All by myself, don't wanna be all by myself....
Actually, yeah, I do. I much prefer it that way. Work is actually doable when I'm here all by myself. I get hasseled much less and about half the people I have to deal with, bar my immediate co-workers, understand that I will get round to whatever, but in my own good time, and a rushed me is a careless and cranky me.
So yeah, another day alone was as good as a holiday. Unfortunately I ruined it by having to go off to the Doc that afternoon. After waiting two and a half hours I said, listen here, these pills of yours are giving me funny turns. Nonsense! and Next! says Doc, so that was that. Hurt my poor mistreated ankle really bad hopping off the bus on the way home too (because he wouldn't pull up to the curb). Ouch. Hobble. Limp. Whimper.
Then it was housework, housework, housework, no time for Buffy or Who. You know, it'd be nice to think that somebody might have cleaned up since the last time I did it, but no, I collected the outrageously backdated shopping dockets scattered in amongst the swill to say otherwise. This war of wills has been lost. They'll quite happily live in a pig sty, and Cinders here breaks first, every time.
If only I had a rich husband and could afford a dirt cheap illegal immigrant named Rosita. It's a real issue with me at the moment. Aside from feeling like Cinders, and a Austen styled failure, I suffered to find a fic that featured a Mexican maid picking up all the clothes and shit and it made my blood just boil.
This is the state of fan fic these days. Rich, bored housewives with maids called Rosita who have nothing better to do than foist their fic on the world and can only write about fancy houses and nice cars and know nothing of working life or the world outside. These spoilt women who write such drivel while I have to work a hard twelve hour day then do a few more hours of hard labour at home then collapse without reading, writing or even watching telly. Arrrgh!
If you're sensing just a teensy drop of antipathy here you're right. I'd cheerfully murder those rich bitches with my bare hands and a song in my heart if I could. It's so unfair. I hate my life.
So, anyway, housework, housework, housework, missed most of Roswell, passed out before Now and Again. That was my day.
Been checking out some other con pics. You know, if I do say so myself, and this time I will, for all their laughing at my poor blocky digicam, I think some of my pics are a little less snapshotty than others and have a little more heart (or ovaries, as the case may be). They might have three times the megapixels, but imho, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing :D.
Anne called me "a sick puppy. 91 pictures of the same boy toy. My my, he is very cute though I have to admit." So, hey, at least I got some feedback at last :) I needed it after all those feelthy looks I endured to get said snaps.
Whoo hoo! They're all still off with the flu! Fetch the disk of fan fic! Oh, happy day!
Arse! Spoke too soon. Okay, put away the fan fic. Bugger. I hate my life. So much for the quiet life, contemplation and pervy fic writing. Do you think Rosita could manage some coldfusion admin as well?
News: Winona is now in Oz. Whoo! It better not be for a Powerhouse display (though that would be both cool and deserved). Meanwhile Claudia will be at Westfield Miranda from 5pm in an X Box promo on Thursday.
Quote of the week (re Enemy Mine): "SO slashy, so much subtext, so much Skippy."