K. (infinitemonkeys) wrote,

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I had a pleasant enough holiday, though my father treated me like I was about 12 and I took the dogs out *a lot*. Presents were all boring but useful.

Father ended up painting the living room on Christmas eve morning, prompting my mother to use the F-word to him. Usually she would rather eat babies than use that word, so we took it that this was serious. Dad told me he worried about me because I didn't have many friends and I have almost no family because I am an only child. Grandchildren were mentioned. I took the dogs out. *g*

Came back to my house on Friday to blessed silence. I love an empty house.

* * *

Today, as I write, BBC2 is playing "I love 1989", which is just too close to me to feel comfortable in ways I cannot explain.

Heh. Most inarticulate beginning to an LJ entry ever.

See, Madchester was my scene as a teenager. Stone Roses, Mondays, bloody Northside, World of Twist and Intastella -- and The Haçienda (except I never really liked the Haç as much as I liked The PSV in Hulme or The Academy on a Tuesday when Dave Haslam played and later The State and the Mineshaft (which was, as its name indicates, a gay club most of the time))

For the very briefest nanosecond, I was actually in the middle of a cool scene. I was clueless, as usual, but I was in the middle of a very cool scene. Me, feeling all happy and hidden in my baggy clothes, actually dancing. Seeing The Orb five times and thinking Andrew Weatherall was a god. Playing "Screamadelica" obsessively. The Chemical Brothers DJing back when they were called The Dust Brothers. Going to The Brickhouse, where they played The Stooges and Mudhoney. Thinking "Touch Me, I'm Sick" was going to be "our song" for me and Steve. Yeesh.

I was even a member of "Freedom 2 Party". Oh my God, the word "loser" is too good for me, *g*

Such a *very* happy scene for such a short time, before it all went to hell and guns shut everything down.

Oh man, I have to go dig out "Hallelujah" and "Wrote For Luck" now, and let out my inner scally.

Ouch. Nostalgia overload. Must stop.

* * *

So apparently, over Christmas I grew a spine. I have written a letter of resignation to the Saturday job and this coming Saturday's shift will be my last. I hope I don't regret it.

Now I must go about the whole "getting a life" thing. What to do with my Saturday nights... hmmm. Guess I should try to shed a few tonnes and go out more, no?

The advertising recession is kicking the shit out of the place where I work. Fortunately, I can do pretty much everything, so I am hoping that that will see me through. We don't have shareholders to placate, which helps.

* * *

So, I have the oddest sense of foreboding about tomorrow. Not in a personal sense, although I am working the late shift and will be hearing Big Ben chime midnight from the confines of an office in Clerkenwell. In a world sort of sense.

Tomorrow makes me shiver. I'm probably being silly.

Or possibly today now, given that it is the last day of 2002 here now, already.

Be careful out there, people.

Have a happy new year. See you all on the other side.

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