Two hours later finally here to an inbox of insults and attacks of quite angry moths (having a large moth zoom down one's cleavage is quite distracting). And I can't replace my skirt, they just don't sell my size in the city. Women not of size zero proportions ought not to work in the city, and I wasn't, I was just dragged here four years ago by She Who Must Be Obeyed so she could shout at me whenever she wants to (because there's no earthly reason why I couldn't do this useless, pointless job sitting in a banana lounge in my backyard, you know).
Sigh. Oh yeah, sinus headache that would kill a herd of rhino, too. I'm tired and certain people have sucked away my will to live. Wish I could snooze at my desk.
Too many late nights and early mornings, too much tv watchng, though I only watched two things last night, one was Dexter (and I realise now I did all my Dex babbling offline because I gave copies to a friend, knowing it was right up her alley: she always found mordern vampires insufferable wimps, where Dexter is far less, um, conflicted, shall we say) and the other was Supernatural. Again.
I was right, the big screeness (not that I have a big screen, but it's twice the size of the laptop) did mean there was much squeeing, and I'm not going to apologise because I'm having a miserable time and if Winchester snarky pretty makes me happy, so be it. It's just about my only hold on happiness left. There was some flippant remark by Henry in Northanger about one should have as many holds on happiness as one can, but lately mine have been cut off like fingers. The fic writing I miss like blood, and I weep that the only time I ever have is when I'm too exhausted to form words.
Anyways, Winchesters good. Winchesters pretty. Still feel the Seven were a little wasted, and Pride was far too Michael Keaton OTT, but otherwise, it'll do.
Poor old Deathwish Dean. I do wonder how much of his 'relieved its all over' spiel is truth and how much is bravado. Dean was not a happy camper and the strain was really starting to show, and I wonder how much his perception that Sam is the favoured son and that Sam is to be protected at all costs comes into it. Quite a bit I should think (and Sam is rightly annoyed, with Dean's protection coming at such a high price, though he can't argue that he's a grown man capable of looking after himself or Dean wouldn't have had to wander to the cross roads in the first place).
Sorry. It's just that there were a few interesting points about preferential parental behaviour that were raised but never really explored in Wire In The Blood last Friday (it kind of devolved into bog standard tv nutters on the loose) that made think of Dean, and how lacking in essential esteem he must be to throw his life away for his little brother (and it was a recuring theme in S2, with the Wonderful Life episode as well). Dean takes his family responsibilities very seriously, and it's too be admired, but I do wonder at all the sacrifices he's made along the way (just letting Sam leave for uni, never mind the whole deal thing). Sacrificing everything for the baby is expected, but it kinda sucks, too. (Kinda reminds me of that Streets episode where Starsky went to gaol for the sake of the favourite son, only with less flares).
It makes me wish at times Tony Hill could sit Dean down for a little chat (self destruction, abdicating of responsibilities, thwarted ambitions, envy, jealousy, etc) but fortunately Supernatural thumbs its nose at that sort of intense naval gazing (which I loathe in US series and UK series that ape US series) but still, somebody needs to give Dean a bit of TLC (and I'm not talking about the twins).
I think it's why I like Dean so much. In many ways he's far angstier than other constantly moping characters because he rarely ever shows that he's a fractured little chappie (not that he doesn't show it, it's not not all the damn time). Ah, the old cheeky hero with a brittle heart. One of my faves.
Doesn't matter what I ramble about though. They are pretty, cheeky boys and I like them.
And now I've lost my train of thought completely (been carpeted so many times this morning I've got carpet burns, and here I thought I'd done good last week). I just can't cut a break. If I do something for A, B throws a fit, so I undo it, then A throws a fit, meanwhile two approved mailing lists I used in all assurance and innocence are apparently widely inaccurate and hypocryphal...I just can't win. I'm trying to do right but I keep getting hammered like some poor mole in that old video arcade game.
And I was miserable to start with. It's Granny Smith day coming up and that was one of Mum's things. She hated Xmas and stuff, but Granny Smith she loved, and I was always required to accompany her as porter, no excuses. Did it on crutches - twice. How upsetting, because last year, she was fine. We had fun. Weep.
Oh well, at least the bank manager (no less!) waived the fees (with actual keys and much button pushing) as I deposited every cheque I could get my hands on, even old, old cheques for cents from bookshops that have ads on pages on sites I'd completely forgotten about. I am that broke, but happy to accept charity. Because it's not my fault. I had enough to buy a decent car in the bank in February. Now I have no money for food. Death and taxes, eh?
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