The same way dearest silverthoughts spaks everytime someone pinches one of her scans from, and let me tell you, unbelievably expensive and glossy mags, and puts a "property of" sticker all over it.
But it's all very storm of a tea cup, and I probably will still post stuff, hell, I've got half a dozen plastic tubs of stuff waiting to be scanned and I might as well do it, but to share with the people I like. That's you (and especially you, Silver, wot has given me so many yummies over the years).
But if I do, it'll be when I want to, not because I feel I have to, because it's just so not worth the stress and bother. Like yesterday. Instead of, as I should have, sleeping in, mooching around with a nice cuppa and a book in the sun or watching, gasp, a dvd before getting stuck into the housework, I got up early and straight into the posting because I thought I had to. And copped grief for my efforts. Hence the dummy spit. It's okay, I've learnt my lesson (but there does seem to be a nasty element newly arrived in that fandom, because I didn't comment on how they drove out the other girl who was running the comm, but they did, and now they got me, too).
Never mind. Done and dusted. I did go into the garden but I couldn't take refuge in my secret little bower because the neighbours cut down all the trees, which, fair enough they were not mine, but they hung over our fence and I rejoiced in them and hid amongst them and now my refuge is gone. Which is just another bit of shit I've had to cope with.
I really hate it. They are such tiny runty blocks, hence the need for a tree barrier and now we don't have any privacy and instead of sitting amongst greenery I get to look into their filthy yard. The peanut gallery was threatening to water nude if they were so obviously keem to see everything that goes on in our yard, he was was quite ready to have them cop an eyeful, but demurred only on account of the mozzies. I had no idea he too was a bit wild about the loss of our screen. I feel like throwing up one of those massive screen prints with trees on it, just to restore a bit of shade and quiet.
But man, I miss it. Like the time I was still under gently bowing branches, reading Jane Austen and being sprinkled with a delicate rain of tiny pink petals. Gone, all of it.
So I weeded. Which at least meant I was now red in the face from effort and sunburn, too. It gave me some time to think, and, as I wrestled with one particularly stubborn weed in a pot, I decided I'd write instead because I'd get into less trouble then I remembered all those nasty emails that stopped me writing in May and scolded myself that I'd learnt nothing. I broke the pot. Smashed it. Obviously some unresolved anger issues about those mean emails, too.
There's only one thing for it, to back away from the net with my hands in the air. Well, not completely, because I'd go nuts if I had to rely on what passes for conversation in these parts, but no more spending half a Saturday on the bastard thing. That time can be better spent on my hands and knees scrubbing, as I was rudely reminded twice on the weekend (oh yes, my housekeeping got dissed twice, too - it just wasn't my day yesterday). Which wasn't fair when I have to take time off work to do stuff in daylight cause I never see daylight during the week and you should see the rude post-its on my desk this morning. Dissed again. I just can't win.
The only good things about the weekend was seeing the Kaisers - more later, maybe, when I'm in a better mood (though it'd help if the sky would stop raining bricks, I'm not a bad person, I don't deserve this). Now I must hobble down to the other office, where I have to beg for my job, again (I even had to fillout a 'what do you do, exactly?' questionaire last week, never a good sign) and I don't want to because I'm so not happy there already I keep having nightmares about them all being baby eating lizard men and waking up in a stinking sweat. But I gotta. At least I have my cane, which I had to buy on Saturday because I just couldn't hobble back up the hills from the shops on my ankle.
I'm just not happy. And I haven't even moaned about being banned from visiting my mother in hospital because she hates the sight of me, always has done, but it's now been empirically proven by machines that go ping that the very sight of me makes her sick. And yet the old bitch has chewed her way through half my life savings so far.
I'm just not happy. And I have no refuge in the net or in the green. I'm just not happy.
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