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Oh, so much to do, yet so little doing. (Plus a stupid rant). - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
Oh, so much to do, yet so little doing. (Plus a stupid rant).
Time again to remark on what a pitiful existence I lead...

So far, these holidays have been mind-numbingly boring. The worst thing is, I'm already halfway through them. This is the last chance I have to see so many of the people I care about, the final time I'll have to spend time with my friends. Even if I do see them at half terms, once I've gone to Canterberry, no matter how hard I resist, I know I'll change. I haven't seen anyone from my old school as a friend for over four years... I know that my sister has a very different relationship with her friends already. And she was never one to break contact with people.

I don't know how I'm going to live in Canterberry. My entire way of living is going to be twisted like a sailor's knot. It's really going to be a big change. There won't be any time for my daily dose of teletext. Now, I try to read about thirteen different pages a day, though I've given up on loads and have often forgotten over the last few days. My sister's insanely attractive (and cute, intelligent and funny) friend has told me how people with diverse (well, similar to mine) musical tastes get persecuted at King's. The wholes place is very cliquey and popularity conscious and everyone wears expensive designer clothes. The idea of a boarding school, especially such a middle class one, has never appealed to me (apart from the obvious girl's dorms aspect). She told me that everyone in my house has a penchant for R & B. Did I also mention how unholily gorgeous she is?

Right now, nothing's getting done. I have clean clothes scattered over the floor because I can't be bothered to hang them up and I've been sleeping on a bare mattress because I haven't made my bed. Of my thirty holiday objectives, I've completed five and a half. I wanted to rip the nineteen albums sitting on my desk – so far I've managed one. I've wanted to go out every day and have fun. Make the most of summer. Make it the best summer ever. But during the last two weeks, I've done precisely noting worth mentioning. I get up late, watch tv and h@><0r windows into the morning then repeat. I end up spending afternoons re-mowing the lawn and playing old games which are not only crap, but which I finished ages ago. I want to see people and do things. I want human contact. But both my parents work and now my sister's gone to France, I'm eating pizza and watching ER repeats followed by game shows all by myself. Nobody wants to spend time with me, and even Suda's given up calling me to ask for other people's numbers. And I've even lost enthusiasm to get up and organise stuff myself. I want to go out and do stuff. There are no roads out from my house and I feel imprisoned, albeit somewhat self-inflicted. Every day seems to be so nice and sunny. I want to go and jump off the pier, but end up stuck at home.

I'd aimed to go to a gig every week. However, it seems every good band is either playing at Reading, or not playing at all ever. And nobody wants to go down to Brighton with me to see some tiny random band that have a cool name or have just been plugged by Planet Sound or Peel. While I've been reconfiguring everything on my pook late into the night, I barely notice when the CD stops anymore and I forget to come down for Big Brother or that film that sounded fun. And time goes so bloody fast in the silence. I decide to play about with plug-ins and Photoshop filters, explore hidden admin tools or just reinstall stuff for fun and, before I know it, three hours have passed. Usually I read books in the holidays, but I haven't finished a single one yet. Instead, I spend my time reading every article in Encarta and trying to think of something to do.

There is important stuff I'd wanted to write about, but left too long to remember. I haven't even been online to see if anyone's commented on here, simply because I just forget. Tonight, I watched some BBC documentary on the London Iranian Embassy siege back in 1980. Unusually, they didn't make it into some flashy re-creation or give secret SAS tactics. What they did show was that the SAS are rather crap actually. I'd always though they were sharp and primed, so very professional. However, apart from predictably being trigger-happy, testosterone-steered chauvinists, they also managed to fail to abseil down a building or get separate strike teams to time their attacks within a couple of minutes of each other. If the terrorists had actually planned slightly well, things may have been very different. However, the worst thing was the way nearly everyone involved were so patently and openly bigoted. They actually said that, because these people were from somewhere they hadn't heard about and wore funny clothes, they must be wrong. Government officials really shouldn't be prejudiced because of their own ignorance and disregard legitimate pleas.

During the documentary, we hear that good old Maggie Thatcher ordered the SAS men to go in and kill everyone no matter what. They stormed in and murdered all the hostage-takers there and then, even though their only crime was armed hostage taking. One had assisted suicide. Not quite warranting murder without trial. Why don't we just go and revive the death penalty while we're at it? Two of the gunmen threw their weapons out of the window and waved a white flag before standing against the wall. The SAS troops removed all the hostages before shooting the surrendered men many, many times each. More terrorists were submitted to the SAS-brand of justice and lynched. Then, this professional corps managed to let two of the terrorists out of the building with the freed hostages. One was shot simultaneously by six soldiers and the other was handcuffed before they realised who he was. I just don't understand how a team that had been training six days a week managed to mess up a simple abseil and not notice two Iranian terrorists, even though they'd spent five days staring at photos of them. The final gunman was handcuffed on the grass before they realised who he was. Reacting to the shouts of a legitimate hostage (even the innocents involved are handcuffed face down on the ground after their week-long ordeal) the final terrorist was marched away. However, others had to intervene after one SAS member tried to drag him back into the burning embassy to be killed. And afterward, they jovially laugh about this in the pub. These men have many people's lives put in their change, and they can't even slide down a rope, remember a face or keep their greasy fingers off the trigger for a few seconds. During the rescue operation, the SAS allowed two hostages to be shot at – one died. Yet, it was still hailed as a resounding success.

I wouldn't call six avoidable body bags a success.

The normally-reliable BBC didn't even flinch at the murder of two unarmed men. Hell, they might as well go the whole hog and do a Sharon: drop a couple of tonnes of high explosive on the building and hit the main man as well as anyone else n the block, then claim it as a resounding success and the best possible option. Why is it that we still seem to operate a policy of shoot first, ask questions later? The pretence of any human rights is further diminished by the government fixing the enquiry into the cold-blooded killing of the two men who'd jettisoned their weapons and surrendered. And then, we get headlines proclaiming a proudness to be British. Ignoring the absurdity of any sort of patriotic feeling, if bigotry, injustice and murder makes you proud, it's no wonder-- wawawaoo-wawawao wawawaoo-wawawao wawawaoo-wawawao wawawaoo-wawawao-DUNNN EVERYTHINGSTARTSWITHAFUCK!

So then, where was I? OH yeah, right, I have nothing to do and nobody to do stuff with. Everyone seems to be on holiday: Dick, Abu, Rob, Jack, Kaplan, Banks, TD and Sam to name just a few. And in my ungrateful barstardish way, I can't say I'm looking forward to being dragged away to Spain for a week on the 3rd August. Just about when everyone gets back and round the time of Abu's party. What it comes down to is, there just aren't enough people who want to go and spend time with me. And I can't even think of anything to do that would be slightly interesting. What with no Reading and my general geeness, I can't say there's much to look forward to between now and the end of my pre-King's life. I'm not sure if I can be arsed to spend an hour on the train and a fiver to go to Reigate and see no-one tomorrow... And to make it worse, this is how I've always feared my adult life would be like. I know that, as I get older, it can only get worse.

At home doing nothing, I've found myself becoming nocturnal. I don't get tired easily and what with all the good television finishing about two, I'm quite used to going to bed later than some rütters. I usually get into some film, go upstairs to h@><()r, go back down because I realise I've missed some ace teletext, then go back to my room for some unrelated h@><0ring. However, once I get started on some trivial networking problem, I can't sleep until I've finished it and, before I know it, it's five am. Then I have to burn some flies who piss me off and read magazines so I can get drowsy enough to sleep on an itchy mattress. Hell, once I even started some sewing. Last night, I was just entertaining the idea of tri-booting my pook, reading up about Black Sabbath, Ruums and going over back issues of New Statesman, before I realised it was eight in the morning and my mum had already left for work. I decided I should really tumble into bed/mattress some time soon. Then, I wake up to people coming through the front door at five and my mum is already talking about supper... Who needs daylight anyway?

And why the hell, with everything being so terribly beastly and all, can't I even manage to write a gracefully shit journal entry?

    mood: Lamentable
    choon: Black Sabbath – Iron Man