In Thrice They Come, In Thrice They Go.

I've just realized that I need to start working out again. I've lost quite a few pounds, and am looking rather like a shade of my former self. Not yet gaunt, but rapidly heading in that direction (Although, I enjoy being slim, waif-like I think it's time to beef up - just a tiny bit) It's a different look from beefy, butch homosexual man.

My manager/friend/ex-roommate C. reads my blog, as you might have noticed, and today he kindly let me know - again I might add - about company policy on surfing the Internet during office hours. He has also commented on some remarks I made in my post concerning my job. This is what you get when you're friendly with the management; even when they're not working they keep tabs on you. I know that he's been known to surf the Internet during office hours, as well. And he knows that I know. I can recall numerous MSN conversations conducted while he was in office, supposedly working like a diligent bee raking in the dough. But, I did not throw these facts in his face, nor did I even mildly hint at them. I just said that I know what company policy says. I then added that if he didn't like what he reads on my blog that he should stop reading it. He said no. I said OK. I hope that that will be the end of it.

I may now feel pressured to write less candidly about my work, but having mulled over the concept I have decided to not go with it. No, I'm not going to write less candidly about my work, since this is my online diary in which it is my right to bitch about things that I feel are worth bitching about.

My life, at this point, is quite devoid of diversions. Well. I do not go out dancing. I do not have a hobby, nor a special someone. It seems the only things I do are sleep, eat (and this not even on a regular basis), and work. In between these very exciting activities I manage to sneak in the odd trip to the museum, or a dance recital.
And with the prospect of a good friend's departure to strange lands looming at the not so distant horizon my life seems to be heading toward a scary place where social contact is even more limited than it is now. Of course, there are other people in my life. But they all have fairly regular jobs, and cannot meet during the day. And since my living in these backwater parts entails my having to travel at least an hour before reaching the civilized world, I had rather not meet during the evenings - especially in this weather. I'd rather stay in and do absolutely nothing. Well. That's a lie. I'd rather stay in and write.

At any rate, my blog must read like a sad tale of boredom. Unfortunately, my life is at the moment hog-tied; its movements limited to what I have listed prior, which makes for not a very exciting read. I can write about my anxieties, though I do not want to whine. I do much of that already. I guess, that a bit of soul-searching at this point would be a dangerous undertaking; dangerous in the sense that it will draw a most unfavourable impression of me, since my current state of mind will distort any feeling I might be experiencing, or any thought I might have. Even though, this is my place to vent I'm constantly aware that someone is reading along as I'm typing this. So. It's an uncomforatble feeling. I see it as an experiment. An experiment into determining how I will deal with eyes directed constantly at me, focused on my every move. These pair of eyes needn't pass a moral judgment; their mere presence will act as a (moral) corset shaping what I write.

Today at work I was less tired, but just as irritable as yesterday. I suppose my lack of proper nutriments is affecting my mental health. I need to find myself a hobby, or at least, something else worth fretting about, because these scribbles about food, sleep, work are far from interesting, and put even me to sleep.