A penny drops
Up to the smoke again early. Been reading about passive aggression, which can I learn also be self-directed too, and manifest itself in self-sabotage, and snatching defeat from the jaws of Victory. Spent some time today combing through my life and times for examples, finding several dating back to childhood. As an example: I never did my homework at school. Year after year this led to me getting into trouble, and the exasperation of my teachers. But read as a self-directed act of passive aggression it makes sense. Suddenly I felt as if I had understood something new about myself, which doesn't happen every day.
Went out to lunch with Keith, who I always like, to a pub called Jeremy Bentham where we ate ham and eggs, which I washed down with a glass of beer called, confusingly, TEA, which stands for Traditional English Ale. Then off out after work for an hour or so with Slug and Chris. Slug talking about making a fund-raising film in Burkino Faso, and journeying out into what seemed to him to be the ends of the Earth, to film in a village with adobe huts.
One had a cross on and the other a crescent, leaving him aghast at the dog-eat-dog competition for souls. Chris, a Geordie artist who works as a visualiser, started talking about a murderer he'd sat next to at college, which made me think of the murderer that lived next to Toby in Sacramento, and the conversation veered off darkly.
Home well after 10 again after almost killing myself running for the train, Calliope running desperately at me as I turned into the Twitten. These 15 hour days take it out of you.
Up to the smoke again early. Been reading about passive aggression, which can I learn also be self-directed too, and manifest itself in self-sabotage, and snatching defeat from the jaws of Victory. Spent some time today combing through my life and times for examples, finding several dating back to childhood. As an example: I never did my homework at school. Year after year this led to me getting into trouble, and the exasperation of my teachers. But read as a self-directed act of passive aggression it makes sense. Suddenly I felt as if I had understood something new about myself, which doesn't happen every day.
Went out to lunch with Keith, who I always like, to a pub called Jeremy Bentham where we ate ham and eggs, which I washed down with a glass of beer called, confusingly, TEA, which stands for Traditional English Ale. Then off out after work for an hour or so with Slug and Chris. Slug talking about making a fund-raising film in Burkino Faso, and journeying out into what seemed to him to be the ends of the Earth, to film in a village with adobe huts.
One had a cross on and the other a crescent, leaving him aghast at the dog-eat-dog competition for souls. Chris, a Geordie artist who works as a visualiser, started talking about a murderer he'd sat next to at college, which made me think of the murderer that lived next to Toby in Sacramento, and the conversation veered off darkly.
Home well after 10 again after almost killing myself running for the train, Calliope running desperately at me as I turned into the Twitten. These 15 hour days take it out of you.
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