Monday, 8 June 2009
It makes no sense.
I can't take it.
I need to move out, I need to sleep.
For hours yesterday evening and last night I was listening to IainDale's election webcasty radioshow thing on Playradio. It was jolly nice, a kind of friendly affair with messages being read out and people phoning in and analysis of all the county counts and people trying to do sums and moaning about crap BBC and Sky and other broadcasters.
Once or twice I posted tweets with the required hashtag, and I thinnk I got them read out on the radio. Eep, its like internet fame.
It did take a few seconds for me to realise he was reading out my tweet though, my twitter nick is @illandancient, like the name of this blog without any spaces, so I know how its pronounced, it just doesn't roll off the tongue so well, irland anci-ent.
I think I came across in the snapshot tweet as being a bit of a ingrate moaner. I had a wee existential crisis thinking about it.
I am a bit of a moaner. It used to be my job, my skill, something useful. Now it just annoys my attractive young ladyfriend, and on thinking about its, it annoyed most of my previous attractive young ladyfriends.
That was the first step and I was great at it. The second step was to go through my list and cross out everything that wasn't trivial or unimportant, or unfixable. We'd try and fix everything that was left on the list.
At a later date we'd always have the list of things we knew about and didn't fix and why we didn't fix them and people could fix them in new ways that they couldn't before. This was great. This was a good way to get things done.
I was brilliant at my job.
But now, being unemployed, I'm just a moany, nit-picking annoying person, and its incredibly frustrating.
Sorry, I'll try not to so much.