Tag Archives: work

There must be more to this

I really would like to be able to switch off for a bit: to not constantly worry about things that teeter on the brink of being in my control in the slightest sense. But I can’t.

In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter, but then in the grand scheme of things nothing matters. In fact it was decided with a colleague on the walk to work this morning that everything does in fact tie itself up nicely at the end like a good film or TV show.

Not necessarily when you die, of course, but in hundreds of thousands – or millions, or billions – of years when everyone and everything there is ceases to be on this earth. If we’ve gone beyond this planet? Fine, wait a bit longer until the entire universe collapses in on itself and everything becomes nothing, and nothing becomes everything.

Then all your loose ends will be tied up. So nothing matters, or something.

Still, it doesn’t stop my brain from worrying. It doesn’t stop me from always being switched on; from being unable to properly relax at any point. Things are always there at the back of my mind, eating away and pissing me off however they can.

And you have to stop and think: why do we do this? A job I like does this to me, so I wonder what I job I hated would do. We, as people, in the majority, aren’t made to work like this every day – we aren’t made to serve, to repeat tasks, to be bored, to just get on with functioning in a glorified slave-driven economy until we expire. That’s just not what people are about.

We should all be running around fields or some such shit, chasing balls and shitting in ditches and… oh, wait, I’ve gone and got people mixed up with dogs. My mistake.

As you were.

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Working costumes

I think I need to improve the barrier I have between work and not-work. Unfortunately for me, my work is my main hobby/the thing I love/whatever, so it’s hard to separate the two. When I spend the day writing about things that happen in the world of gaming then go home and relax by reading up on the events in the day relating to gaming, it can be… yeah.

So I need clearer divides so my mind can separate the two easier and I don’t feel the need to be on the job at all times (note: I don’t mean doing a poo). There needs to be something beyond just not being in the office to differentiate the two.

I need a costume.

No, I don’t mean uniform. I’m not going to start wearing a suit to work, as funny as it would be to nab one of Burns’ nice ones and out-suit all the other smart clothes-wearers in the office. Nor am I going to specifically purchase ‘work clothes’ or anything else that reminds me too much of school.

No, I need a proper, bona fide costume in the style of every superhero ever. After all, with me being Best In The World, it’s only fair that I get some lycra and bright colours that really show how BITW I actually am.

Plus this would mean that if I ever get bored on the way home from work and need to do something to liven it up, I can start fighting crime. I’m thinking Super style, with a wrench to the skull. I’d say Kick Ass style, but I can feel pain and I don’t want to hang around with a 12-year-old girl.

Anyway, yeah. That. Someone make me a costume. I’ll pay you in a handshake and – possibly – by saying “thanks”, but I’ll likely mumble it through my own sense of lacking self confidence and you’ll take this to mean I don’t really mean the thanks even though I do and it starts a whole thing and oh god why do I even bother.

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How to make your walk to work faster

I’ve found an innovative new technique by which I can increase the speed of my journeys to and from work. Or, at the very least, make them feel like they don’t take the 25-30 minutes they actually do. It’s so simple, I’m shocked I never realised it before.

Just be in a funk. A mood. Angry. Pissed off. Headachey. Annoyed. Irritable. Be all of those and some other ones, all at the same time, and it simply flies by.

Obviously that just means ‘be Ian Dransfield’, but it’s hard damn work to be me each and every day. I mean, some days I’ve been known to wake up not hating each and every one of you wastes of skin. Though that is admittedly a very rare occurrence.

It also requires that my day of sitting making Hilarious and Satirical comments about videogames and the rest of the world isn’t as… let’s go with ‘normal’… as it usually is. It requires I be pissed off by something.

I had to edit DVD videos today, so let’s say that’s why I was pissed off. Because I was. Fiddly shit.

But it helps, it seems. My journey to work, recovering from a complete lack of sleep and the fear I was on the verge of death by headache when I was woken up by stabbing brain pain at about 4am, seemed to take about three minutes.

My walk back, in which I was still furious about anything and everything, appeared to take about 7 Seconds.

No, wait – that’s what I was listening to.

Either way, it didn’t seem to take that long. I still need a Segway, though.

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MY LIFE IS SO HARD WAH WAH WAH

I am currently in that wonderful packing situation we all find ourselves in so often. You know the one: you have to pack to go on holiday tomorrow, so you’re trying to make a list of what to take in order to forget as little as possible. Halfway through writing that sentence you remember you need to take a plug charger. The list isn’t going so swimmingly as you’re half-watching the wrestling and playing Football Manager (hello, ladies). You’re also part-confused because you’re off to another place, this time for work, the day after you get back from your real holiday and you keep thinking to write things down that you don’t actually need until then, plus you keep forgetting you need to take some shit out of your wallet, lest you lose it in Portugal. You have freelance half done – it’ll get done, but it’s still sitting there not quite done. Then you realise John Laurinaitis sounds like the surrogate from Arrested Development (via Dan, naturally). Then you wonder if you left the batteries at work – but it doesn’t matter because you’re still at work tomorrow. You’re not sure if you should pack everything this evening, as you have time tomorrow before catching a 15 minute bus to some shack masquerading as an airport. And you’re still getting mixed up – a Dictaphone is not necessary for a holiday with friends. Friends and Jack.

We all end up in this situation on a regular basis, I’m sure.

Sod it, I’ll just play Football Manager until my eyes explode.

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(Metaphorical) weight off my chest: relieves no (metaphorical) pressure

For the first time in just over a month I do not have any looming spectre of extra work looking over my shoulder, nudging me that I should be paying attention to it instead of looking at funny pictures of hairnets. I’ve actually done all of the huge amounts of freelance I took on.

Don’t get me wrong, there will be more to come in future I’m sure – unless I’ve spectacularly nadgered up somewhere – but right now, the here and now, I am done.

But I don’t feel like a weight has been lifted. I don’t feel glad that I don’t have to spend my time outside of work doing more work. It’s quite odd. In fact, it might be my brain demanding I get more ‘lance in to sate its desires for more future-money (which will instantly disappear on unquantifiable nonsense, like ‘bills’ and ‘interest’ I HAVE NO INTEREST IN INTEREST).

Maybe my brain has taken to freelance like a Mancunian to heroin, or a Scouser to car theft. Maybe it needs that buzz. I know I thrive on deadlines and tend to turn into a useless hunk of meat when there’s no pressure on me, but I didn’t realise I could get addicted to paid homework.

Apparently I can, though. I wonder what the equivalent of methadone is for this kind of situation. Blogging every day, probably. OHNOWAIT.

Maybe it’s nothing to do with work and I’m just massively depressed* because I’m not happy with any element of my life right now, and things I thought were out of my head actually aren’t out of my head at all and are actually really bothering – and saddening – me quite a lot.

That, or I’m just a bit tired and hungry. I’ll have a jam sandwich, see what that does for the ol’ mood.

* “Slightly miffed”, in a less hyperboleic sense.

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Schooool’s (“work’s”) out for summer (“winter”)

I finished work today, at least until early January. It’s weird that even at my old, old age the process of having a last day for a while still conjures up the exact same feelings I had when similar situations would arise at school.

It’s nothing mental, weird or even major in any real way, it’s just that strange feeling at the back of my mind that I associate very deeply with breaking up for whatever holiday at school. I feel I should go around and say goodbye to everyone, wish them happy whatevers and some other platitudes. But then when it comes to it, I just don’t bother. It isn’t out of rudeness – at least not intentionally – it’s just I either forget or my brain asks ‘what’s the point?’ so much I just cave and listen to the squelchy mushball. Exactly what always happened at school and exactly what happens at work too.

Weirdly, I never had these issues in my mind when at uni, but that’s probably down to the fact we always went out. So we’d just go out again, only this time claim it was to say our goodbyes. In fact, I remember a time where a male friend broke down in tears because we were going home for the summer. Definitely wasn’t me. No, really, it wasn’t.

Seriously though – it wasn’t.

I have a headache, so this is a short one today. Also I Tweeted something about a Frankie Boyle-based entry today, but I can’t be bothered thinking about him. It angers the blood. Though not because he made a joke about Jordan’s kid.

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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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