hoped to spot some "centipedes" and other famously wild costumes.



The mercury news reported 30,000 people registered for the race. I missed the centipedes but did spy one of the 5 arrests for being drunk in public, and 3 of the 16 nude participants (of course). I hope those guys thought to put sun-block on their willies.

Mac Cafe

I went to a cafe in The City where everyone had a laptop and, because this is SF, every laptop was an Apple– except one poor girl had a PC, so she covered up the logo with a sticker–and all but one of the Macbooks was the aluminium variety.

I am not exaggerating.

It was weird, like some kind of office or Uni common room - groups sitting around largeish tables, in front of open laptops, discussing important things.

The magazine rack was empty but for the remains of a daily paper. No need to fill it of course. Who needs hard copy when it's all online?

As I had arrived there unplanned, I did not have my aluminium apple macbook with me at the time. So I just read that newspaper. What a loser.

I did have a small win though. The girls behind the counter, after initial confusion around my order, really agreed that 'Iced Chocolate' was a much better name for the drink than 'Chocolate Milk'. And this in the country that invented the term 'Iced Tea.' Go figure.

Fun Translations

I learned a new word today: Bibulousness. Found it on the packaging for a cleaning cloth and it made me smile. There was much more enjoyment to be had with this, see the photos.

First to catch my eye was "No plasm" which I know is not a word, and which had me wondering if bibulousness was also real. (it is)

There was the spelling of fibre the English way on the front and the American way on the back (fiber).

It can "mop up polished furniture", which is always a good thing for those nasty spills when your polished furniture is oozing all over everywhere.

Other features include "No need desizing". Phew. I'm not sure I'd know how to desize it if I had to.

And my favourite passage: "it features solid and deformation with the best using effect." I googled this phrase and wasn't surprised that I wasn't the first to laugh at this.

Of course there is now the problem of whether to deform on not. The main copy says "It features....deformation" but also a feature separately listed is "Nodeformation".
I'm afraid to open it now. I'm too confused.

Yearly (and a bit) Roundup

New, never before things for me in 2008, and the first bit of 2009, in no particular order:

• Experienced leeches. Twice within 4 months too. Northern NSW be leech territory.
• Took a solo road trip - long distance unaccompanied driving.
• Swam under 2 waterfalls and in 2 cascadey rockpool type places. (That time I fell off the edge of the little waterfall at the Camelia Gardens when I was about 6 doesn't count, because it was an accident, not recreational and it was just reeaalllly embarrassing.)
• Packed up my entire belongings and set up life in a new city.
• Directed quite a famous actor. (Well, he directed himself really, but I get a directing credit nevertheless)
• Drove a Mercedes around parts of England. Not a flash Mercedes, but still a really nice ride. I understand why people pay extra for them. It totally took the pain out of commuting. As did BBC Radio 3.
• Performed live impro in front of a small audience
• Stayed in an Australian Youth Hostel. (Yes, of course I've stayed in many youth hostels before - in other countries. But never in Oz, and it's listworthy because I'm not a "youth" anymore and after years of backpacking in my actual youth I swore I'd never do it again. But it was just one of those things that...... happened.)
• Went to an open air cinema - and it didn't suck. The semi-tropical climate meant a perfectly temperate evening. The little deck chair was actually comfortable. And there were no mossies.
• Drove a four wheel drive along a beach.
• Experienced a Glam Yoga class
• Tried to learn to surf
• Drove 100ks just for a dip in the ocean
• Made contact with primary and high school friends I've not seen, and rarely thought about since. Apparently 2009 is to be my year for reconnecting with my past.
• Went to a poetry slam
• Regularly encountered lizards and other wildlife on the commute to work
• Finally discovered Radio National, after many false starts.
• Saw glow worms
• Shared a hotel room with a mouse. Well, never knowingly....until tonight.

Symmetry

It started with an early morning alarm, dressing carefully and well, then taking three legs of travel (car, plane and taxi) to Milton, to the little white office in the L-bend of the street, to meet about future work. We talked and laughed and all had a nice time. It was very friendly. After the interview I went up the road to Maisie Smith's Bookshop, I met mum and we drove around West End, scoping out possible places to live.

Just over 12 months later it wound up in the same way. The day started with an early morning alarm, dressing carefully and well, then taking three legs of travel (car, ferry and foot) to Milton, to the little white office in the L-bend of the street, to meet about the past, and about a possible future. We took the meeting in a Cafe and talked and ate cakes and all had a nice time. It was very friendly. After the meeting/farewell I went up the road to Maisie Smith's Bookshop, then met mum and we drove around West End as tourists scoping out a scenic part of the riverside. They were both sunny, early autumn days and my mood was optimistic, cheerful.

And so that chapter is neatly concluded in a symmetrical, full circle, happy kind of way.

Suite Spelling Mistakes

Certafied? How profeshunal.
What I like most about this sign is that I watched the guy putting it up, from the balcony of the pub across the road. His fairly odd behaviour drew my attention. He seemed either drunk, or "not all there" somehow, poor guy. Note the stickytape usage. And there was the way he wove back and forth across the road a few times just to check on it.
As soon as I could I went down to take the photo.



Of course now I know what was really wrong with him. He was acting under the influence of hypnosis.

Spinal Tap Cooktop.....

..... goes up to eleven.

Restaurant Signage - It's just getting too easy

It's now so usual to find a typo or two in menus and signs at eateries, that I've come to expect it.
No surprise the apostastrophe is commonest.
Am thinking I should start collecting mistake-free examples instead. Just for the challenge.

Things that go beep in the night

I was woken at 3am by a horrible, truly awful sound. A single short sharp BEEP of the smoke alarm. I woke up suddenly, felt shocked. It was more shriek-scream than beep. It had surely been created by an expert sound designer, specifically to penetrate the eardrums, skull and pierce straight to the neurons, triggering them to drop all other thought or purpose and react immediately. Do not pass 'Go'. It was a lot like that burglar alarm I was caught in once. Also brilliantly designed to flush away any ability to think logically and send one straight to panic-mode. And fair enough too. Panic and dither is exactly what you'd want a thief to do if they've broken into your offices. But totally crap if you've just forgotten the code, or the wiring's malfunctioned on you. (I feel sorry for the testers and focus groups on who the designers would have tried out a range of sounds before arriving at exactly the right one. Sound can be a powerful weapon... but that's another blog topic).

What made that smoke alarm sound most obnoxious and annoying of all was: there was NO fire. In the event of fire, the danger of burning to death would no doubt be more distracting. But this thing just shrieked at me pointlessly, with a single regular beep every - I don't know - 30 seconds?, and was impossible to ignore. The ONLY way to stop it was to get up on a tall stool, manhandle the beige plastic clam that was screwed - for my safety - as per government regulations - to my ceiling, and remove the battery. (Don't tell anyone. I'm pretty sure that's illegal.) Installed for my safety, maybe, but not my sanity. The beep was ear-drum bleedingly loud when I was on the stool right below it. Gah. Simply - it was a sound that makes you feel fully frazzled.

Eventually my neurons relaxed, and I went back to sleep until another beeping woke me; a polite, cheerful little sound, that I'd chosen specially on my PDA as a wake up alarm. I'm allergic to alarm clocks, so no wake up is ever a good or nice sound - they do have to get my attention after all. But this one was tolerable and inoffensive.

I picked up my new mobile phone from the beside table to check for messages. BEEP said the first button I pressed. (Mental note: change default settings asap. Set Key sounds to OFF.) I checked out the various alarm clock beeping options in the phone - also fairly inoffensive - and noted the PDA is well on its way to redundancy.

I turned on the kettle (beep), looked in the fridge for milk, left the door open too long (beep beep beep), set the microwave (beep) and journeyed through my day, with a sound track of other electronic beeps, tweets and blips, making a mental note of just a few of the other things that beep at us:

- Washing machine
- Microwave (I once had one that would not only beep when finished, but continue to keep beeping until I opened it. Real pain in the ass if I was busy in another room doing something else, or wanted to turn it on then leave the house for a while)
- Oven timer
- Remote control for air-con
- The iron when it's left on
- PCs, laptops
and beyond appliances,
- Digital Wristwatches,
- stopwatches
- The car : petrol level, seatbelt warning, handbrake warning, doors open, not in the right gear, petrol level warning warning warning
etc

You name it. It has electronics in it somewhere? It beeps.

For a moment I wondered what a 19th century time-traveller would think of all these electronic pips and squeaks? Would they be disconcerted? Amused, then soon irritated?
I guess there'd be so many other things to be more freaked out about eg airplanes, computers, technology of any kind - that a bit of beeping would be just be part of the texture.
Just as it is today.
Except when it's 3am ....
and it's that particular ear-curling, brain sizzling, smoke alarm B E E P.

ffffound images

http://ffffound.com/image/491a9d4ae20b15002ab6b39c23ac7c990e55b364

Things I will miss

The Valley Pool. Even if it is full of bobby pins. And the change room floor is covered with bobby pins. I'll even miss those bobby pins.

Friendly shopkeepers. The grocery store guy who noticed I'd not been in for a while and welcomed me back.

Strangers who actually stop to ask if you're ok while you're sitting by the river having a .... "moment".

My colleagues and the friends I've made. Those like-minded spirits who I respect, admire and care for.

The winter weather that's like a mild, endless summer that just pulls you outdoors.

This spacious apartment.

G Block at QUT.

Free pikelets at the election booth.

Baby water dragons running across the bike path.

Grass

I was sitting on the grass.
By the river.
Legs crossed, in the shade.
Shade from a too searing hot, mid-morning sun.
And the grass felt cool.
The river was brownish and not especially scenic.
But there was something slightly calming about it.
Water.
A body of water, separating me from buildings, roads.
It gave space to the landscape.

But between me and it was a tarmac path.
A walkway.
A bikeway.
A busy path.
I hung my head to look at the grass, and to avoid the passing people.
To try and process exactly what it was I was feeling.
And - more important - why?

The grass was very soft and very green.
Not typical of the area.
I stroked a blade between my fingers.
Stroke stroke stroke
While I thought thought thought
If it was a kitten, I'd have been stroking its head, thoughtfully.

But there was no rent-a-kitten stall here for passing meditators, troubled pedestrians.
Right then that blade of grass was my best friend in the whole world.
I loved that grass.
My fingers were very gentle with it.

People passed from time to time, walking mostly.
The odd bike swishing and ticking past.
As I gradually processed, and just let the feelings be felt.
One set of approaching footsteps seemed to sound closer than they ought.
Drawn into my orbit by a gravity.
A passing stranger. Literally.
Then he spoke.

"Are you ok?"

That was possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Time limit

I'm sitting opposite the doctor – the specialist – and he has the results of my tests. 4 weeks in left in this life. That's not very long.

I'm on the phone to the rental agent. Last week I learned the owner had decided to sell and now the termination of my lease is confirmed. I'm going to have to pack everything up and move again.

I'm in the meeting room with the head of the company. I'd learned a week earlier about the GFC's sudden violent blow. Now he's telling us each officially one by one. My employment will terminate at the end of the month.

I'm in the warden's office, waiting for a decision on my parole. I've been on my extremely very best behaviour and, according to the rules, I know I should be allowed out in 6 months. His response is unexpected. Not paroled, but completely free in the big wide world in 4 weeks.

Look what they done to my.....

.... scenic riverside commute

Atypical Saturday

It's the last day of February and things are a little strange. Life is changing suddenly. The change has come from outside me – and I don't yet have all the details – but I think that ultimately the decision on how to act will really be mine. While partially I am in a wait-and-see state, my mind is already ticking constantly with plans, contingencies, getting ready for action. I've not slept especially well and woke this morning from a nightmare.

It has been an out-of-character day. I've been poring over historical parts of my life I've never had an interest in before, reliving completely forgotten memories. But having done that, I've then been letting go of precious, historical belongings. Stuff that I've held on to for years and carried to each new home, but that was really just taking up space on shelves.

By no means a typical day. This might be a good time to reinvent myself.

Warning Signs

Looking back over the last few weeks, I now see there were warning signs.
While channel surfing, I watched just 5 minutes of So You Think You Can Dance Australia and it made me cry. When the young dancer heard she'd made it into the to twenty, her face crumpled and she sobbed openly, genuinely; and tears leaked straight out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I didn't know this girl, I didn't care about her. The effect was sympathetic, physical. Contagious. Like catching a yawn. Those TV producers know exactly how to push all the right buttons. They call that good TV.

Then there were the news, radio and press reports of the Victorian bushfires. Genuine tragedy. Genuinely upsetting. With sad faces and lowered voices, my colleagues discussed it. But none of them crying about it. Just me. When reading an online story about one town, the tears formed spontaneously -in an open plan office - and I had to stop reading. And stop watching the news.

And there were those random times at work when things were just – well –just hard. The client being difficult. Arguments between colleagues etc. The utterly usual everyday office stuff. An inner voice is saying: I could either laugh or curl up and cry right now. But I didn't see it as anything more than work stress. I am, after all, in the most drudgerous phase of my current project. "The joyless part", as a workmate put it. And the feeling passed quickly.

Even the thought of someone acting kindly towards a stranger made me a little teary. Or the sight of a couple cuddling under a shelter from the rain. I guess I'm just extra sensitive this week, I explain to myself.

These were all signs. As was the creeping feeling, the sense that there was something inside me I needed to express but couldn't. Like I needed to scream. Though I didn't really. I knew screaming wouldn't have been the answer. Or go out and get drunk. But I'm a hopeless drinker and I know that wouldn't have been the answer either. It might have been need to do something random and reckless perhaps. I don't know what was inside me so I didn't know how to let it out. I briefly described the sensation to a friend, in a detached, analytical way. As if stepping outside and observing myself. Knowing that this too was a passing emotion and it would evaporate without any screaming drinking or recklessness required. I didn't really believe, so dismissed it. And to prove me right, it seemed to pass.

But it was a sign.

There was also that little voice in my head, over the last couple of weeks, that every now and then would mutter "I think you're depressed" - when it observed minor little behaviours, slight changes in me. Like sleeping in, for example. That's not a helpful voice. It's best told to shut up and go away, because saying is believing, so I'd better start saying something else to myself instead.

That was another warning sign. The failure to say kind things to myself. I didn't even notice the increasing reticence of the voice that normally points out all the good stuff. As if it was too hard to find the good things in each day. Even noting the little things was too much effort.

Swimming laps is a time to think about many and random things. On Friday morning the thoughts went to life in general. Job satisfaction, purpose, ambitions, dreams. The thought trail didn't end well and the general conclusion is that this is not how my life should be and things must change. But we've all had those thoughts before. I gave them no importance and eventually the stream of consciousness moved on to something else.

Cycling along the river one morning I thought : thank god for gravity. Without it I might just float up and away. What else is holding me here to this city, this life?

I didn't pay any attention to these small, separate things. They were discrete and fleeting. But I should have known. Things then got a bit strange.

5.30 on Friday evening after an extremely long week at work in which I often complained to myself at how I'm forced to spend way too much time at the office: people are packing up and it's obvious that I could actually leave with them too, and not stay late for a change. Where there should be a moment of joy, instead for just a nano-second there is a weird pang. A tiny, senseless jab of loss and lostness. Work's over. They're all going off to their weekend lives and family. The ground seeming less than solid for a moment.

The sensation is brief and I push it away. Just some old, knee jerk emotion from the old workaholic me. Crazy talk. This is what I've been longing for all week - to get out of the office while it's still daylight. Hurrah. Joy. I close my computer and go out into the Friday evening traffic and get things done. Personal, non-work things. Freedom. Relief.

I stay up late enjoying reading, watching DVDs - luxuriating in this unexpected gift of leisure time. I don't feel tired. I don't want to go to sleep. That too is a sign. I am in no hurry for tomorrow.

I usually sleep well. But not this night. I wake twice with a feeling that's very familiar, but also very old. I've not had it for a long time. And I'd hoped not to have it again. It's somewhere between panic and fear, but diluted and distant, extremely subtle and impossible to grasp. It lurks behind trees. Won't be seen. And I have no idea what I am afraid of. I search my memory quickly – was it something in a dream? – but it's blank. So I ignore it. I'm half asleep, and soon go back to sleep.

When I wake up properly on Saturday morning (Valentine's Day) feeling normal, all seems fine. But of course it isn't. It's been lurking for weeks and I can feel it's really here now. This time it won't be brushed aside, or rationalised away or killed by ignoring it to death. With some sense of inevitability or resignation, I let it happen. It's bigger than me now. Maybe it's almost a relief. As if I can stop battling and just give up, give in. I'm squatting under the desk, mopping up cat pee where the cat has missed the tray – again – and properly crying now. Spontaneous tears, sobbing - the full catastrophe - but without the drastic intensity of true grief. They're tired tears. Stale. Resigned. And the phrase "emotional hijacking" repeats itself over and over.

I'm sobbing and mopping and thinking there's no focus for this. No single pinpointing problem or event. So I look back over the last couple of weeks and now I see this was bound to happen. I'd failed to notice all the warning signs.

Sunday Sunset

After a busy Sunday the public pool has a particular quality. It's tired, worn and uncared for. And seems somehow symbolic of something greater, but that I can't quite name. The sun's below the horizon, the daylight softening. Everything is in light shadow, signifying the end of day, end of weekend. End of things in general.

The pool complex has the aura of a damp fag end in a gutter. The bottom of the pool itself is scattered with detritus. The usual accumulated stuff: band aids, bobby pins, hair elastics; but also completely random stuff – today a AA size battery. The empty change rooms everywhere indicate recent crowds, now elsewhere. Bits of grass and soil trodden in on wet feet; clumps of the hair of a hundred previous swimmers, clogging the drain in the shower; pieces of rubbish in the corners of cubicles; the top broken off the soap dispenser and lying in a foamy puddle by the sink; random slicks of water on the floor where bathers have dried off and changed, and wrung out their cossies.

The effect is emphasised by the dim, late afternoon light, the lack of other people, the sounds of just the few remaining swimmers plapping up and down the lanes, and the scutter of roller shutters on the kiosk going down. The paint stains on the wall are noticeable today, as are the fading letters of the old scuba advert, the curling corners of the hand made memos blue-tacked to the wall.

There's the smell of anti-climax, of things past. Of fun and laughter now wrapped up and departed, leaving an emptiness. It's all over for today. But the pool complex will look fresh and revived again tomorrow morning, optimistic, and ready to receive another batch of swimmers.

Facebook statuses and twitters I never posted

Glod wishes she had 3 arms: 2 for the handlebars to brake and steer and a 1 to whack the sides of cars who cut me off in the bike lane.

Glod thinks Urban Design degrees should include a course in how to make small public spaces that don't end up smelling of pee.

Glod wonders why pool etiquette isn't a compulsory subject. Or just common sense really.

Glod had an attack of the willies the whole way home after I rode past a big spider then looked back to see it had vanished. Had it hitched a ride with me?

Glod's looking for inspiration.

my kind of vandals

There's more fun at Literary Bohemian.

Free Range Egg's What?