Another Monday already? Fuck.
Which about sums up my weekend. Shuffled home feeling very giddy, but had to feed the birds, water the garden etc before passing over the threshold and so to bed.
Everyone else went out to dinner so I made do with cold cereal for tea and the last Wire in the Blood on telly. Not bad. It got a really bad review in The Guide but I suspect the chap had only FF'd through it because he missed the bits between the beats and I just thought the complete lambasting of office politics and incompetent management, especially that of institutions such as universities, hospitals, and government departments and services was just so bloody spot on I was groaning as much as I was laughing. The bit about poor Tony not knowing that picking nits off the alpha female was part of his job description was a classic (and so bloody true!). Somehow, in spite of management, they managed to get the job done.
Pretty much described my week, though I've heard I may be granted access to the main servers once again, to assist my replacement (ie the contractor they installed in my job without so much as a by your leave), as required, if I'm needed at all. Which means they must want to flog me utterly before they bin me on 30th June (I have a date now) but at least it's something to do and I will no longer feel quite so shut out and resentful.
Saturday I watched Wild Wild West, ended up being caught up in The Cain Mutiny while flicking channels and I caught Clint Eastwood on Parkinson. Hard to believe this craggy faced creature was once the extremely cute and puppyish Rowdy Yates, but there you go. He seemed quite sweet, quietly spoken, very smart and old school Hollywood, ie comfortable in his skin and without the need for the ego and trappings of a Roman emperor, the way celebrities do these days.
I was also off my form all day and lurked in the fortress of spinstertude. Catching me while sneaking out for another hot water bottle and cup of tea, Aged Parent grabbed me with her bony fingers and accused me of malingering, as I still possibly couldn't have my period now, as it had been days. Well, what else can a girl do in the face off such an accusation but doff the daks and shake the gory evidence in AP's face (well, I was hormonal). It made my point, I must say, especially as I knew I was cramping terribly and bleeding quite a bit but I didn't realise I'd haemorrhaged all over the place again and I could have wrung out my bright red and soaking wet undies, but I didn't (changed 'em though, you'll be happy to note though I was still sweaty as hell from the muggy weather). Point made I grabbed my hot water bottle and, clutching it closely, shuffled back to the dungeon of doom.
Sunday and I woke up with my weekend headache (a day late), which meant no reading, no watching tv, no listening to music, no writing, no thinking, and no breathing in or out too hard. I taped WWW without watching it via timer but I did switch on for Streets of San Francisco even though the opening credits made me crazy with pain. It featured the Ghiradelli sign large as life so at least I got a chocolate, as per the game. The sugar must have helped because I felt a bit better. I wobbled out for some lemonade and water and then sat propped up on pillows to indulge in the X Files.
Yeah, everyone is over the X Files but this is season one and everyone is so earnest and it's kinda sweet. It was the Jersey Devil, and, mercy, as I sat back and indulged the muse actually spoke to me and I wrote a page and a half of spiral notebook, despite my poor pulsating brain (think Doctor Who FX).
After that I decided to watch State of Play, just out of curiosity, and it rocked. Bloody brilliant, from the first moment til the last. Thank the gods that the Brits are still making tv I want to watch. The script was tight, the plot twisty, the cast good and solid and chock full of familiar faces and the camera work inventive (they've come so far from those blandy lit static shots of the 70s).
After that I indulged in a little Stargate, the ones with the wristbands of superness, and lo and behold the muse struck again. Gracious.
After that I switched across to watch the end of Moulin Rouge. Why wasn't I watching Ewan from the start? Because Ewan fans make me feel so bad, and worthless and unorthy and I can't do anything right to the point that just an image of Ewan makes me sick and all twisty inside, but I settled down and managed to enjoy him just a little bit.
Then I switched across to Showtime to watch the second half of Road to Perdition. why wasn't I watching Jude from the very start? Because Jude fans make me feel bad and unworthy and I can't do anything right and just the mention of the name makes me feel sick and all twisty inside. But I managed to watch a bit while I scritched and scratched at my notepad.
I think I took an asprin to help with the writing (white paper hurts) but I was having some serious trippiness towards midnight, like really, really. Maybe they've just never tested what happens if you've just had lemonade before your asprin. Whatever, it was very Alice in Wonderland with everything get getting bigger and smaller over and over. I swear it was just an asprin (I'm willing to sell the rest of the packet - grin).
Anyway, things are sort of back to normal, though the hormones and cramps are hanging around like grey clouds. Piss off.
I'm supposed to be going out tonight but I feel so down to the bone awful and grumpy I might retire with some of dear Stranger's silvery goodness instead. Or sleep. Or both. Possibly at the same time - sheepish grin.
Crap. It's still going. Somehow it's back to the 80s as I relive my early menses, all ten days of 'em and I've broken out for good measure. I never break out (well, hardly ever). Wail. Definitely bagging going out then. I'll be all cross and I won't enjoy it (as well as scary as hell) and as pretending to be witty and cheerful company is the crux of the matter, well, bugger that. Plus I've just had a shopping list phoned in and the late afternoon urgents have also arrived, which makes at 7pm deadline in the city highly unlikely. Bugger, damn and blast. My life as a drudge.
You are a complete literary geek, from knowing the
classics (even the not-so-well-known classics
and tidbits about them) to knowing devices used
in writing, when someone has a question about
literature, they can bring it to you and rest
assured; you know the answers.
How much of a literary geek are you?
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My desktop, in this case my work desktop, seeing as how I spend at least twelve hours a day with it, and no more than two hours a week with my home pc, if I can be bothered at all. Note how I've pissed off the departmental wallpaper in lieu of my very first frangipani flower (I had to wait two years for my stick to flower). Note Word 97 and my own shareware etc. Nothing but the best, here.