Okay, so this space is never usually used as a platform on which to commentate my day-to-day, as, when reduced to its bare actions, my day-to-day is pretty damn boring. I also loathe the concept of a blog which essentially details the banal events of someone’s personal life, the implored documentation of a faux celebrity (such synonym) in the virtual form of a public wank, a glorified social status update in longhand form indiscriminately ejaculating metaphorical semen in endless streams of offensive prose whose subject is the subject of the subject of the blogging wankee. There are exceptions. But they are few.
Of course I’m entirely generalising.
So, yeah, my life is not exciting. If I had detailed my day-to-day as it were as of a fortnight ago, it would have needed only to copy and past the following for Monday to Friday:
- 06.45: Wake-up – smile, drink water, shower, dress/Music
- 07.30: Eat
- 08.10: Commute to work/read/write/Music
- 09.00: Work
- 10.15: Eat
- 13.00: Eat/Music
- 16.00: Eat
- 17.30: Finish work/walk to gym/Music
- 18.00: Shake/Music
- 18.15 – 19.30: Train (gym, not transport)/Music
- 19.45: Walk to bus stop/shake/Music
- 20.10: Bus home/read/write/Music
- 22.00: Eat at home/chill/Music
- 23.30 – 00.30: Crash
…apart from the weekend when this routing is intermittently disrupted by alcohol and semi-consciousness, and the odd-mid-week engagement which often involves mixing drum and bass and other various EDM in a friend’s bedroom and crashing on his sofa.
This is not a bad thing. I love my day-to-day routine. It’s generally known you could literally set a watch by Immanuel Kant‘s daily routine; he never left his home town, and yet he achieved more from the comfort of his bedside table than I will in my lifetime repeated times over.
But such routines are not things which can last forever, unless, that is, you are happy to live a continued existence of familiarity and predictability or if it is required for the development of a ground-breaking lifework (applicable for the likes of Kant and Stephen Hawking – this muthafucka doesn’t even get out of his chair). It’s comfortable. But it’s not for Gav. Whilst I have found having a particular inclination toward routine in daily life an extremely beneficial personality trait (or even learned skill) it is also necessary to be adaptable. In general, if I don’t have a least three boxes of Tupperware in by backpack filled with food of varying protein and carbohydrate sources I can never be at ease. I panic. It scares me. But then I’ve learnt to adapt in the sense that I can reapply the same routine in its skeleton form to a new place with new surroundings, new people, new languages and a new culture. ‘Protein’ is now ‘bilkoviny’, carbohydrates is ‘sacharidy’ and ‘fat’ is ‘ Tuk’; now I can add the phrases ‘tuk bastard’ and ‘bilkoviny’ whore to my repertoire.
I know some people actually read this blog now so this is basically the reason I haven’t posted in the longest time in over a year. I’ve just moved to Prague and I’m studying to teach English as a foreign language. It’s intense. So I haven’t even had time to extend my music listening, let alone mix drum and bass in headphones in my bedroom, let alone read, let alone write. I’ve masturbated once this week. It’s all about priorities.
I’ve still been scribbling so I hope to compose something in a few weeks. It’s a satire about humanitarianism and ecology and involves Kenyans. Excited? I am. I miss writing.
Anyway, this is Žižkov Tower and now I live near it. There are giant babies climbing up it, the creative ejaculation of Czech artist David Černý. It’s pretty weird and he’s created a lot of downright weird as fuck works if you want to ‘Czech’ him out (yeah he just wrote that). Enjoi.