When I raise my sleep battered, aching head, the one that feels it doesn’t belong to me – and doesn’t want to …
The moment I raise my throbbing head I become bit by blurred-changing-to-focus bit aware of the three empty beer cans by the side of the
keyboard. Oh no, wait … there’s actually a fourth. Just found it with my uncoordinated pins-and-needles elbow. Sent it tipping over. But … it’s not empty.
The lat, dark brown contents start to chug out of the ring pull hole. I move – slow motion and poor reflex slow to move the keyboard, lift the mouse as the flood spreads like a stain that will remain around the “R.A.F. Intelligence” mouse mat. Succeed only in knocking the wirelss little brat off the edge of the veneered chipboard, cheap desk.
It spins in mid-air. It’s so o o o o noisy> How can it be? It’s just travelling through empty air, goddammit!
It claps, thunder storm loud against a mostly empty whisky bottle on the floor. Bounces onto a plate that is plastered with cold, flaked baked beans and the crust of a two day old slice of granary toast.
The big flat, dragon eye of the monitor raises and eyelid, clicks into life. There’s a sonar ping that says I’ve got mail.
There’s the Tubetube video, some country and western song about beer and apes (at least I think it is) with some cute fantasy cowgirl that’s never fed a calf.
There’s the social network site, that isn’t, frankly social any more. I fail to keep up with it these days. And I can no longer pretend to understand it. So many changes. There’ll be pop-ups behind it, of course:
car insurance, animal charity, buy a ladder, improve your performance (nudge, nudge). I’m supposed to be able to block them, know how to find out how to block them, but it beats me every time.
And the blog.
The thing that, usually, keeps me sane.
Now, what should I post this morning?
beeseeker 