Living with buggered brain-chemistry
May. 21st, 2004 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hirezAnother bloody migraine. This one's multiply annoying because I'm actually having 'fun' at work (in that now I'm definitely making my mark on the place) and wasn't best pleased to be handed the choice of 'leave now or throw up in your keyboard', I was looking forward to at least an hour in the gym after said work and I was really looking forward to an evening of repetitive beats.
Fuck it.
Still, I have been lent a book on the things by the estimable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jarkman and it would appear that they shag up your brain function significantly more than I had ever thought. (But then I guess I'm coping with a malfunctioning brain at the time so it all gets a little 'flowers for Algernon' anyway.) It's sort of vaguely like dealing with a raid-array that's having a protracted rebuild (only not at all). For instance, I knew that I knew the name of the actor in 'Grosse Point Blank' and 'High Fidelity': John Something. Could I remember the chap's name though? Not a bit of it. I was wandering about going 'Actor chap. In the film with Minnie Driver. Goes to the thing with the people and has a fight with a short French fellow...' I suppose a bit like Bernard Black, only with the scary undercurrent that this isn't an act and bits of my memory really are missing and what the hell else has gone and will it actually come back?
[ I have just been hit with the second major wallop of deja-vu in the last two days. It's all a bit bleedin' previous, frankly. ]
Not that I should be near a bloody computer in my condition, but an experimental mix of codeine and coffee seems to have done something, and I'd preceeded that with six hours sleep containing an unsurprisingly odd dream about Softly Softly Task Force, so I thought I'd encode some CDs and have a squint at NTK...
... And the bastard PSU in the bastard PC that's only a bastard month old gives up the bastard ghost. Bastard. Looks like I bike over to Joe Maplin's House of big-bore kits for another one.
Of course I didn't recall saving the receipt, so it was with no small sense of futility that I empted the contents of 'faded bits of paper' section of my wallet onto the desk and had a grovel through them all. I should, of course, be sensible and middle class and keep all my receipts and enter them in a spreadsheet and fuck that, frankly. On the other hand, sorting through circa ten months of the things has been... More enlightening than looking at photographs. For instance, there are a set from the jaunt to Brittany. Meals and booze from places that I'd forgotten about. The name of a B&B in Brighton that I'd forgotten and now can write down. On one hand, I rather dislike the idea of mapping my life through the medium of shopping because I don't want to measure myself by my consumption. On the other hand, if it helps me remember good time, then...
(I'm not sure what to think about that. Your input is most welcome.)
Anyway, I kept the Joe Maplin receipt. A bloody month that PSU lasted. They're taking the piss. Still, nice expedition on the bike. Job on!
Fuck it.
Still, I have been lent a book on the things by the estimable
jarkman and it would appear that they shag up your brain function significantly more than I had ever thought. (But then I guess I'm coping with a malfunctioning brain at the time so it all gets a little 'flowers for Algernon' anyway.) It's sort of vaguely like dealing with a raid-array that's having a protracted rebuild (only not at all). For instance, I knew that I knew the name of the actor in 'Grosse Point Blank' and 'High Fidelity': John Something. Could I remember the chap's name though? Not a bit of it. I was wandering about going 'Actor chap. In the film with Minnie Driver. Goes to the thing with the people and has a fight with a short French fellow...' I suppose a bit like Bernard Black, only with the scary undercurrent that this isn't an act and bits of my memory really are missing and what the hell else has gone and will it actually come back?[ I have just been hit with the second major wallop of deja-vu in the last two days. It's all a bit bleedin' previous, frankly. ]
Not that I should be near a bloody computer in my condition, but an experimental mix of codeine and coffee seems to have done something, and I'd preceeded that with six hours sleep containing an unsurprisingly odd dream about Softly Softly Task Force, so I thought I'd encode some CDs and have a squint at NTK...
... And the bastard PSU in the bastard PC that's only a bastard month old gives up the bastard ghost. Bastard. Looks like I bike over to Joe Maplin's House of big-bore kits for another one.
Of course I didn't recall saving the receipt, so it was with no small sense of futility that I empted the contents of 'faded bits of paper' section of my wallet onto the desk and had a grovel through them all. I should, of course, be sensible and middle class and keep all my receipts and enter them in a spreadsheet and fuck that, frankly. On the other hand, sorting through circa ten months of the things has been... More enlightening than looking at photographs. For instance, there are a set from the jaunt to Brittany. Meals and booze from places that I'd forgotten about. The name of a B&B in Brighton that I'd forgotten and now can write down. On one hand, I rather dislike the idea of mapping my life through the medium of shopping because I don't want to measure myself by my consumption. On the other hand, if it helps me remember good time, then...
(I'm not sure what to think about that. Your input is most welcome.)
Anyway, I kept the Joe Maplin receipt. A bloody month that PSU lasted. They're taking the piss. Still, nice expedition on the bike. Job on!
