raino

Writing and sending an invoice is such a chore for me. It would be more logical for it to be a joyous occasion - work done, money soon coming, yay! but no. It's like pushing through a wall. I procrastinate, fidget, feel uneasy, even if there is no rational reason for it. The recipient is not going to contest the invoice, no-one is expecting me to work for free, the customers are probably eager to get the invoice and get it paid as soon as possible to get the project closed. And yet in my head it feels like asking for money in exchange for my work is somehow shameful. Why is this!? Otherwise I don't find I have self-worth issues. And when I've finally managed to send the invoice, the stress evaporates. But even today, I had to make myself a rule I'm not eating lunch until the invoice is sent, otherwise it mght have taken all day.
I talked with my husband about this and he just could not relate to this in the slightest. He tried, but it was just utterly impenetrable concept to him. But I've seen discussions where women have expressed some similar feelings, I wonder if this is a gendered thing...

Generally I think smoking is an unhealthy and unattractive habit, but occasionally it's just so aesthetically pleasing... saw the other day this lovely scene, as if I'd walked into a movie:
a cool Japanese dude, as cool as you can imagine, good-looking and self-assured and emanating a slight bad boy vibe, lounging outside a traditional charcoal grill food place. Unlit cigarette in his mouth. He takes tongs, picks up a red-hot coal and lights his cigarette with it.
Asdffsfsf my cool-o-meter just exploded!
But smoking only suits the quite young ("I'm not going to bother to live past thirty anyway") or the very old (consistency and has cheated death already). Middle-aged and smoking, very difficult to look hip.

I wonder if this works now

aaah this being adult / work stuff is so frustrating! I need to complete a project but I can't get working on it because answering e-mails and filling travel forms (matkalasku, whatever that is) swamp me. I could be more productive though, I argh and grunt about having to fill forms and just communicate with people so much it eats up hours of my time.

And yet I know being a freelanecr suits me better than working employed, so I really should not complain.

Argh argh matkalasku, grunt grunt phonecall, whine whine e-mail...

It used to baffle me when non-published amateur writers commented on whatever discussion something like "oh this reminds me of the main character in my novel, she's this really cool vampire gogo-girl who can shoot laser beams from her ass", like, as if anyone cared about your unfinished and unpublished writings in relation to this discussion that has zero to do with writing, vampires, gogo-girls, novels or laser beams. But I'm slowly starting to understand. Everything seems to connect with my stories. Only the memory of those previous encounters with over-eager writers hold me back from posting similar comments.

I suppose in the end of my life I'll understand everyone and everything.

I picked up a book of the above title from recycling center free room. The early days of space race interest me, there's something appealing about the optimism and drive of that moment.

The question that arises from reading this book is "what on Earth drove people to obsessively experiment on rockets in the very early 20th century, when all they could produce were pitiful things that flew a few hundred meters if they did not explode dangerously, which was the most common outcome?". In the very beginning it was not military. It was mostly personal obsession of individuals, which however laid the groundwork upon which the military rockets of WW2 were built, and which in turn were the very necessary groundwork for real spacecraft.

My back broke or at least it feels like it. Very humbling. I tend to think of myself as a person with a robust body, migraines being the only exception. But hoo hoo, every now and then I'm reminded that I'm at the mercy of my flesh like everyone else.

AI ethics interest me currently – interest inspired my the recent Star Wars movie. It suddenly struck me that it is highly immoral and wrong how droids in the SW universe have masters and owners, despite being obviously entities with own will and understanding of self. Of course the heroes treat their droids kindly, but still... this revelation has made the whole Rebellion taste rather sour with me. Why is precious freedom only for biological creatures? Why build self-aware entities which have no way to break free from ingrained servitude?
Now one explanation could be that the droids have to "pay back" the materials which went into constructing them. But it would take only certain amount of time, and if we go that route, then we should also think that children are obliged to pay back what their parents have invested into them, in devotion and obedience if not in material terms. (Which is, as filial piety, of course the view in most traditional societies). But the current view is that we do not owe any obligatory, unassailable gratitude for our parents, only in relation to how nice they have been to us. And if we reserve this right for ourselves, then it is clearly unfair to deny it from being that were built instead of born. So, if C3PO is made so that despite being a self-aware being he can never break free from his bond to his masters, and this is accepted as OK – then also the same morality should be applied to others, and we should despise Luke for 1st for being unobedient toward his fosterparents, and then later not agreeing to join his father at the Dark Side.

And the same moral considerations can be applied to 21st century Earth. This race to build a real, strong AI creates moral complications in a world where even the moral simplicities (do unto others etc.) are not observed.

Other than being tied to the house loan for next 20 years I'm super happy about new home. It's a peculiar little apartment in a 1910's jugendstil castle, all strange angles and totally unreasonable little nooks. I feel so at home already.

Going through the stuff in the basement in preparation for possible move: why after sorting boxes of memorabilia it feels like I've been digging a ditch? Even if the contents are flyers etc. so it's not physical tiredness but mental. I'm not that nostalgic for my youth, but certainly each year passed is a year of possibilities cemented into one outcome only.

The urban fantasy story has been abandoned for now. For whatever reason I can't get it rolling. Plenty of text comes out, but it does not lead anywhere.

Instead, I started writing about these gay space super soldiers. And there's a story that's almost finished, it's just missing a crucial battle scene. It's incredibly difficult to write! I have no pattern in my mind about what could happen in a firefight or any kind of fight tbh. Just blank. I've spent some hours watching Halo, Gears of war, Dead Space videos on YouTube (in my nightdress and unshowered, which I think is only proper way to do it) and still don't have a clue. I'm definitely out of my writing comfort zone now. Either I learn something, or then I write something terribly cringe-worthy. All this make-believe stuff is kind of embarrassing anyway.