From time to time I get antsy about my own existence and try to come up with plans for making it better, more valid; prosperous, fulfilling and extraordinary. This weekend I have decided I need some new shelves.
Ever since I moved back into this place, I have decided to minimalise my life. I don’t want loads of useless things that I will use perhaps once a year and discard in an unloved heap in some dark corner. This has served me reasonably well up until recently, at which point I started rooting around in packing boxes looking for things I’d previously shelved but not forgotten about. The result is a magnificent mess everywhere because I’ve got nowhere to put any of my new old stuff.
Wouldn’t it be great if I had a place to put other things? I think my life would be so much better if I were to go out and buy furniture, and in fact I’m going to tell myself sternly that this is precisely what I’m going to do. When I get around to it.
The real solution is quite obviously to put everything away again, but that requires far more proactive effort on my part than dreaming of minor life renovations and implementing no change whatsoever. You may point out that this is a character flaw, but I’ll politely ignore remarks like those.
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The week as sort of melted away. I find myself in the second half with little recollection as to how I got here. I have given up on trying to do anything constructive on weekdays, after work. I burn out far too easily, which is sad because I don’t do nearly as much work as some people I know.
Despite forcing myself to take things slowly, I am left with the nagging feeling of not having any free time. It’s uncanny and completely unfair, but I guess it’s a side effect of full time work. I ended up buying myself a laptop at least, which is another.
- Posted July 28, 2010
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My angry driving catchphrase is “where’s your indicator, dickhead?” as I come to a complete and unexpected stop behind some cretin turning right across two lanes of unbroken peak hour traffic.
I’ve been without my bike for a week because apparently that’s how long it takes to charge someone $300 to twiddle some knobs. If I knew more and cared even slightly I’d learn how to service my own damn bike, but until there’s any incentive I’ll continue to be surprised by unexpected bills such as this.
I really want to get myself a new bike all of my very own, but it’s a massive purchase and I still don’t know enough about bikes to know what I want. I think I want a sweet road bike so that I can zoom past the traffic and get to work in five minutes flat, but I’m concerned about the amount of maintenance it will require going backward and forward through the most filthy and industrial side streets of Eagle Farm all week.
I will have to do some reading up and work out exactly what I want. I might have to go to a workshop or something and see if I can pick up some tricks.
As I motored in to the bicycle superstore tonight with bike rack in tow, I couldn’t help but feel relieved. Even the extra eighty bucks extortion I handed over from this second lot of repairs was fine, because it means I can stop stressing about transport. I like riding to work because of the freedom it provides, and relying on buses and trains and cars is terribly crass. Maybe I will be happier now.
- Posted July 22, 2010
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This Tuesday I grudgingly hoisted my large and cumbersome self out of bed, threw together an outfit and was out the door on my bike faster than you can say lickety split. Having stayed up late in a long weekend rebellion and fingered snooze alarm clumsily twice on my brand new and glossy touch-screen phone, I was in a two-fold terrible state and running late as well.
It was quite a cold morning, and as I wheeled down the criminally uneven surface of Meredith street I wondered what possible reason I could have for riding my bicycle to work. Surely this was some kind of punishment devised by the gods themselves for my crimes untold.
Alas it was a part of my then-new fitness regime. Having cycled to and from work a few times the week before, I’d decided that it was time to get back into the mix of cars and trucks and Kingsford Smith Drive, and cycle-commute myself to work.
The trip was surprisingly easy; the wind was favourable and the final stretch along one of the worst roads I’ve ever ridden was swift and pleasurable. There were only two vehicles that cut me off throughout the entire trip, and by the time I got to work I was positively glowing.
In the showers I discovered I’d lost my asthma puffer, and consequently wheezed throughout the morning.
The week continued in the usual fashion. Work; commute; sleep; commute; repeat, as if wishing my life away were as easy as that. Come Friday I had ticked a similar number of sweet nothings off my long and listless manifest of life missions as the futile week before. Continuing the trend of health kicks past, I drove home and had corn chips for dinner.
Next week I begin anew, a fresh slate for an arbitrary period. This time my resolutions will stick.
- Posted June 18, 2010
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Today I’m catching the bus to work. Its been a good week despite this.
I bought new shoes on the weekend specifically with the intent of walking stupid distances. Yesterday was one such occasion when I walked home from work again. Gave myself a headache from doing so, which I figure means I should probably limit efforts like this to about an hour in future, but lesson learned. It was fun while it lasted.
Also started (and I know how daft this sounds) riding to work yesterday as well. Thirty-ish minutes total to get there. Wasn’t too bad I thought. Still, I want to take it easy while I get myself back into it, which is why I left my bike at work overnight. I will retrieve it this afternoon.
At the moment I’m cruising down Junction Road on one of the most temperamental bus services in Brisbane. It only runs twice a day, and the earlier service leaves right before my train arrives. This makes me highly bitter, but I guess I’m making positive steps to avoid it in future.
- Posted June 8, 2010
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