Mellow fuckin' yellow.

Whoa there Ringo.  Lower your voice and take your hands off the horn, pal.  You're causing a scene and turning purple into the bargain - and nobody should hit that particular shade of puse over something so trivial.  It's not life or death, it's a parking space.  Repeat after me :  Fucking.  Parking.  Space.  It's not like I've not just drugged and boned your daughter, burgled your house or run over your wittle doggie.  All I've done is reach a parking space before you - I don't think you need to be calling the United Nations or Amnesty International just yet.

Seriously, chillax already.  Take it easy with Cadbury's Caramel.  Take stock, take deep breaths, take yourself on vacation if you need to but for the love of all things holy, get a grip.  Get a sense of fucking perspective and get it now.  Then when you've done that, you may want to contemplate sticking your monstah-monstah truck in reverse and jamming yourself into one of those fifty other spaces that are over the other side and beckoning you seductively.  Go on... you know you want to, you supermarket carpark little man-whore-tart.  You know it makes sense.  Now, fuck off already.

There was a time I was just like you, Ringo.  Caffeinated to the eyeballs, smoke hanging from my lips I walked fast, talked faster and twitched like an electrified corpse from the moment I woke to the moment I passed out again.  Life was stress stress stress, deadline deadline deadline.  What if I don't get there in time?  What if I get a bad reaction when I do get there?  What if I'm not prepared or unable to answer a question?  What if I look stupid?  What if a meteor hits the earth and disrupts my internet service?  What if Bo Bice doesn't win American Idol?  How will I cope?  What's that churning, rising inferno in my stomach?  Am I going to vomit over myself or shit myself and why the hell can't I find a fucking parking space in this fucking car park?  Does acid indigestion count as a disability?  It's gonna have to - time's a-pressin' and that disabled space aint gonna fill itself....

These days it's not that I care less, I just stress less.  If you'd caught me back then, sure I'd have had a good old stand-up argument with you Ringo.  I'd have sworn, called you a fucker and given as good as I got, but you're a few years too late my friend.  You lucked out and got the new and improved calm version - the guy who's smiling because he thinks you're acting like a major dick over something minor.  The guy who knows that life just happens and that shit just happens.  Deadlines come and deadlines go and sometime the world does bad things to good people.  Sometimes the world does good things to bad people and sometimes it seems unfair.  Sometimes the only thing you have real control over is how you react when you have no control.  Too zen for you here Ringo?  Doesn't matter - the fact is that no matter what, life goes on around it all and that's the pool we're all swimming in pal.  You get angry, you splash around here and those ripples will travel all the way to the other side.  Long after you've stopped thrashing around like Angry Angus the Incandescent Octopus, those ripples will still be there to disrupt the stillness.  You want that life?  You happy being one of those guys who screams at people in car parks?  You want a life where you get red faced and apoplectic all because someone brought their car to a halt in a place you'd planned to do the same?  If that's what you want then you go for it.  You knock yourself out - just don't expect me to give a shit these days.  Go do your bombs in someone else's pool because these days I know when to hang on and and when to let go, when to care and when to care not.  Where your indignation here is concerned, I don't care and I'm gonna have to let you go.  On your way, go with god, all the best and other such platitudes.  I'll see you inside once you've managed to find a park, yeah?

Behind The Slash.

Arty isn't it?  Much more cutting edge that a hyphen and better than an ampusand.  Ampusands are so last millennium.  Had to be the slash really.  

No really - had to be.  Sit, listen - got a story to tell you.  Interesting?  Probably not.  Humour me.

Decided to start a blog.  Go me.  Picked a name.  Go me even more.  What?  Eh?  Someone's got the name already?  Boo, hiss.

The culprit?  The focus of my wrath?  None other than that nefarious Gabriel Villeda . What?  You don't know Gabriel?  Let me introduce you.

Gabriel started blogging in October 2003 with marvellous assertion.  Blogs were for "faggots who have more gigs of porn than hair on their heads", he/she proclaimed.  Quite liked that one, especially as Gabriel then decided not to stop blogging but to carry right on.  Apparently despite obvious sign of homosexuality, blogs were still a valuable component of the internet and allowed a certain amount of anonymity.  All good points Gabriel.  Just so we're clear, you yourself - full head of hair or large hard drive?  Just so we're clear.  Kinda wondering, you see.
  
Unlikely to ever know.  Quell that rising disappointment.  You see Gabriel's blog only ran to two more entries so the truth may be out there, but I doubt  it will ever come knocking for tea and an explanation.  Similarly, may have to face life without ever knowing if Gabriel ever overcame their Koolaid habit, perfected Emo poetry or improved on their 'infamous asian schoolgirl' phase.  Bit of a downer - find myself sad that so many questions may just hang in the air unanswered for all eternity.   May get over it eventually, may need therapy.  Time will tell.

So men and women of blogdom, charge and raise your glasses.  Here's to Gabriel - the one who got there first.  Gabriel, I salute you, wish you well.  Wherever you are, whatever you're doing and whether you're happy or sad, boy or girl, emo or goth, I honour you for the pivotal role you played in that slash up there.  Drop by some time.  Don't be a stranger now and if anyone visits looking for me, point them this way, okay?

Trick Number One.

Yawn.  Must stay focused.  Must stay alert.  Must not fall asl…..zzzzzzz           

Easier some days, harder others.  Consensus around the office is that today’s a harder day – that today is just another 'day like this'.  

Not just because today's Monday, first day back after the weekend - on a day like this you wouldn't want to be here it was Monday, Wednesday or Friday.  Doesn’t take much on a day like this - one look out of the window at the pale blue sky confirms the horrific truth that there's a world out there ripe for exploration and enjoyment.  Take a look and see the proof.  See people out there doing that exploring thing; walking somewhere, jogging or cycling somewhere.  Some alone, some in groups and some even be hand in hand.  How brazen, how bold.  No matter - the one thing all those people have in common is that they’re out there.  In the world.  The right side of the glass.  By contrast here you are on the wrong side of that same glass - safe and secure in the sterile, air-conditioned confines of the office.  

Maybe this is the only escape available.  Screw the in-box, the in-tray - let’s look at the same old screen a brand new way.  Lets tap at the keyboard for fun and not out of duty.  Let’s think about whatever, not what's got an 'urgent' stamp next to it.  Not the same as really being outside in the world, granted.  Not the same as basking in the heat under that pale blue sky, sure- but it’s still escapism of sorts.  One way to duck another 'day like this'. 

Let’s build somewhere, a hidey-hole.  A sanctuary - somewhere to take refuge when days like this come calling.    Maybe a way to reach through that glass barrier, escape to the world outside, feel the heat of a day on outstretched arms.  

Game on, all bets off - all at once. 

Think about it hard enough, for long enough, could be quite exciting....