A melange of a conversation I had a long time ago and a conversation I read in a book.

Me: "So you weren't interested in all those things I talk about?"

Someone Else: "Well, yes. A bit. And more so then than I am now. That's life though, isn't it?"

Me: "But you see... . That's all there is of me. There isn't anything else. If you've lost interest in the books and the writing and the ranting and the technology, you've lost interest in everything. What's the point of us?"

Someone Else: "You really believe that?"

Me: "Yes. Look at me. Look at the flat. What else has it got apart from games and books and VCDs?"

Someone Else: "And do you like it that way?"

Me: "I don't know. I don't think so. I wish it hadn't happened that way, but it did, and in your words, "That's life though, isn't it?""

Someone Else: "You know what the sad thing is? You have potential. As a human being. You have all the basic ingredients. You're really very likeable, when you put your mind to it. You make people laugh, when you can be bothered, and you're occasionally kind, and... it's just that most of the time you can't be bothered."

"You just.. you just don't do anything. You get lost in your head, and you sit around thinking instead of getting on with something, and most of the time you think rubbish. You always seem to miss what's really happening. You know that expression, "Time on his hand and himself on his mind"? That's you."