So it was home time at long last. Managed to slip down to the bus stop and onto the bus before it absolutely bucketed down. Laughed cruelly at soggy pedestrians.
It was a long, long, long, long ride home though, as a bad bus driver can just stretch it out into hours and hours. Squeaked home just in time to catch most of Stargate, or tried to watch it, anyway. Folks wouldn't shut up and it's hard to lip read if they don't read to camera. After that I retired from the field for private viewings. Dystopias au go go, I'm afraid, dear reader.
Saturday I was aoken early to a cold, grey morning. I wasn't in the mood, but I made myself dash off several pages anyway with my new Spidey pen. It'll all have to be rewritten, but at least it serves as notes.
Then it was onto an overwhelming, neverending mound of housework. All by myself as everyone else was too busy lying around watching tv to help. So Cinders wondered again why she bothered to spend her precious time drowning in an endless sea of mess, especially as no one ever dropped by this sty any more, no doubt out of fear of catching something nasty. Cinders worked on in a huff. Stump. Stump. Grump. Grump.
The the phone did something it hadn't done in absolute ages. It rang. People coming over. Now. So if you've seen the Spray and Wipe ad you can imagine what happened next. If not, imagine clearing the decks, only all by myself as everyone had already vanished lest I ask them to help, again. At least, I made an attempt at it. It's not like I can fit anything more in the cupboards, under the rug or behind the couch.
So friends arrive bearing yummy Turkish pastries. Fam mysteriously reappears for cakes. I can't believe it though, because these are the very cakes I drooled over on a page briefly before throwing out that magazine. If only I'd wished for a million dollars, but I got friends and cakes. Good enough. Wish granted.
So we talked, we ate, it was of the good.
And that was Saturday, aside from Hornblower on telly, followed by Spooks.
Ah yes, Spooks. Now wouldn't it be better if Bond was played by a little known tv actor who's hungry for a big film role, a tv actor who has a proven track record playing spies on tv, who looks good in a tux and naval uniform and is hugely posh? If only, eh.
Meanwhile, I forgot to mention how I learnt not to guffaw out loud in Borders. It wasn't easy. While perusing the racks I overheard two chaps discussing the Star Wars trailer: "And he turns round and his eyes are really fucked, like he's been smoking too much." Titter. Wheeze. Dude, where's my Death Star!
The eve of destruction: Now I'd talk more but alas it seems I can't pass comment on the state of the world or even what was on the box last night without engendering violent comment, so I'll refrain from offering any personal opinons in my lj. Or try to, anyway. I mean, I'm sure outside my own headspace I truly deserve to be violently castigated at every utterance, but in my own little mind it seems a tad, well, harsh.
I can't remember leaving flaming bags of poo in other folk's ljs, and if I have, well then I apologise from the depths of my being for the bad karma I've obviously earned.
Never mind, though. Folks showed up out of the blue with cakes. The wheel turns, friends fall back in, friends fall back out. In the end it doesn't matter a jot because if we have five years left on this planet I will be very surprised. It makes we really wonder whether I should bother paying up for another year of web space. I just don't feel that optomistic. These are the issues that concern me most: cakes and my web fees.
Sunday: I'd planned another Sunday entirely to the one I actually got. First I was woken at 7am by an entirely unrepentent AP who devoutly believes that 7am is more than enough for a lie in.
I railed against it, reminding her that I'd not slept eight hours all week, in total. I told her if I made a mistake through exhaustion I'd be sacked and where would we be then, but she didn't care. No one should still be in bed by 7am. So I did what any tired and harrassed person would do: I wept.
Then the birds showed up to demand their biscuits. The bastards went through an entire packet. At first I spoilt them because I liked seeing their happt bickie face, but then I decided they needed to cut back, and they got real nasty.
Then I scanned and I scanned and I scanned, just begging for attention, for just one word of kindness or appreciation to counter the body blows I seem to be asking for of late. Sigh, no one ever says thankyou. Or hardly ever.
Then I downloaded my mail, which toook forever, most of Donnie Darko which I put on to keep me going. Then Bro had heaps of things he wanted scanned and to burn several cds and read his mail. I tried to getting him scanning himself but he damn nearly killed my PC within a minute, so I had to reboot and do it all myself with his on my shoulder micro managing. I swear he does this on purpose, just so I have to do all the work. Only because I was tired I did not kill him.
Then I tried to watch Spider-Man 2 by myself, no luck there (especially as Ap loves the Tobey, shudder), and I missed Jude on 60 Minutes. Arrrrgh! (Well, I might have seen an ad if I watched EC9, but I don't, and no one told me.)
Now it's 9pm and I'm tired and watching Robert Carlyle's James I who is rightly described as making Begby like Hamish McBeth. By the time I'm finished there'll be no chance of a eight hours of sleep tonight, again. Bugger.
And I never did get back to finishing that fic.
Monday: Cold, very cold (14C after 34C? That's a shock to the system) and damp. But I've got the windows open anyway because dear co-worker's aftershave is bringing tears to the eyes. Shiver. So I'm overtired, a tad fed up, somewhat hormonal (duh) and so I'm doing my Mondayitis job of checking for busted links. I've got about 12,000 here, so it should keep a gal occupied. Unfortunately I've also got a head full of Clay. Hmmm, work vs daydream, my eternal dilemma.
Crap, looks EC9 has taken off Dead Zone again. That's yer three episodes this year, no go away.
Squeee! Ezy Dvd just rang. Please, please let they said be true. Please let them have a box of Emma waiting for me!!!!
Dreamwatch: #121 November 2004 UK