December 28, 2005
Nice one (laffin). We managed to get most of what we needed to do done by 3pm, which has allowed me to return home, hack a large chunk from the fine wedge of Stilton, surround it with Cheesy Melts, pop a bottle of San Miguel (you have to take what comes, you know?) and log on to satisfy my craving for what is now by far and away my biggest addiction (this week, anyway) - Blogaholicism.
I've started getting irritated when the phone rings if I'm in mid-blog. There is a blog screen constantly lurking behind my Quark window at the office (or should that be the other way round? I spend more time in Blog World than I do the real one). I get that horrible tense withdrawal sensation if I have to leave it just to check my emails (which was another addiction - but let's leave that one well alone).
I've been sat here tapping away at my Yule(b)log instead of eating Yule Log. I put off going to the toilet for ages, sometimes until I'm almost bursting to get up there. And just about everything that happens to me (which shouldn't be much, considering I'm always here rather than *out there*) gets an automatic Blogability Rating in my head.
My blog is my guilty secret, too. Sure, some people know about it, but most people don't. It's like my bitch. My filthy little whore that I can't bear the whole world knowing about but can't give up, either.
Just take today. My brother is working until midnight and his wife is out until 8pm-ish. Whoopee, I think, but then I get a mini panic on because it means I can't blog after midnight because he'll want a beer and a chat with me and doesn't like doing that when my nose is buried in the laptop. And when his wife returns, that's what time the Liverpool game is on which I am of course looking forward to but am probably going to be tip-tapping all the way through it.
Even the maudlin stuff I've written - I mean, why? Would I tell someone face-to-face? My old Priory pals would probably tell you no. And they were in charge of the tablets. But in Blog World it stays, festering, my open wound which may well disgust, sicken, deplore or depress (and hopefully sometimes amuse) you, but which I feel a gnawing need to share anyway.
My blog is my Gizmo, my Six Billion Dollar Man. It is my Han Solo figurine and also my Luke Skywalker (with one fake hand and a light sabre in his forearm). In the same way I once coveted Space Lego, now I yearn for my blog.
Clearly, I am completely fucking insane.
