Tag Archives: wasting time

Daytime sleeping, or: wasting time

Even though I’ve been quite knackered for the last couple of days, I still haven’t seen fit to do a daytime or early sleep. See, I’m very much the kind of person who wants to maintain as much free time as possible, even if I am only going to waste it, so going to sleep early, or having a nap or whatever, just seems like… well, wasting it.

But in a different, worse-wasting kind of way. Definitely makes sense.

Like today – we finish work at 1pm on Fridays, and for once I came straight home. I have now been sat here since about two, watching things, playing games, whatever – feeling absolutely knackered. To the point where I’ve nodded off a couple of times, though only for a minute or two.

Yet in spite of having a totally free afternoon in which to catch up on some well-needed sleep, I have opted to not go to bed. My brain tells me “do things! Don’t waste your own time!” which I can get on board with. But yeah, it’s not like the things I do are of any value or relevance.

Also, because I’m still knackered now, my writing skill – or at least my ability to concentrate on a point I’m making – is focked. Hence getting vague nonsense like this and the previous entry. The entry before that was just a drunken one.

I must be losing readers here, this has been a shower of shite for the last few days. AH WELL, 500-odd blogs will do that to someone who has as little to say as I do.

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Musings on not existing, or something

I paused the game I was playing at about half past seven – I know as I remember looking at the clock then. I sat for a bit, did a bit of surfing the information superhighway, ate some delicious, life-giving toffees and clementines and generally got my dressing gowning on. Then all of a sudden it was half ten. That honestly felt like about 20 minutes had passed, but I’ve actually been sat here three hours doing nothing of consequence or worth.

See, in this situation even playing the game I paused (which is still sitting there on pause) would have been productive, as it’s for the mag. But no, I have done nothing, accomplished nothing, I’ve barely even said anything funny to DSG. I may as well have not existed for the last three hours.

If I hadn’t existed – just for that period of time – would it have mattered? I honestly doubt it. Nobody would have missed much. Even DSG would have just written it off as me not talking to her for a bit, rather than me being sucked through a tear in the fabric of space-time. Which is what it would be, naturally. And not just because I watched Star Trek earlier.

I think it’s interesting to put things into that kind of perspective – that I am so thoroughly unimportant the world wouldn’t even consider maybe thinking about possibly ever breaking its stride if I was to cease existing. And I reckon it’s the same for most, if not all of you reading this too. Just consider that for a second – aside from a (relatively) small group of people who know and love you, what would it matter if you disappeared tonight? It wouldn’t. You are as insignificant as the billions of people who have died before you.

I mean, I don’t actually care about any of this. I’m just filling up words. I like sitting around doing fuck all, and I’m clearly really good at it. Loads of people I know can’t spend four minutes in their own company with nothing but a computer in front of them. I reckon they just need dressing gowns. I’m going to try and blink away six hours tomorrow, then nine on Sunday. I might let you know how it goes (I won’t).

As for not mattering? I could go into my real, genuine feelings on that but I’d end up sounding like a BUMMER GAY, so I won’t. Needless to say, nobody is insignificant. Well, apart from you, obviously.

Christ, that was almost like free writing.


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I am incapable of working on trains

I have just spent another productive double-figured set of hours on trains up and down the country, getting on with work, writing entries for this blog and generally using this time that would be otherwise wasted doing all the things a responsible adult should be doiOHNOWAIT.

No, I spent five hours on Friday afternoon watching How I Met Your Mother (more on that another time) and Edge Of Darkness (shit, bollocks Ray Winston and cockarse ending: 7/10). I spent around six-and-a-bit hours (thanks for re-routing through Guildford, trains!) watching more How I Met Your Mother. Much as it helped to pass the time and much as I enjoy watching things and being made to laugh (seriously – more on how HIMYM actually makes me laugh another time), I do think it’s a bit of waste to veg in such a way on these long journeys.

But then, it’s exactly what I would do if I were at home for those hours. Friday afternoon when I’m not playing football, I have no money and Anna’s not coming down/I’m not going up to Manchester? I will sit and do nothing, watching some crap I’ve downloaded “legally”. Why should it be any different on the train?

It also doesn’t help that you get the legions of foul-smelling mouth-breathers who all seem curiously attracted to sitting next to me and not understanding that I’m fucking big, hence they have to make a small sacrifice of a bit of their god damned space to let me be that little bit less uncomfortable than normal. Those gawking plebs staring at my screen as I try to concentrate and be – shudder as much as I do when I say this – creative do not contribute to a healthy or productive working environment.

I’ve managed to write a couple of blogs on the train, but both times I resorted to making the font size so small nobody could read it. My typing is good enough that I don’t need to see what I’m doing to know I’m generally getting it right, naturally. But it doesn’t help. Turns out trains just aren’t the perfect working environment for me I always hoped they would be.

I never hoped they would be, that was a lie brought on by the dementia that explodes from within your skull after having been cooped up in a meat wagon for a third of a day. And knowing that when you get back you have about five hours of sleep before you’re up and back on one to that awful London place.

Still, at least I’m not dead.


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The Fear

I no longer remember a time when I didn’t have The Fear. Well, that’s a lie I’ve just made up for dramatic effect – I still remember being a child and having no responsibility whatsoever. That was great. I wrote things for fun then, and didn’t give a shit what people thought about them. Now I’m too wracked by self-doubt and lethargy that I don’t get anything done outside of work and here (this, of course, being used as an aid to keep my fingers nimble and my mind match fit). But that’s another topic for another time. What I want to talk about is something that’s been with me since I was 11 years old: The Fear.

Back in comprehensive school (hah! I’m poor!) we had homework. I would leave it until the night before – sometimes the morning – it had to be handed in before I would do it, and I would always get it done to a decent enough standard. Then came 6th form: same story. University was an interesting one, as while the fear was ever-present, I actually managed to go completely off the rails and nadger up my second year, actually missing deadlines and eventually dropping out. But that wasn’t the fault of The Fear: that was outside interference. No, The Fear has always been an ally; there to push me to get my finger out, to get the job done and to be more than just another failure working in a shop for the rest of my life. It’s what got me back on track when I re-enrolled at uni, and it’s what got me to write my 10,000 words of dissertation in under two days (the less said about the mark (I passed!) the better).

And then so came the Dark Years – unemployment, working in a shop, not doing anything of worth and generally being a bit shit. It took about a year of this before I felt the urge. I felt it picking away at the back of my neck, reminding me that I should get off my arse and… well, sit down and write some things. It was my old friend, back after around 12 months of travelling the world looking for more things to inflict itself on me with. Writing to deadlines again for freelance work, I was once more on the saddle riding The Fear. Since then it’s hardly been from my side.

I went from the Dark Years on to more schooling – again with homework, exams and portfolios to keep The Fear topped up. On finishing, I immersed myself in more of the things that had kept me tiding over before the course: daily work to be done, reviews, interviews and anything else to keep me writing. Then I got this job last year, and it’s so perfect for me it’s unreal. Yes, I get paid to play videogames and have opinions on them, yes it’s a magazine I read as a 14-year-old and yes I do enjoy it quite a lot. But the main thing that keeps me going; that keeps me happy?

This job is based almost entirely around The Fear.

I love The Fear.

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My week off work

Can anyone tell me what good use of a week off work is? Or at least what is considered a good, well-spent week off work? Because it would appear I don’t know. I decided it would be a good idea to visit my ladychum in Manchester and desecrate her flat for the week: good idea. That’s where they end.

In this week where I could be productive, fun, catch up on sleep and generally sort myself out a bit I have done nothing of the above. I’m surprised I even managed to arrive in Manchester without falling into a coma or something.

Instead of doing things I should be doing, exercising my brain or anything of the sort, I have spent the last couple of days – for example – finding old games to install on my netbook. I have also spent a lot of this time locating newer games that can successfully be tweaked enough to run on the very same netbook. Have I even played any of these games yet? Oh god no. You have to remember it’s the chase that’s the exciting part. After that it just gets boring. It’s the sitting, trawling through reams of half-literate nonsense all over the interspaz that gets me excited about the possibilities of these things. Then you finally load up a functioning version of Daggerfall and realise it’s slow, clunky and resoundingly old. Not at all like you remember it.

I haven’t been fun, though this is pretty much par for the course when it comes to post-2006-Leeds Ian, which was pretty much the cut-off point for me bothering to go out very much anymore. So surely with a lack of pubbing and drinking I have managed to catch up with some sleep? No. Awake at about half nine every morning, up at about half ten after staring at the walls for an hour. In a week where I have had no responsibilities whatsoever I have failed to even do the thing that is most important to me: to sleep.

Many would consider this a wasted week, but then many insist on doing things like going outside, talking to people and whatever else they feel is “normal”, whatever that is. I actually consider it a good week off.

Anyway, I have to go see if Oldblivion makes Oblivion playable on this tiny thing.


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Novice anthropology (for idiots)

It’s fun to study the behaviour of friends and ‘those you know’ over the internets, and it’s even more fun when there’s been a buggerload of shit weather keeping people mostly indoors. I say ‘fun’, I mean ‘a mild distraction today’. See, it’s all too easy to forget that I’m not what people would consider normal, in that I am more than comfortable sitting around in my pants playing games/watching films/surfing the infohighwaysupernetwork all day. And I do mean all day.

So when these folks you pay attention to are forced to enter your world through a massive act of God Himself (He shat snow everywhere, basically), you can analyse how these outwardly-going, social creatures react. And it tends to be by instantly going stir crazy. Complaints about boredom obviously appear first, followed soon after by a discovery of some timewasting nonsense on the internet and fifty links to accompany it (hello). It doesn’t take long for the British sense of desparation to set in, and it takes even less time after that for the British idiocy to set in, seeing them leave the house and try to take on the cold. “You will not stop me!” they cry, “I am above mere weather!”

Next thing you know, they’re a statistic in this story.

So what have we learned? Nothing much, as this is exactly as the blog title says: worthless prattle. I’m actually not against going out at all, I just wrote half of this without thinking then couldn’t be bothered starting again. That’s the kind of commitment to quality you get from me. I realise I’ve made this sound as if I’m some disheveled, crotchety old hermit, more afraid of sunlight than I am of volcanoes (and my word am I scared of volcanoes), but this isn’t the case. I’m actually a social dynamo. I have more than several friends, though probably not in double figures, and I once held a full conversation with a girl. Before she moved on to the next customer. I just find it funny how many people are absolutely incapable of being in their own company, or simply sitting about, entertaining themselves. Apparently this is considered ‘wasting time’, but I tend to disagree.

After all, as Bertrand Russell said: “The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.”


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