Yesterday I came home, had a big rant, watched the sunset over the garden, swigged some rough merlot and felt a little better.
I know, you think I'm overreacting but do you have any idea of the sort of headkicking I'd have been in for if somebody from the outside had found very important pages broken and the menus not working on very sensitive material? Formal questions would have been raised in very important places and I should have been in for a bloody great fonging. Fortunately I discovered these errors and managed to fix most of them before they were noticed, all while feeling crampy and horrible, but I still get censured for grizzling audibly, C3PO style, which I could not help, suffering from extreme panic as I was. Does the person who committed these horrors get in trouble? Of course not, don't be silly.
Ack. I need another drink.
Crawled into bed and unhappily accidentally slept through Without a Trace though I did stir everytime I heard EC's voice, I was just too bleary to pay attention. Managed a little better through Reilly but still kept drifting off into my own feverish version and snored through Birds of Prey and Lost World entirely, and as Lost World was on half an hour after the advertised time, I missed taping most of it. Bugger. Oh well, for the bits of EC and Sam I did see, they were both looking very pretty.
I'm hoping to go home early today. It's a faint but fervent hope, yet I cling to it like a religious icon, mainly because I feel like crap and I want to go home. Cramps aside, I'm gushing so much I've absolutely soaked through everything from bra to socks. Not happy. Very squishy.
My desire to go home of course has nothing whatsoever to do with Encore having an afternoon screening of My Brilliant Career. Mmmm, young Sam. Should I be so lucky to see it, it might almost make up for missing bits of Reilly yesterday, and, even more miraculously, may yet inspire me to have Alan do something other than use Billy as a bouncy castle.
Or Bouncy Titanic, as the case may be. Mother and I are still cackling over the Bouncy Titanic at the local fair. From now on, whenever I'm accused of being inappropriate, which you'll be no doubt surprised to learn, is quite often, I shall look the prude in the eye and merely say: "Bouncy Titanic", because I'm sure I'd have to try very hard to be more vulgar and tasteless than the Bouncy Titanic, though I'm sure there are a great many people who believe I manage that just be getting out of bed in the morning. Ah, well.
Of course the chances of me getting home before darkness falls are a million to one. More. Sadly, statistically, it seems as though I've as much chance of shagging one of my favourite actors as seeing them on telly these days, ie, the odds of both being so astronomical as to resememble the phone number of an overseas relative. Sigh.
Why I am bothering to tell you all this is to simply explain as to why I haven't written any fic this week, or last week. Firstly, while isn't always necessary for me to be conscious to plot my fic, it helps, and secondly, all work and no feedback makes me a very sad and lonely little scribe. I know, I shouldn't need it, and most times I don't, but sometimes when I get stuck, like now, suggestions and encouragement are always very welcome.