Fags, Booze and Reddit - Day 3

Well, wouldn't you know it? Today I felt the roughest yet when I woke up. No, really. Headache, joints feeling unlubricated, skin tight with sunburn from yesterday, the works. I didn't get properly dressed until two largely because I couldn't face the stairs.

Ah, what it is to be self employed and say things like that without feeling guilty about doing no work! I spent the morning tidying up some bits and pieces from Saturday and doing some rudimentary accounts, my head slowly clearing in between. The real struggle was the Reddit-reflex; I caught myself at the ctrl-t stage twice while waiting for Internet banking to log in and again waiting for Blinksale.. and again when I was trying to remember the CSS property for small-caps (font-variant, in case you're wondering). It was fascinating; my entire day seems to be punctuated by Reddit triggers. It might actually be more annoying to quit than the other two put together. This weekend has lulled me into a false confidence and now the truth is going to sink its evil teeth into my unsuspecting buttocks. CURSES.

Lunch was reheated chilli from Saturday and very tasty it was too. I honestly didn't even consider a ciggie afterwards, which isn't really amazing for lunch but was in contrast to yesterday. Frankly, it should all be downhill from here if I can just keep a handle on the bookmarking. I did sneak a quick look at boingboing but felt that didn't count as it is, at least, edited by a team with marginally better judgment than the youtube/4chan crossbreeds at Reddit. I know I'm kidding myself because I then let this thin end squeeze in a wedge which proved to have b3ta and blogwars written on it but I'm pretty sure I only wasted, I mean spent, about half an hour on it all. I must adjust the rules to include all of this sort of thing, at least for the week. It's an experiment, not an exercise in bending my own rules. God, Carl; cheating yourself? That's low even for public school boy.

About four I decided I'd had enough of the computer screen and took off into the park on my bike which was highly agreeable, rushing along in the sunshine with a big floppy hat on (sunburn, you see) and the cool breeze blowing in my face. I felt energetic and virtuous, after yesterday's 150 mile round trip in the car, and flew past the other wimpy cyclists along my path, laughing royally into the open, blue sky like a pirate knowing the deep joy of being master of all I could see, HUH HUH HAAAAArrr! In fact, I had indeed made great progress and was soon right at the far end of the park and down a steep hill. No matter, I thought, for a fit young fellow such as myself, I'll be right back up in no time!

Ah, That Hill in the Park, shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? All hot and sticky, sapping energy like an industrial pump drains fuel from a tanker? Shall I perhaps mention the buzzing bumblebees and flies congregated over the carcass of ambition and resolve? Or merely discuss at length the utter, miserable exhaustion that came crushing down on my every sinew long before I reached that lonely summit? Either way, nothing can possibly communicate the humiliation of being re-overtaken by an elderly gent on a bike with a basket on the front after buzzing him on the way down at great speed and laughing like a pirate. I now felt more like Tom the cabin boy, all ragged trousers and pre-pubsecent spindliness. My ego had truly written several cheques which were now bouncing all over the bank of Carl's Body. I was a broken, broken man.

I've read that the worst time to be a smoker is the two weeks after you quit because that's when all the accumulated crap comes out of your lungs but that wasn't it; I could breathe just fine. The problem was simply a sensation of there being no fuel in the system. Curses and drat, thought I. I wonder if this is somehow connected to the drinking? Perhaps the vast influx of calories normally associated with the weekend is so regular that my system cannot cope without it? Perhaps that article I read ages ago about alcohol keeping your arteries clear has somehow evolved in my brain to become a psychosomatic sensation of clogged bodily thoroughfares. Or maybe I'm just making up a load of stupid bollocks as an excuse to have a beer later.

Either way, it's definitely significant.

What is still more significant is that I have, truth be told, written everything on this blog so far in the last three hours and I have not once even thought to check a certain website which shall remain nameless. Could it be that yapping on at length about myself holds my attention better than mere web development? Christ, there's a surprise, eh?