Weird.
These strange new feelings.

It’s like I’ve been abducted by Scientologists and they’ve taken away my happy pills and my books on the history of psychiatry. They swear they “aren’t really aliens”, but Tom Cruise is going to probe me anyway.

Weirdness.

See what happens when I stop wearing a wristwatch?

I have no concept of time.
I don’t even know what day it is.

But that’s not the weird feeling I’ve been experiencing.

No. It’s something called “Hard Work”.
I have been “busy”.
“Working late”.
“Starting early”.

Those words were foreign to my vocabulary. I had to look them up.

But I haven’t been “busy” doing “hard work” for my company. No, don’t be silly.

I’ve been flat out, because in addition to shooting that training video, I also decided to have a crack at editing it myself, despite having absolutely no experience in this field or prior use with the "holy giant gigabyte and muthafucking computer crashing and killing software" required to do the job. And despite it being required in such a ridiculously short time-frame.
So I’ve had to do some of that learning stuff people keep talking about, pretty damn quickly.

This is my way of explaining my absence from the web over the past week. If I haven’t stopped by to drop a big steaming pile of smart-ass on your doorstep, it’s not cos I don’t love you.

(What do you mean you hadn’t even noticed?! Screw you AND your dog!)

Don’t worry, I’m almost finished.

Of course things would go a lot quicker if dickhead geeks at work didn’t keep stopping by to check out what I was doing.

This afternoon this one dork saw me doing some editing on my work computer after hours and wanted to ask me a million questions about it.
Then he said he wanted to film web-movies and I actually got a little interested.
Then I realised he wasn’t talking about internet porn and I turned away bored, and that was my hint for him to Fuck. Off.
He didn’t get the hint.
He just kept talking about some computer geek stuff. And about filming that computer geek stuff and putting it on the internet. Talk, talk, talk.

So I beat him to death with a stapler and left rats to deal with the remains.

But it’s OK. When the fuzz come for me, I’ll just explain to the arresting officer that Tom Cruise stole my antipsychotic pills and all should be fine.