22/11/06
Laboured Re-Shuffle -
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For someone with a 'fuck it' attitude I can act mental sometimes...
I have spent the entire day switching around my office (Well, I say "day" - I only got up at 6pm, and I say "office" - but it's just the spare room with a desk in it essentially).
As I was determined to sort it out all in one go, I naturally have managed to do all manner of things in no way connected to the job in hand in order to drag out the chore for as long as humanly possible.
Conditional deferrence is the natural enemy of the weakly motivated artist.
Ironically, the only reason I was shifting the office around in the first place was because I convinced myself that I would work better in here if it was tidy and organised. I don't know what justification I can give to downloading naked girls that walk onto my computer screen and dance saucily for me every couple of minutes but it was important enough to temporarily suspend the tidying whilst I did it earlier.
There is one dancing even as I write this...she has just licked her own nipple...if I'm honest it has already lost it's novelty...
I really pissed myself off last night. I'd settled down to do some writing on the sitcom and then got distracted by MySpace. I figured that taking an interest in the lives of some real people may be inspirational in my quest to write some great and original characters. Yes, you read that right - that really is how I justified it.
I came to the conclusion by the early hours of this morning that MySpace is bad for you. Thing is, I'm not interested in looking at the sites of people I know - I'm far more interested in looking at the sites of people I have known and piecing together their lives from the snippets of information they have deemed worthy of public consumption. And after digesting that information I end up following a paper trail - seeing what comments they have left for people listed as their friends and stuff like that - reading deeply into it and constructing theories. It reeks of unhinged obsessive behaviour and that's out of character for me - I started to feel like some sort of clandestine and voyeuristic stalker. No good came of it.
But it didn't stop there.
Oh no sir...
In turn, the MySpace lurking led to me looking up some of my ex-girlfriend's names on google.
Seriously - for fuck's sake...
I'm meant to be working don't forget, but instead my curiosity of what journeys had been had by romantic involvements of times past had been awoken. I wanted to know what they were doing NOW. I know, I know - how fucked up was I last night? On the good side, I did find a photo of one who broke my heart many years ago and decided that with hindsight I have had a lucky escape.
That sounds terrible I know, but she has ended up looking like her mum, and her mum was a fucking witch.
I flopped into bed at 9.30am this morning - irritated with my wasted evening and cursing myself beyond belief - deciding as I drifed off to sleep that if I made my office a cleaner and more professional environment then I would be far better set to crack on with the work on this sitcom that I need to do. I practically vaulted out of bed this evening, with a sense of determination that I was going to get on top of things - a feeling that was compounded when I checked my emails and found that my writing partner Steve Morrison had sent over fucking loads of stuff that he had done. If my own self-motivation hadn't been sufficient, the guilt would have been.
It took fucking ages, as you can tell by the time of this post, but my office is all tidy now. I forgot how big this desk actually was when it wasn't covered in bank statements, invoices and cds. I've binned loads of stuff, I've updated all my framed posters, and removed as many distractions as I possibly can.
I've got the lights down low and moody, I've got nice, non-intrusive music playing and the fan heater is blowing on my feet.
I am now ready to start doing some work.
After looking at YouTube for a bit...
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