September 1st, 2008 | brainjuice
I have a mailing list called Bad Signal. I’m the only one who can send to it. Replies to Signals go only to me. Sometimes I post a few times a day. Sometimes I forget about it for a week. You can subscribe to it at http://mailman.flirble.org/mailman/listinfo/badsignal.
Today’s looks like this:
Six hours’ sleep. After fixing up five pages of script
and three full scriptments last night. Going to die.
Note to self: demand CVs for nursing staff. Also,
reduce length of journey to office. (Currently: 16
feet approx) Also: demand motorised wrinkly-scooter
for endless trip to pub. (Currently: 5 minutes. 5
whole minutes, mind you)
Also, try not to leave for pub without wearing clothes,
as attempted this morning. No-one would appreciate
Note from Ariana, following coherency-failure in email:
“I’ll contact you again in a few hours, when you’re
back to yelling about whisky and custard.”
Monkey custard, mind you.
God, I’m so tired. Thank god the kid goes back to
school tomorrow, and She Who Takes Up Most
Of The Bed goes back to work. I will have peace
and quiet to… look at my schedule and weep, alone
in a silent house.
Note to self: register wankingandcrying.com. Or
cryingwhilewanking.com. Alt.: cryingwhilewanking.info.
Did you know “masturbation instruction” has become
a major segment in the online porn market now?
Why is the pub’s outside speaker playing “Je T’Aime”?
I’m trying to wake up and Jane Birkin’s rubbing one out
while Serge Gainsbourg glops away over her shoes.
This is not fair or right.
And while I am tired and easily suggestible, Avatar are
trying to talk me into another run of Apparat Singles.
I will call one of them GLOPPING AWAY. That will
fix them. That will fix them good.