Weird baby doll thing.

PS3: The Long Download!

I just wanted to download my two free games but it could take a while. :-/

Yeah boy.

Security blanket.
That's the obvious way to describe working for the same company, in the same building, in the same office for sixteen and a half years. There is an immense comfort in taking the same route every day, arriving roughly the same time and starting your day by doing the same things in the same order.

It's a vocational existence of quiet manageability where the biggest possible surprise could be that the drinks machine has run out of still orange juice. Of course, it won't because someone will be right on top of that...but that fear remains inherent anyway.

People work the same way and even say the same things, day after day. YOU say the same things, day after day. You say the same things to co-workers, the same things to visitors and the same things on the phone to other people in other offices, themselves working to this very routine. You go to the drinks machine around the same time, go to the bathroom around the same time and yawn - leaning back in your chair to stretch - around the same time.

You refrain from moving anything because you like the secure feeling of knowing what you'll see, when you glance up from your work. In fact, you don't need to glance up. Like screen burn-in on an old CRT monitor, the static nature of your surroundings has caused them to be burnt into your consciousness. You notice - and tut - when your bin is more than a couple of inches out of line.

To the uninitiated, it's a bizarre, almost dystopian world of pathetic 'hidden' agendas and petty personal politics. Your desk area is a right-wing police state where crimes such as taking a pen or moving your keyboard, are bedfellows with murder and rape. You develop an attachment because you spend almost as much time here, as you do at home. Like at home, you want to have some semblance of authority...because it's quite galling to invest so much of yourself into one place and not have any kind of feeling of control. Around you, co-workers' motives are distrusted and office gossip is traded beneath the background hubbub of printer, copier and phone. The despicable foundation beneath the lightly constructed structure above, of 'mornings!', cakes on birthdays and cheap Christmas cards.

It's a vocational existence of quiet manageability...and whilst I couldn't hate it more, I also couldn't be more dependent on it.

Blast from the past. I forgot I created this...maybe considering my previous inane witterings, I now shouldn't have remembered.
So, my Blogger isn't dead...it was just dormant. A once new toy, potential avenue of self-exploration discarded for the next big thing. Sat, waiting for something to happen. Now why does that sound familiar?
Anyway, discarded for what? YouTube? That's dead to me now...or at least in that same dormant state. MySpace? Well, that's dead to everyone. So I chance back upon this and repopulate it with more stale stubs? More snippets of banality? Probably, knowing me.
So, I sit here in my bed. The gloom challenged only by the light from this mobile phone screen, upon which I type. Will Blogger 2.0 be a source of new personal insight, raw honesty and deep untold truths?
I don't know. Check back to find out.

Wow. Talk about leaving the blog just dead in the water, I haven't been on here for so long. To be honest, I don't know about carrying this blog on. I've got more into myspace (myspace.com/ianlorenc - plug!) and YouTube Vlogging.

I shall ponder my options.

Sorry everyone (anyone?), not posted in ages.
Better bring you all up to date.

I ended up having FOUR (count 'em, four) fillings at the dentist.

Dad's motorbike remains unrecovered but he was given a motorbike by his girlfriend, that she happened to have laying around.

I'm on the Scumball rally next year! If that means nothing, check www.scumball.co.uk