Blue Saturday

i missed the bday iirc hb wins

i've slept about ten hours since last sunday, neighbours and criminals are tag-teaming me ito sleep deprivation trolling. can't imagine doing any of the college stuff that needs done for tomorrow deadline or study for exams next week. the room is spinnin here.

sleep deprivation is the absolute worst if you need to do anything with yr brain

i'm cooking chicken and rice and listening to the football, the food shd keep me on the straight and narrow for a while anyway

oh ya football, college'll wait

sleep deprivation is the absolute worst if you need to do anything with yr brain

for at least four and a half years after i graduated college, i was fucking with my sleep. two and a half weeks ago or so i fixed it, meaning i'm usually getting close to eight hours a night now. that, coupled with some changes in diet and other things, has worked miracles. if you don't actually have insomnia and can find a way to get regular sleep, every night, around the same time, do it. seriously. do it now.

En route back from town with noise cancelling buds, bro has dropboxed me some binaural beats, heres nothin

I used to have horrid noisy neighbour problems. Got a ten minute file of white noise, stick it on massive speakers either side of my bed for eight hours a night. I don't hear anything any more; I just sleep through pretty much everything: football games, karaoke night at the pub, the Boring Machine digging up the road. The only thing it doesn't cancel out is the noise in my head.

it's impressive how much panic and fear of death the prospect of returning to work arouses

Do connoisseurs of melancholic states see a distinction between Blue Saturday and Sunday Sad?

Blue Saturday: still feeling jangled and battered with the indignities of the working week, generally disagreeable if not misanthropic, awareness of the opportunities for enjoyment but too knackered to enjoy them fully which in is elf is depressing.

Sunday Sad: more rested, but doom-like sense of working week looming, sense of desperation in people to wring out the last moments of pleasure from sunday meal afternoon drinking, evening has slight religious overtones of that classic Betjeman "St. Giles's bells are ringing round,slanting summer rain....rainy leaves..dull with death and hell at last"

when i titled this thread it was a specificity, a blue saturday. but that was a repetitive experience, even if i hadn't recognized it then. i hadn't really started to think about blueness properly then either, it's only in the last few months i've started to really think about the implications of living blue, or blue as a multivalent lens for existence.

i'm not even sure all blue sundays are the same, tho they feel most consistent in spirit and sharing. there are a lot of distinctions, a lot of shades. i'd even maybe separate the blue from the sick anxiety i'm burning with today: blue is cooler, and more accepting, and more a way of understanding things than the screaming fear that sometimes comes along with it

For me it's like this:
Blue Saturday = I want to do stuff but I'm too knackered after a week of a temp gig working for yet another passive aggressive 'politics' riddled corporation.
Blue Sunday = I want to do stuff but bleurgh I don't feel up to it.
Sunday Night Sad = I want to do stuff but there's just no time left this weekend because I have to go to bed early so that I can get up at stupid o'clock to catch a bus and aaaaaaaaaaargghhhh

BLUE pencils, blue noses, blue movies, laws, blue legs and stockings, the language of birds, bees, and flowers as sung by longshoremen, that lead-like look the skin has when affected by cold, contusion, sickness, fear; the rotten rum or gin they call blue ruin and the blue devils of its delirium; Russian cats and oysters, a withheld or imprisoned breath, the blue they say that diamonds have, deep holes in the ocean and the blazers which English athletes earn that gentlemen may wear; afflictions of the spirit—dumps, mopes, Mondays—all that's dismal—low-down gloomy music. Nova Scotians, cyanosis, hair rinse, bluing, bleach; the rare blue dahlia like that blue moon shrewd things happen only once in, or the call for trumps in whist (but who remembers whist or what the death of unplayed games is like?), and correspondingly the flag, Blue Peter, which is our signal for getting under way; a swift pitch, Confederate money, the shaded slopes of clouds and mountains, and so the constantly increasing absentness of Heaven (ins Blaue hinein, the Germans say), consequently the color of everything that's empty: blue bottles, bank accounts, and compliments, for instance, or, when the sky's turned turtle, the blue-green bleat of ocean (both the same), and, when in Hell, its neatly landscaped rows of concrete huts and gas-blue flames; social registers, examination booklets, blue bloods, balls, and bonnets, beards, coats, collars, chips, and cheese . . . the pedantic, indecent and censorious . . . watered twilight, sour sea: through a scrambling of accidents, blue has become their color, just as it's stood for fidelity. Blue laws took their hue from the paper they were printed on. Blue noses were named for a potato. E. Haldeman-Julius' little library, where I first read Ellen Key's Evolution of Love, vainly hoping for a cock stand, had such covers. In the same series, which sold for a dime in those days, were the love letters of that Portuguese nun, Mariana Alcoforado, an overwrought and burdensome lady, certainly, whose existence I callously forgot until I read of her again in Rilke.

that lead-like look the skin has when affected by cold

That good... In my own synaesthetic emotional tones, if blue is the colour of melancholy - then it's that very blue-grey of leaden skies with all of the bright colour washed out - implying the heaviness of lead weighing you down.

conversations with my dad:

football, football, some kind of prejudiced political/bigotry stuff, me complaining about that, him telling me if he didn't argue about his prejudices i wouldn't have anything to say, me acknowledging that that's kinda true but not knowing what to do about it, him getting a bit hurt and huffy cos i don't love his prejudices which are integral part of who he is, me feeling like shit, fin.

wash, rinse, repeat x2 every week of my adult life

i am, i will happily admit, a self-centred failure of a son, husband, parent

ach, daddy issues

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=or1oZ35NA2U

strangley at peace this a.m.

i mean, considering i've got bad things to do to people v. soon

oh I've got houses and I've got lands
and half Northumberland belongs to me
and I'd grant it all to the fair young lady
as would release me and let me free

^otm.

had a substantial and sudden access of loneliness yesterday evening. this is not a "poor me" thing - it's more how curious the physical sensation is. it reminds me slightly of the bitter things we learn to consume as adults - booze, caffeine, tobacco. the taste of internal harm, self-annihilation and death to the point of connoisseurship.

that was a little more Fotheringham-Rhomas than intended. just mean there's something not wholly unpleasant in the sensation.

I like it

http://nostradamundus.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/800px-french_fleet_with_barbarossa_at_the_siege_of_nice_15431.jpg

the bitter things we learn to consume as adults

otm - it has its pleasures

He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the sea-harvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight and gayclad lightclad figures of children and girls and voices childish and girlish in the air.

megamix of every use of the word "alone" from Portrait basically nails it

the bitter things we consume as adults telling ourselves they bring sophistication, coolness, a brief escape from obligations to other people

(just got back from dentist, musing wankily while looking for distractions from rubbery face and the suspicion that my teeth don't meet properly now and that "bits of your temporary cap will come off over the next fortnight but don't worry" might not have meant "btw it's totally fine if a 3mm-wide chunk comes out on your walk home in 5 minutes")

Bitter things we learn to consume as adults - coffee, tobacco, alcohol - we usually learn to consume because all of these things bring pleasurable altered or heightened states of consciousness, often analogous to the pleasurable states of childhood - excitement, comfort, disinhibition - and we come to associate the bitterness of the taste with the pleasure of the altered state.

well, I was filing "pleasurable altered states" under "escape from obligations" for neatness, but yes, getting caught up in a romantic view of one's own loneliness as misunderstood protagonist striking out on own is a nice recap of childhood solipsism too

if I sound glib, I spend a lot of time being lonely or lonerish and inventing narratives about it, good and bad, helpful and unhelpful

think that's a given for our regulars here :/

oh yes.

Really want to get v v drunk tonight but have to remind myself I have a new, uninvestigated patch of Great North Woods to investigate tomorrow & cannot be ruined.

Also wish there were a way to say "I don't feel like going out but I'd like to hang out in my pyjamas and I can draw & you can read or whatever" without it sounding like a sexual come-on or invitation to misunderstanding & badness.

i think there is a way to say that but other party has to be very on yr wavelength

I have a few friends I could say that to but not a ton--but they are the best ones.

i had hoped my current semi-ex and i would have spent a lot of time simply sitting together and reading, but anytime i ever suggested it i was vetoed

sorry for brag but i've just had the best person for hanging out in pyjamas snarking at TV arrive, and me and her are gonna go and buy naughty food for the night now

:D

Is it my favorite monster???

yeah!!!!

haven't seen her since Easter. we have kebabs and burgers now. have the best weekends you can possibly have everybody x x x

Snarking is good for sharpening one's wits/teeth.

i watched mst3k religiously when i was 11-12 and it led me forever down the path of tv/movie snarking

enjoy your pyjama-ed takeaway-eating TV snarking and subsequent weekend, NV and monster <3 <3

(and best-possible weekend wishes for everyone else reading this, of course)

ilx needs more monster stories, btw.

she hasn't shut up since she got here so i'm sure i'll come up with something

lol a fairytale ending

I got drunk

sorry for brag but i've just had the best person for hanging out in pyjamas snarking at TV arrive, and me and her are gonna go and buy naughty food for the night now

:D

― nostalgie de couilles (Noodle Vague), Friday, 2 May 2014 18:35 (2 hours ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink

✓

what nakh said much more succinctly.

make sure to get the good stuff, whatever that might be for you and yours.

portrait

sorry for brag but i've just had the best person for hanging out in pyjamas snarking at TV arrive, and me and her are gonna go and buy naughty food for the night now

:D

― nostalgie de couilles (Noodle Vague), Friday, 2 May 2014 18:35 (2 hours ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink

✓

:)

"a brand is the collection of functional and emotional benefits delivered to an end consumer"

??

bustin' makes me feel good i guess

Self-expressive benefits provide an opportunity for someone to communicate his or her self-image.

They heighten the connection between the brand and the customer by focusing on something linked to his or her personality. Self-expressive benefits focus on the act of using the product, as opposed to the emotional benefits associated with the result of using the product.

A self-expressive benefit can include the elegance and the feeling of being cool projected by the Apple iPhone, the raw masculinity projected by the Harley-Davidson motorcycle brand or the luxury displayed by carrying a Louis Vuitton bag.

so unselfconscious, so pretty. little people inside waiting to express themselves thru the medium of buying stuff.

here is me, sitting inside this lumpy dowdy body that bumbles thru the world.

me is self-contained, knows things about itself and the separate everything that surrounds it, strives to display itself within the separateness.

it just wants the not-me to recognize its unique, articulable me-ness.

look everybody: this is me!