It's bloody cold, and I'm sick of technology that doesn't work. I'm sick of hardware that doesn't do what it says on the box, and software that crashes.
And while we're in the mood, I'm not entirely happy with being trapped living here with my parents because the only job I can find doesn't pay enough to let me move away. I'm tierd of feeling too fat and self concious to have the sex or relationships that are offered me. And I'm bored with a commumnity of people who seem congenitally incapable of thinking.
Yes, I know. I'm not living on the streets, I have parents to come home to, I have enough to eat, friends and lovers are within reach, and I'm not yet living in a police state. I'm grateful that I have the chance to get fat, use computers, have sex, fall in love, read books and persue what interests me - don't think I'm not.
It would just be nice if my life weren't mostly taken up with trying to sort out my life. End of rant.
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There's almost always a point in the production of a song, where you think it's 95% finished, with just a few elements to tweak. And you spend 50% of the total production time tweaking. Which sometimes results in the entire track being rewritten.
I've been 'tweaking' Gallow's Hill. Taking out a synth line, adding a third guitar, rewriting the middle 8 several times, and inserting extra bars here and there. The lyrics are still the same, but sung in a different way, and hopefully they'll get recorded today.
As sometimes happens when everything gets planned except the essentials, I have three good microphones, and no microphone stand. This is probably synechdochic. Unless I mean metonymic. Or indicative. Or just bloody typical.
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On a whim, I checked my gaydar account. M left me a message last week. He just wants to know if I'm alright. He can't possibly still be holding a candle for me. I'm not sure if I should even respond.
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Tomorrow night I'm seeing H. Must see if there's any decent films or bands playing.
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