Another factor in watching The Sweeney is the porntastic music. Bro even has an episode guide that rates each episode's music on a porno-meter. So I kept worrying about what the neighbours would think we were watching.
Wait'll we get up to the episode with the dog, quips Bro.
So, anyways, remind me that our monthly episode of Farscape is on tonight. I'll never remember. And damn, I wanted to watch Spartacus. Oh well, they're both repeated, so I'll watch one, tape one, I guess. Have to watch Farscape, haven't seen wee Johnny in ages.
Didn't watch anything last night, much. Went over the wall early or rather, I just didn't clock into any unpaid overtime. I'd fully intended to carry on with the desperate cleaning spree as relatives higher up in the heirarchy are threatening to visit, so yikes. But by the time I got home I was pea green. I worked through Angel and Buffy, pausing only to glance at the screen during favourite scenes. Then gave it all away and even gave up on tea (it was toast all round) to crawl into bed for Who, featuring a very young Paul Darrow as an earnest UNIT officer, and MASH and then I think I saw about five minutes of Law & Order before I fell asleep.
Very tossy turny night. Not only was all bedding thrown off the bed but everything within flailing distance had also been flung about. Spent all morning just picking up everything and dumping on the bed, to sort later. Sigh. Crap dreams, too. Abandonment issues, I suspect, as everyone left me all alone in the crap, scary end of town (where I used to work). Couldn't even find a bus or a taxi and all my favourite shops were gone. Yup, just like real life. Even my icecream cone fell off and rolled away. Let's not go there, Dr Freud.
So, Sir Peter has popped off. Sad.
I'm still reeling over the death of my friend. I don't know why, but I am. Silly, really. There are only about a dozen or so folk on this planet that I really like, and now I'm one short. Worse, she had everything in her life that I wanted, and it still wasn't enough. Yes, this is all about me, because she's dead and so she doesn't matter any more, not her feelings, or her work, it'll all be forgotten. But right now, I feel sad, I feel lonely, I feel angry. I feel guilt. Guilt that I couldn't send that one email that would have changed her mind. Guilt that I obviously wasn't a good enough friend, guilt that I didn't give her the time and support she so obviously needed. In summary, I feel like crap.
I doesn't help that You Know What is due at any minute, now. I'm awash with a misery so strong I feel like I'm sitting on screams and tears like when you try to sit on a sneeze. Want to weep but nobody at home wanted to know and here it's not appropriate.
To borrrow from Mr T, I pity the fool who gets on my bad side this week. My crap tolerance has worn thin, my fuse is non existant. Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me if you made me angry.
But they will. Like yesterday when the server was down for maintenance and nobody bothered to tell me. Ack.
Meanwhile, back in the real world: yesterday there were some new people on the bus, apres daylight saving. Heh, heh, heh.
Today we also had new people. Less heh as these were about half a dozen or so folks heading home for the evening as we're all on our way to work. They were so far gone that the simple acts of stating their destination and paying the fare were beyond them.
"Where are we goin', Kel?" one burps. The bus driver suggests they might try for the destination on the bus. Much consultation. Then: "Where are we goin', Kel?" and so on and so forth as everyone else started to mutter and stir in their seats. For the rest of us we catch the 6am bus to catch the 6.35 train to get into the city for an 8am start. Or, at least, I used to. Now I just go as far as the station (I would sleep in but it disturbs the routine of my OCD family, so I don't). So everyone missed their train. Sheesh. Some people.
Still, the town looked pretty in the early morning pinky gold dawn light, and that oldish jogger is finally loosening up. I see him at dawn most days and he's so obviously been told jog or die by his doctor, and finally he's no longer running so stiff it's funny. Yay old dude.
In yet further news, while vacuuming, a huge huntsman spider the size of a dinner plate was scared out from under the couch. The couch I'd been on while watching The Sweeney. Quake. Quail. Bro, Hunstaman Hunter, swept the bugger all the way out into the garden. No mean feat, as everyone knows Huntsmen will often take umbrage and race up the broom to have a go. Should have been an Olympic sport, Huntsman hurling (you sort of have to pitch them into the garden off the end of the broom, sort of like badminton). Did you know there's an actual statistic for the number of car accidents caused by huntsmen dropping down from behind windscreen visors etc?
I'm beginning to learn that while you can teach monkeys sign language, you just can't teach some people how to use a computer. Maybe if I can them peanuts as a reward and electric shocks when they do something stupid?