mbloggery

The Duff can't seem to sleep tonight. It always happens when he has something on the next day and he tries to go to bed early.

Almost immediately he knows he's screwed. His mind's eye wanders right back to the laptop and the programme he left playing in the background screams at him in acute clarity. It is almost hi def but in pounding sound waves.

He gives up and picks up his phone. The latest toy. Still paying for it. Heh. He surfs around, checking out the latest scores, checks what his so-called friends are up to, while at the back of his mind he knows what each and every real friend of his is doing.

He thinks then that it would be kind of fun to find something to do. Something to let loose any residual energy he has left from the paltry trials and tribulations of the day. And he remembers that he has this special place where he used to "frequent". A wall where he could shout and wail and come back months later to read the spittle on the paint, or relisten to the fading echoes of an earlier, younger and inescapable naive whimper.

And scream at said wall through new medium too. The novelty may actually last perhaps a tad bit longer. In that respect he has it similarly to don draper. The newness of things. A freshness to proceedings. An unboringness.

The sad truth that is. A relentless and never-ending pursuit of the unmundane. Forever doomed. The perpetual beta indeed.