Storm Warning. Having read a piece in the paper on the art of obituary writing of all things, I was reminded again of how distasteful I find all this self censorship that some have insisted upon as necessary. So I'm warning you now the following entry contains real rants of real, negative feelings about my real life and if you do not wish to read such, please exit my lj now. Normally I'd not type these up, but, screw it. This is the story of what I did on my holidays.
Saturday and Sunday: Slash and burn. Why doncha salt the earth, too, while you’re at it. 5 years to create, 2 days to tear asunder. I removed my offending garden. Most of the pots moved easily but some naughty plants had burrowed their roots out of the pots and down between the tiles and had to be dug out, pulling up tiles, picks, shovels, the works.
Mother also, going back on her word, how surprising, was choosing the worthy and unworthy, strangling plants she despised in their pots, tearing them out by the roots. My beloved tree, which I’d watched grow from a seedling and just felt so warm and friendly when I touched it, it had to go. It was destined to be chopped up and left to rot. Thank god some friends agreed to be the pacific solution and accept my refugee tree. Plant it or kill it, just so long as I don’t have to watch it die. Couldn’t bear that. I loved that tree. Lots. Will probably lose the lavenders and the jasmine. I’m getting on and doing this because I have to but I’m not happy so consider me San Andreas Fault girl. Sometime down the line I’ll just blow from all these simmering tectonic forces but that’s what comes of having to suck it up and get on with it.
Monday: Eight legged Freaks. Time to clear out the spider infested shed.
- THE BLUE CRYSTAL – I MUST HAVE IT!
Had mother fumigated the shed earlier like I’d asked? No. My fault, I didn’t double check. Had she got the plastic sheets like she said she had? No. My fault, I didn’t double check. Had she made sure the cupboards etc would fit in their new spots like she said she had? No. My fault, I didn’t double check.
So I have to pull out boxes from the shed swarming in enormous spiders and the largest 5cm big black shiny roaches you have ever seen, and everyone is too busy running away to swat the beasties off me. Thanks. I’m going to be in therapy for years. My arachnophobia is back to ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
Of course it starts to pour, not rain, but a big heavy freezing cold downpour and there are no plastic sheets as promised to cover everything and the nearest shops are two hours away by bus, one way, ie a five hour round trip. Nor do any of the friends or relatives that said sure, they’d help, call any time and they’d be there, accept my pleas for help. I’m screwed. Oh, sorry, my mistake, they weren’t promising to help, they were just filling the air with words. They are so off my Xmas card list. So I have to miss Nick Lea on the X Files (pout) to sit on a rickety old bus for 4 hours to get the plastic sheeting and when I get home I cover the boxes, getting soaked to the skin in the process and just when I’m finished the sun comes out. I really, really hate my life.
My friends get to travel to Italy and China and I spend my holidays shifting my rat shit covered dishes I think I got as an engagement present out of the shed and under the house and I wonder how I ended up as Miss Havisham. Sigh. Whimper.
Fe Fi Fo Fum I hear the voice of Michael Rosenbaum. On the Zeta Project. My treat today, as I missed Nick & Ant and I popped into Borders, hey, it was there, and popped right back out having not spent a cent. It’s really gone off. Good for my poor wallet but it looks like one of those sad remainder shops when it was Alladin’s cave six months ago. Pout.
People aren’t speaking to me because I’m passive aggressive. I’m an amateur. One bangs pots and pans when I try to talk on the phone and forbids me to go out for another month. Another makes such a fuss I’m forced to get a clue and leave them to watch the TV by themselves. I’ve been herded to my room, banished, here to stay, for at least another month, and barely a word had to be spoken.
Dark Angel: Mmmm – Zack. Yum. He’s all moody and angry. I couldn’t stand a bloke like that in real life, but on TV it’s all sexy and cool and enormous fun to watch. Last episode on Fox8. Next week: Roswell.
24: I keep waiting for Dennis Haybert to break into song. He’s unrecognisable from Now and Again. I guess that means he’s an actor, darling.
Took a few minutes between QAF and 6FU to work on my fic. Yeah, it’s sick that I’m writing about two guys but Buck really loves Ezra so and it’s fun to explore that. He and Ezra had been friends long before they crossed over that line. They’re the comedy couple, though I give them their trials. They’re the ones with the slightly more solid basis for a relationship than the passionate eyes across a crowded room couple. It’s always been this way, and I don’t see any reason to break with tradition. The comedy couple always end up happily ever after. The passionate couple – less so. Almost never. Again, it’s tradition.
Arrrgh! James Morrison! Colonel McQueen is on 6FU as a swinger! Arrrgh – no naked McQueen please, let me preserve a little mystery. Ah, fade to white. Thank fuck. He was looking good though J
Flick flick flick Michael Biehn! Ah, my fave space marines are featuring tonight. Cherry Falls again but I was hoping for some MB and Foxtel has provided. Not the choicest cut, not by a long shot, but beggars can’t be choosers and it’s the brightest spot in my crappy day. No, wait, it’s Tuesday already.
Tuesday: Birdie num nums. Today I had to dig up some more plants and move the shed. Got that done before lunch. Unfortunately the birds came screaming in late in the afternoon and had to pull up fast because the shed atop which they’d been fed for years was no longer there. You think they’d look first, though. Much upset ensues. Apparently, lorikeets react to stress by boinking, a lot. At least the tame pair are boinking above me in the trees and even on the Hills Hoist, for all love. Eventually, giving into the distressed squeaking, I get the step ladder and put food up on the relocated shed and after a couple of hours of much sulking and squawking in the trees the lure of specially bought poppy seed buns over comes the strangeness of it all and they feed.
Of course, they’re not the only ones upset. My garden now looks like a bomb site. And I sit here, covered in bat shit and rat shit with dead spiders in my hair and I wonder when I became Miss Havisham. My friends spend their holidays in envious and exotic locales. I spend mine covered in birdshit and cobwebs. Of course, I could just walk away. Then they’d find mother squished under the sink I have yet to move and those same people would all be saying it was all my fault and shaking their heads and tsking at me. I know because they’re the same people who told me to work harder to try and get ahead then blamed me for not paying enough attention to my Dad. I just can’t win and it’s wrong of me, but sometimes I wish it was them crawling around in the dirt and not me. Avarice and envy, yes, but I’m not even allowed to go to the movies next weekend. I truly hate my life.
Enterprise: I’m still finding Trip adorable. Help me. Lookit. Dean Stockwell. Aw, happy Quantum Leap thoughts.
- Michael Biehn
- Adventure Inc
- Adventure Inc
- Andromeda/Mutant X/Adventure Inc
- Ben Browder
- Near Dark
- Spacemonkey's Chaapa'ai
- Stargate toons
- Why Not Put Off Till Tomorrow the Novel You Could Begin Today?
- The Empire
- Arcane Lover
- Robot seeks answer to pyramid mystery
- It's August, and big cats are on the prowl
- Run silent, run deep
- Women - a rapidly disappearing species
- Drawing lines that connect centuries
- The best war series ever made
- How James Freud survived rock and roll
- Brick-and-mortar job not so bad: Fallen techies rediscover the security of a steady paycheck
- Australia embraces the force
- The New Battle of Chancellorsville
- Revolt in the Den: DVD Sends the VCR Packing to the Attic
- Film Moguls: Let Sex, Gore Stay
- Morse code
- Explosive thriller takes chilling turn
Wednesday: MB's new series is made by the same guys who make Mutant X? Arrrrrgh! It looks like Relic Hunter. Oh dear lord...
Yep, came into work today even though I was still down for leave. There's only so much quality time I can spend with my family before it turns into quality homicide.
Scary realisation #1: suddenly becoming aware you're quoting from Repossessed. Is there a crap Anthony Starke film I haven't seen? I think not. I wonder if my former friend ever saw M7, considering the amount of Anthony, Michael and Dale he made me sit through. J
Scary realisation #2: The deep sense of dread re MB's new series. Looks like I'm going to have to build my own bots to help me sit through it. Yes, it looks that bad. Macgyver meets Relic Hunter. Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael. Could not Gale get you a spot on The Hulk? How can you go from space marine to Macgyver? That's de-evolution, my man. L
Realisation #3: That I suspect I still have cobwebs in my hair, I probably still smell like bat/cat/rat shit in spite of umpteen showers and how I wish the cosmic wheel would turn again and someone else got a turn at scrabbling around in the dirt. I mean, I know I wanted to be an archaeologist and crawling about in the darkest recesses under the house in and in the sheds is not unlike my training, but with Mother standing by to throw out anything of interest, it's more of an anti-dig, and therefore as distressing as it is frustrating.
Just heard back that my beloved tree is doing well in it's new home so far. I'm truly beyond grateful. I miss it very much. It's one of those trees that is just calming to touch. At least, I always loved touching it (but in a hippie way, not a creepy way). I miss it. I miss it a lot.
Just wasted my lunchbreak. Not only is it near impossible to come by the devil's own prepaid bus cards, but ATM's and EFTPOS are as rare as hen's teeth too. Damn fundalmentalists, making life miserable for the rest of us, as always.
Came home just before the sunset and the birds were still screaming loudly, all of them. Like it’s my fault my garden is gone. I wondered if they’d even notice but they screamed and screamed like nothing on Earth until well after sunset.
Having nothing to eat all day I go to bed hungry because Mother has made stew – boiled onion and one carrot – and it’s all she can make and I loathe it so I’d rather go hungry. I’ll live off my abundant fat reserves instead. This is how I used to keep my weight down, not being able to eat her cooking and not having any money to buy anything else, either. It works. I should walk home, too. That’d save $10 a week.
Thursday: It's getting light when I go to work. It feels so unnatural. I was getting used to being a morlock and scurrying about in the dark.
Bro found the most cheesy cheesecake shot of David Franklin yesterday in his travels. I believe the exact quote was:
I finished my Preston research early so I thought I'd
follow this David Franklin 'Country Practice' role. No
luck, but then I decided to do some lateral thinking
"arty theatre"... "nude rent boys"... "SLNSW pictures
collection"... and therefore...
SLNSW has pictures of David in the play 'Perfoming
Seals' at the Nimrod theatre, late 1984. Since I can
go through the broadsheets at any University for 20c a
copy, I decided to go for the tabloids: the play was
mentioned, as expected, in the Women's section...
below a picture of David as "Mirror Male"
No 'Country Practice' reference but somebody has 'The
Restless Years' in his CV and has been rather reticent
I hope the UK fans will enjoy.
Public library archives being what they are, the quality ain't great, but I'm posting it here (The Daily Mirror, "Mirror Woman", 10 October 1984 p 57.) anyway, just for a giggle. Gotta love David, just for describing his character's promotion up the ranks as: "You've got to give some head to get ahead" and the man who gives the best kiss off lines: "I've got to go, I'm blowing up Scarans tomorrow."