A Journal Of Little Consequence Based on a true story.

Monday, June 30, 2003   M. told me over the telephone that he had observed a jealous streak in me in the past. Rightly so, as I do have this tendency. Although I am well aware of how to deal with it, I had made the choice to reveal this side of myself to M. for the purpose of eliciting comments from him about it, which seems to have worked. On the other hand, indulging this emotion means deliberately not coping with it in order to demonstrate it, probably not the wisest thing to do. I have noticed that after conversations with M. in which I allow myself to lapse into negative modes of thought, I do tend to feel a little the worse for wear. Perhaps I have been creating problems so that they can be dealt with, when they needn't exist in the first place. posted by grover | Monday, June 30, 2003 Sunday, June 29, 2003   Pondering the reason why no one had responded to my profile on an internet personals site, I decided to replace the rather unflattering picture of myself that I had previously posted. However, I had a distinct lack of recent photographs of myself. Hungry for instant gratification, I unboxed my cousin's digital camera, which is barely worthy of the status of a toy, and took some self-portraits using the "outstretched arm" technique, resulting in several grainy, postage-stamp sized photographs. Mere hours of digital "improvement" later, my new picture was published. I expect to be applying for restraining orders by this time next week. posted by grover | Sunday, June 29, 2003 Saturday, June 28, 2003   Faced with the task of filling in an application form requiring lengthy justifications for the application, which I usually have difficulty with due to not having anything to say, I found that I was able to fill it out quite easily wth reams of prose. I believe that keeping this journal may have had a hand in improving my skills in this area. For what is each entry but a section in the application form of life, justifying one's existence? posted by grover | Saturday, June 28, 2003   (Friday's entry) Heading towards a lunchtime meeting, and starting to feel light-headed, I ran into an old colleague whom I had not seen in many years. He is a few years older than me, and I was a little surprised to learn that he was doing a similar job to that which he was doing when I had last seen him, albeit in a senior position, much like myself. I was quite comforted by the slowness of his progress, not, I hope, due to a sense of ill will, but because hearing about it helped me to feel a little better for not being the only person in this situation. This break in my journey prompted me to rush even faster to my appointment with N. When it was over, she commented that she had seen me running up the street, and had found the sight endearing. I am unsure as to whether this is the type of affection I would like to engender. And it happened because I was going too fast. It seems that there is value in slowing down. Just beware of coming to a full stop, or sliding backwards. posted by grover | Saturday, June 28, 2003 Thursday, June 26, 2003   Lending me support in a dispute over change at the supermarket, the woman behind me in the queue said that I had an "honest face". And indeed, I was telling the truth. I am quite ineffective at telling even the smallest lie; the anxiety I feel over doing so is clear for all to see. However, I quite frequently make absurd assertions with a completely straight face as a joke, never expecting anyone to believe what I am saying, and come across so convincingly that people actually refuse to accept that I was joking even when I tell them that I was. Someone wrote that in order to perceive the truth, one must be able to lie. Presumably, someone who can lie well is sufficiently aware of the subtleties that separate truth from falsehood to be able to mimic them. I am not sure where this leaves me. I cannot deceive others for my own gain because of the guilt I feel in doing so, yet I can give a convincing "performance". I suppose that in many ways I am gullible and easily conned, but I hope that I am receptive to that which is genuine and heartfelt. Who would have thought that a packet of instant mashed potato and a can of processed peas could be so thought-provoking? posted by grover | Thursday, June 26, 2003 Wednesday, June 25, 2003   As I lay tensed up with fear on the operating chair at the dental surgery, the dentist told me that she would send me home if I did not calm down. I managed to comply, partially by humming a favourite tune. Meanwhile the dentist billed and cooed over me as one might do to a child as she cracked various pieces of bone, telling me how well I was doing. I intend to omit this part of the story when strutting about in front of girls telling them how I took the whole thing in my stride. posted by grover | Wednesday, June 25, 2003 Tuesday, June 24, 2003   A colleague offered me a mint that has been advertised as providing instant freshness of breath. As a joke, I said asked him if the offer was meant to be a hint, to which he seemed to take a little offence. I felt as if I had been somewhat obnoxious, but whereas in the past I would have had a tendency to obsess over it, I decided to forget the incident, as my colleague surely would have. Not every social interaction will go smoothly, and when awkward moments do occur, it is not the end of the world. Later on, my colleague mentioned what had happened; he had not forgotten it after all. Rather than being stung by his comment, however, I took some comfort in discovering that I did not have a monopoly on neuroses after all. posted by grover | Tuesday, June 24, 2003 Monday, June 23, 2003   I once read that health problems are a subject to be avoided when talking with women. I can recall a number of occasions when women I have been in conversation with have spontaneously volunteered sizable amounts of information about their inner workings, and not in a good way. Speaking with J. on the telephone, I mentioned in passing that I would be having a wisdom tooth extracted, which somehow led to her talking at some length about the excruciating discomfort associated with that operation. Note to self... posted by grover | Monday, June 23, 2003 Sunday, June 22, 2003   After several attempts to initiate telephone conversations with various people, I was eventually successful in getting through to my cousin, who turns eighteen tomorrow. She does not like drinking alcohol, but I insisted that she get drunk to mark the occasion. My mother has said that I am a bad influence on my cousin. She may have a point, but we all have our roles in life. Perhaps this is mine. posted by grover | Sunday, June 22, 2003 Saturday, June 21, 2003   On a walking tour of some of the city's parks, G. commented that I was old before my time. I told him that both this and the opposing label had been applied to me numerous times, to which he replied that whilst I was emotionally immature, I also had a staid air about me. Taking his comments to heart, as I always do with criticism, I felt rather stung. It's true, I thought, I do have on old head on young (well, approaching middle-aged) shoulders. My youth has slipped me by; it never was. I have an old state of mind. Then someone pointed out that state of mind is a dynamic thing, not etched in stone or brain. O yes, I thought, and felt better. Simple, really. posted by grover | Saturday, June 21, 2003   (Friday's entry) I was surprised to learn that M.'s visage has been appropriated for a new line of apparel, and that for this reason he was starting to be recognised in public. He offered to get me some of the merchandise for free, which I agreed to, although I pointed out that I would not be wearing any of it. Later, he suggested that my image needed some adjustment because I dressed like a student. This is not the first time that this has been said of me, even though it has been some years since I paraded the streets sporting a mortar board and gown. I am now weighing the pros and cons of changing the way I dress versus being able to get service at subsidised university canteens without being questioned. posted by grover | Saturday, June 21, 2003   (Thursday night's entry) More than half asleep on the bus, I was startled into wakefulness by the sound of a hanging tree branch scraping the roof of the bus a short distance from my stop, which I would have surely missed otherwise. It was as if Mother Nature herself had given me a friendly wake-up call. I may have to write a haiku about the incident. posted by grover | Saturday, June 21, 2003 Thursday, June 19, 2003   (Wednesday night's entry) I toyed with the idea of joining the ranks of late-night "cafe society" by going for a herbal tea at half-past three in the morning, armed with a collection of short stories by a weighty Russian author, for the purposes of posing. However, on arriving at the cafe, I felt far too groggy to engage in any serious reading, and decided instead to walk the streets for a while and take in the atmosphere of the city at night. I was a little surprised at how quiet it was; beyond pockets of revellers and taxi-drivers congregated around the very few open establishments, the streets were quite deserted, even in areas world-renowned for their liveliness. The only excitement came from a man who kept looking in my direction after a police car had passed out of view. Feeling both afraid and bored, I returned to work. Back at work, inspired by the discomfort caused by the previous night's attempt at rest, I researched the subject of futons on the internet. In the West, these are usually understood to be the sort that can be converted from bed into sofa and back again. The idea of things that can change from one form to another appeals to me; other examples include flexagons (a kind of origami that can present different sides of itself depending on how it is folded) and those toy robots that transform into everyday objects such as cars and audio cassettes. The most interesting metamorphosis, however, is the sort that is performed on oneself, something that I continue to work on. This time next year, I should have transformed into a three-piece suite. posted by grover | Thursday, June 19, 2003 Wednesday, June 18, 2003   (Tuesday night's entry) Left on my own with some time left until I was due to leave, and with no work to do, I decided to have a nap on a sofa. Unfortunately, most of the sofas at my workplace are designed to seat two people, and even with my diminutive stature, I was unable to find a satisfactory reclining position. Pain ensued. posted by grover | Wednesday, June 18, 2003   (Monday and Monday night's entry) Finding myself lumbered with a dull and potentially humilating task at work, I decided to break the monotony of it by surfing the internet at the same time. Having piloted the "information superhighway" for some years, it occurred to me for the first time to look at web sites catering for people such as myself, who are somewhat displaced from both the cultures that their families come from and the one in which they live. I had been so convinced that there were no other people like me that I had not even thought to look to see if they existed. However alone you feel, your problems are very unlikely to be unique, and there will be others in the world who have gone through similar experiences. Earlier, I had collected some X-rays from the dentist. Looking at the image of the lower half of my skull reminded me of how odd it is that skulls and skeletons are often portrayed as things to be afraid of in horror films and stories. But, underneath it all, we're all skeletons, aren't we? Perhaps the world would be a little easier to live in if we could all get in touch with our inner skeletons. posted by grover | Wednesday, June 18, 2003 Monday, June 16, 2003   (Sunday's entry) I have for some time viewed emotions as being beyond our direct control, irrational, and subject to change without notice. Keeping this diary allows me to see how I felt about something on a particular day, and it is surprising just how much this can change within a short period of time. I was given pause to consider this a number of times today. For example, attending a concert (which I enjoyed immensely) of deeply unfashionable music at which most of the audience were middle-aged invoked a sense of burgeoning decrepitude in me. M(a)., with whom I went to the show, expressed similar feelings. Does this mean that I have permanently changed my mind about the importance of age? Maybe, maybe not. The only conclusion I can draw from this isolated incident is that at this specific time I felt this particular way for a number of possible reasons. I do not believe that emotions have to indicate something about your "self"; consistency for me is provided more by the way we rationally think about things. This is why I am often reluctant to express opinions based on emotions without considered thought, as I am liable to change my mind within minutes. However, many people I know are quite vocal about their feelings about various subjects, and these seem to remain the same over time. I am not sure whether to view this tendency towards inconsistency on my part as a good or a bad thing. On the one hand, it could be perceived as flightiness, whereas on the other it might be considered to be a result of accepting the nature of emotions to the extent that I do not expect them to conform to a model of how I think I should be feeling. I suppose it doesn't make a huge amount of difference either way, if one acts rationally rather than handing control over to one's emotions, something I am still working on, with varying degrees of success. Sometimes I think that I consider things too much, however, and could possibly benefit from acting more spontaneously in certain areas. Judging just which areas these ought to be is not currently a great strength; I suppose that practice is the obvious way to improve this. Or is it..? Give me a few hours to think this one over. posted by grover | Monday, June 16, 2003 Saturday, June 14, 2003   Walking through the park on the way home, I was disappointed to find the snack bar shut. It sells delicious ice-creams, just the ticket on this hot day. I had intended to indulge in a scoop of either rum and raisin (despite my teetotality) or tutti-frutti ice-cream (the idea of tasting all the fruits of the world simulataneously appeals to me). Still hankering after a sub-zero treat, I took what I thought would be a short cut to a parade of shops on the main road, and instead found myself trespassing on the local golf course, an activity that I had not undertaken in many years, ever since I found out that it was private property, in fact. I am extremely fond of parks and gardens; whilst they don't have the feeling of "getting back to nature" that the countryside proper offers (and in any case, I have always been a town mouse), they are one of my favourite environments to spend time in, lying part-way between nature and cultivation. For some reason, however, I have never been able to appreciate golf courses. The perfectly manicured greens remind me of carpet, and despite there being an expanse of sky above, I somehow feel as if I am indoors, waiting in line at a bank, or being dragged around a furniture showroom or DIY store. There even seems to be something fake about the trees dotted around; I would not be surprised to go up to one and find it made of plastic, like the plants in office receptions. Two sand bunkers resembled gigantic, dusty nostrils. A good walk ruined, indeed. As I sat in the garden eating a variety of cold meats and cheese, I was treated to a visual smorgasbord as an assortment of civilian and military aircraft flew directly overhead on their way to a "fly-by" as part of some royal celebration. A robin flitted about the flowerbed, a not infrequent, but always welcome sight. Only ever seeing one at a time, I always fancy that I have been seeing the same one since I was a child, an impossibilty, of course. posted by grover | Saturday, June 14, 2003   (Friday's entry) Friday the thirteenth is considered to be an unlucky day by the superstitious. I do not subscribe to that view myself, but it was as good an excuse as any to laze decadently around the house all day instead of doing anything productive. Perhaps it was foolhardy of me not to stand in a doorway grasping a sprig of lucky heather, but I survived the day intact nonetheless. Are black cats lucky or unlucky? posted by grover | Saturday, June 14, 2003 Friday, June 13, 2003   (Thursday's entry) Seeing J. for the first time in several weeks, it occurred to me, not for the first time, that I feel a certain amount of unease when I am around her. I find her to be a good barometer for gauging the appropriateness of one's behaviour thanks to her quite strong reactions to social stimuli. This does, however, have the upshot that I am somewhat on tenterhooks in case I provoke an outburst of exasperation from her. She once said to me that I would grow weary of her long before she did of me, something I considered absurd at the time. After all, knowing her had helped me to discover a whole new conception of what it means to love someone. I hope her prophecy is not fulfilled. Strange to feel this distance from a person to whom I have felt so very close. Someone once called us "The Odd Couple", a moniker that T. applied to the friendship I have with him many years ago. I have since accepted that whilst on the face of it, we are unlikely friends, we share a bond on an emotional level. Perhaps this indicates the future of my relationship with J., a relationship which has been key in my personal progress over the past year or so. But who knows what will happen. On the train, it seemed to me that a man who was in a particularly extroverted mood, presumably with the aid of some chemical, was faring quite well with a woman whom he had approached despite the headphones clamped to her ears and the book in which she was buried. It was only after he had left the train that I realised, through her conversation with another man, that she thought the first man was quite psychotic. Ironically, he had brought together these two people, as after they got off the train and left the station they talked and laughed at some length in the street before walking off into the night together. posted by grover | Friday, June 13, 2003 Wednesday, June 11, 2003   After refusing a request for the company to contribute towards the cost of my new spectacles, my boss showed me her massage chair, which was leaning against her office wall. Apparently, she has to administer fifty massages to qualify as a masseuse, and has presumably brought the chair in to hasten this process. Perhaps I can claim some of the value of my glasses back "in kind". Plus, if I can obtain incriminating photographs, financial recompense may be forthcoming after all. F. showed me a wonderful public garden lined with wisteria that I had somehow missed (I fancy myself as a bit of a park enthusiast). He said, jokingly, that I spent time with people younger than myself (such as he) in order to feel more youthful myself. This reminded me of how T. had mentioned that he had not enjoyed a party he had attended recently because "everyone was twenty-five". I was surprised at how this could be a problem. At the other end of the spectrum, some colleagues expressed yet again their disgust at a film they had seen that depicts a woman in her sixties engaging in sex. Again, this did not trouble me. From my early twenties, age has had a diminished importance (at least with regard to people in their twenties or above), and I have often had to think twice when asked how old I am. And for as long as I can remember, I have alternately been accused of being both prematurely aged and juvenile. It is true that I tend to be amongst the older members of any group. However, I put this down to my being a slow developer, in all senses, and I sometimes feel quite childish next to people who are chronologically my juniors. No fool like an old fool. As I prepared to leave work, I had a brief conversation with M(a)., who is some years older than me, and reassured myself that I was not after all some evil old man who would wish to sap the youthful energy of those around me by reflecting that I would enjoy sleeping with her; I do not find her particularly physically appealing, but I am very fond of her, so I would see it as sharing a physical experience with a friend. Yes, I thought, I am indeed a tremendously deep person; mere surface qualities are meaningless to me. My reverie was shattered somewhat when, moments after exiting the building, I ran into a much younger female acquaintance (barely twenty, I think), whom I have always found highly alluring. This may be because of her exceptionally pretty face, or because she possesses quite remarkable breasts (so I have been told by others; I am far too much of a gentleman, steeped in old-world values, to look in that direction - quite an achievement in her case). Perhaps my carnal appetites have not subsided altogether after all; it must be the company I am keeping. posted by grover | Wednesday, June 11, 2003 Tuesday, June 10, 2003   My new glasses, which I picked up today, are having the bizarre effect of making flat surfaces below me appear as if they are sloping upwards away from me. I should grow accustomed to this in time. I visited my old workplace to discuss some business with some old colleagues with whom I am embarking on a project. After the meeting, I lingered to chat with various former cohorts. N. said that my spectacles made me look like a psychiatrist. G. said that they made me look younger, but that my beard made me look older. My one-time boss did not comment on my eyewear, although he did eject me from the building. I had intended to go to the cinema afterwards, but was not in the mood. Was I allowing the earlier unpleasantness to influence me more than necessary? Possibly. However, the fact that I was feeling rather seasick from the visual distortion I was experiencing was probably a significant factor. posted by grover | Tuesday, June 10, 2003 Monday, June 09, 2003   (Monday's entry) My dentist informed me that I needed to have a wisdom tooth extracted. I have little enough wisdom as it is. How will I cope without it? posted by grover | Monday, June 09, 2003   (Sunday's entry) Having turned down a number of social engagements lately out of unadulterated sloth, and on the verge of doing so again, I decided at the last moment to make a trek across town to meet B. after all. A sentence in the book I was reading on the train read: "The man could not really have been described as young: he was about thirty or so." This is my current age, and while it is true that in this day it is not considered to be old as such, I have noticed that lately, besides a greater number of white hairs, my age is becoming apparent through my diminishing libido (hence my readiness the day before to end a conversation with a woman I am attracted to). One might expect this to be a good thing, specifically with regard to my recent experiments with letting go of desire. However, I quite want it back now, especially as I now have more female companions than ever before. I wonder if that is related to my unexcitability? When I arrived at my destination, I was witness to a loud and extended argument between B. and one of his bandmates. Afterwards, B. explained to me that there was a quite astonishing level of deceit within the band, stemming largely from the unwillingness of one member to take part in any form of direct confrontation, and that he had been attempting to minimise the consequences of this by bringing out into the open criticisms that had already been made behind people's backs. Whilst I have long been averse to arguments, this does illustrate that avoiding confrontation at all costs may lead to greater problems later on. At the end of the night, as we headed for our respective homes, B. asked me how much he owed me, as I had agreed to lend him the money for our evening out. He seemed a little put out that I knew the precise breakdown of what I had paid for. Still, I chose not to turn this particular awkward moment into an argument about the principles of lending and borrowing. Apparently, it's not the done thing to keep count in this way, a hangover from my less than wealthy upbringing, and it might have come across as a little mercenary. We live and learn though, and in future I shall give an approximate figure (rounded up in my favour, naturally). posted by grover | Monday, June 09, 2003 Saturday, June 07, 2003   (Saturday's entry) M. told me over the telephone that he felt that people were often more willing to hear negative things about others' lives in order to boost their own self-esteem. I can see this tendency in myself sometimes, and indeed when someone has positive news about something, I sometimes jealously think about the inadequacies of my own situation in comparison to theirs. The truth is, of course, that in some ways we are worse off than any given person, and better off in other ways. Still, rather than coming out of the conversation feeling ashamed about my lack of empathy when compared to M., his positivity had rubbed off on me, and when I called Z. a short while later, she commented on this, saying that I sounded "hyper". She herself sounded almost affronted to be exposed to my buoyant mood. When she told me that she was at G.'s home, despite a small twinge of envy, I decided to speak to him instead, having grown weary of the conversation with Z. A little uncharitable, I know. posted by grover | Saturday, June 07, 2003 Friday, June 06, 2003   Having spent the day in something of a funk, I was glad to see my one-time shift partner, M(a). at a work-related meeting. Over drinks afterwards, we discussed my boss, specifically M(a).'s dislike of her, while she stood mere centimetres away from us. I had already succeeded in making a bad impression upon her that day; in for a penny... Later, I talked at moderate length with a colleague with whom I had worked before at another company. I realise now that this was the first time we had spoken properly in years, as we do not see one another much at work. He was always an affable young man, and had now seemed to have largely lost the distinctly racist edge he had when I knew him before, and indeed our conversation focussed largely on prejudice and intolerance. I myself had pre-judged him based on my past experience of him when I first discovered that he was employed at my then prospective workplace, but had later found out that he had recommended me heartily for my current job when I was still being considered for it. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two about goodwill from this person whom I had thought of as hateful. I discovered a photograph tucked in the pages of a book that I have had on loan from the library for months. Strange that I missed it for so long, as it is not a very large book, although it is true that I had not been reading it much until the last week or so. I often borrow books with a feeling of excitement at the possibility that they might be life-changing, and then return them having barely glanced at them. Occasionally, however, they do actually turn out to be life-changing. The more one keeps one's eyes open, the higher the chance of seeing something special. That photograph probably belongs to the person who had the book before me; I shall hand it in when I return the book. posted by grover | Friday, June 06, 2003 Thursday, June 05, 2003   (Thursday's entry) Having signed up, at S.'s suggestion, to a web site aimed at reuniting old schoolmates and colleagues, I headed straight to the page for the place where I was first employed on a full-time basis. Former employees were categorised according to the department they had worked in. I noticed that there was one entry under the category for the most junior position at the company. Why would someone who had worked there for such a short time without progressing past the entry level bother posting their name there? It must take a certain kind of person to do that, I thought. I wondered if it might be... And it was. Mistaking my feelings for lust at the time, I now believe that I was in love with E. all those years ago. In a way, she was my first love. I suspect that my affections for her may have been reciprocated to an extent, another first, and therefore only. Had I instigated a romantic relationship with her back then, my life might have turned out rather differently, for a number of reasons. I did contact her via e-mail after a gap of seven years, and her response mirrored my own emotions to a large degree. Since then, I have reevaluated the whole idea of romantic love. Nonetheless, seeing her name, knowing that she exists somewhere, brought on a flurry of emotions. And memories. One morning, I thought she smelled a bit odd, and, in a failed attempt at subtlety, asked her when she had last taken a bath. Amongst a group of friends who were laughing and joking, she leaned over to me and whispered: "They're nothing compared to you." Such tender moments were so rare as to be near nonexistent in those days, and for the next eight years. I loved to see her laugh. One time, she laughed so hard that I felt moved to immortalise the moment in verse (I shall spare you). I remember that she had a phosphorescent transfer of a skull on the back of her hand. I bought her a book of grotesque cartoons, but was too afraid to give it to her. It still resides in a cupboard in my home. I shall give it away; to whom, I am unsure. --------o-------- I activated the link next to E.'s name that would allow me to contact her, and discovered that one had to pay a sum of five pounds sterling in order to use this feature of the web site. Well, that was that. Money can't buy me love. Still, there's always the possibility that she might contact me. The sense of anticipation, which will soon fade, is adolescent, but sweet nonetheless. posted by grover | Thursday, June 05, 2003   (Wednesday's entry) On the bus on the way to visit T., I felt somewhat uncomfortable, hemmed in as I was on all sides by a group of teenaged "pikeys", that unfortunate but threatening subsection of society whose lives seem to be dominated by ignorance, malice and tracksuits. I was torn between trying to quell my prejudicial feelings towards them, and acting according to those presumptions by not drawing attention to myself in any way. Just the day before, I was considering the virtue of not judging books by their covers. However, the evidence of their behaviour, and indeed their appearance, overwhelmingly pointed me in the direction of not giving these youths the benefit of any kind of doubt. I certainly wasn't inclined to take out my mobile telephone and proceed to have a loud conversation about Russian literature. In situations where things might quickly reach an acute climax, stereotypical assumptions and snap judgements may be all that one has to go on. It's a fine line, however. My labelling of this gaggle of youths as "pikeys" is a prime example of the kind of psychological short-cut that can be useful in the short term, but can be the first step towards hatred and xenophobia. I think the trick is to not allow oneself to be consumed by these labels in the long term, to recognise them as adaptive tools rather then believing in them too deeply, and to realise that no one is truly one-dimensional. There are always reasons that people behave in certain ways, be they objectionable or otherwise, poverty being an example of such a reason in this case. I once read somewhere that whilst stereotypes often have some truth to them, it is not fair to apply them to anyone on an individual basis. This is a compromise, of course, but I have yet to think of an improvement on it. On the return journey, an inebriated man kept glancing at me as I was reading. What could he want, I thought, irritably. It turned out that he merely wished to exchange a few words of friendly chatter. posted by grover | Thursday, June 05, 2003 Tuesday, June 03, 2003   (Tuesday's entry) Viewing a vacant room in a house, with a thought to renting it, I opened a wardrobe built into the wall to find that it was much smaller inside than one would have thought from its outward appearance. Earlier, a large, well-built male colleague, who has a tendency to pepper his speech with profanities, made an observation about how the tendency of our manager to talk constantly stemmed from insecurities that he had. He went on to say how he used to share this habit, a surprise considering that much of the time he seems to be content to be a man of few words. A short while later, as he coached me in how to use a particular software suite, I reflected on how his sensitive nature, which became apparent soon after I met him, contrasted with his surface qualities. posted by grover | Tuesday, June 03, 2003 Monday, June 02, 2003   Over a plate of liver and onions, I discussed perfumery with S. He mentioned the great care his girlfriend takes with her choice of soap, whilst I recounted my attempts at formulating a cologne. Olfaction is the most powerful of senses in terms of its ability to evoke emotions and memories. I have been informed more than once that I have almost no humanly discernible odour, hence my interest in producing a scent with which I can be associated. A few fragrant thoughts: The smell of incense always used to remind me of urine. Discovering that joss-sticks are burned in toilets in China to freshen the air was the ultmate irony for me. Z. claims to apply perfume to her wrists, behind her ears, and to her bosom each day. I only have first-hand confirmation of two of these. J.'s fabric conditioner makes her clothes smell as if they have been exposed to a cannabis-derived substance. I cannot remember the fragrance of her skin, only that I love it. D(a). uses a sufficient quantity of aftershave when preparing for a night out to cause corridors down which he has walked to smell as if they have been directly sprayed with it long after he has vacated them. posted by grover | Monday, June 02, 2003 Sunday, June 01, 2003   With thunderstorms having been forecast, I planned to walk to a nearby wooded hill, and witness some of nature's drama. Sadly, dark clouds did not gather, the most spectacular offering being somewhat overcast skies and a splattering of rain. Perhaps it was for the best, as I later read that the place I had intended to visit would have been one of the more hazardous environments to be in during a storm (not that I was foolhardy enough in the first place to want to walk all the way to the top of the hill and hold my arms aloft whilst grasping a metal umbrella). Still, I am rather disappointed that the storm did not happen, although I expect it will break later. I am still keen to go out and be rained heavily upon at the next opportunity, although I shall seek some safety advice first. This does bring into relief the disparity between my only being moderately concerned about entering a situation that could lead to death or injury, and being overly anxious at the present time about other scenarios that in the worst case would result in relatively minor consequences, such as embarrassment, or loss of money. After I voiced my storm-related concerns, friends advised me to "just go and do it". It strikes me (much like lightning) that this would be a good course of action with regard to my social and business worries as well. posted by grover | Sunday, June 01, 2003		links my life in prose contact archives