The say the definition of insanity is expecting a different outcome from what has gone before. All I wanted to do was curl up and write Billy and Alan, watch Jurassic Park on the telly and maybe, just maybe, play with my new PC.
I was completely and utterly insane.
It was a bad night and it ended with a broken window. I don't know how, because I throw like a girl, but on Friday night in a fit of temper I threw a book, a small book, across the room and it flew straight through the front window.
It was a stupid, childish and expensive thing to do but enough was enough and I just wanted people to stop, pay attention and listen, because nobody was. I'd had enough, and nobody cared.
Don't go telling me it's silly to let one small thing get to me. It was everything, non-stop, and I'm sick to death of it all.
It's alright for people to say I'm a loser for losing my temper because something didn't go right. Don't you get it - nothing ever goes right. I had to work all week through the most terrible pain, all alone, with long hours and the wrong PC was delivered and nobody cared. Enough is enough. I'm sick of being here and being me and I have neither the money nor strength now to try and change my fortunes.
I wasn't allowed to stay home to take receipt of my new PC, and of course they delivered the wrong model, and I was kept back at work so late that by the time I got home the alleged 24 hour helpline had shut up shop and the fine print said if I didn't call straight away I was stuck with it. It was the HP fiasco all over again. I couldn't bear it. Everything had gone wrong, nobody cared, nobody would help, nobody would listen.
So now I have no new PC, I have to move out and I only have $298 and change in my bank account. I have no one to call and no one to help. Oh, and my disk of Sam and Alessandro pics fell off the table and shattered.
I am sick of being me and I am sick of being everybody's butt monkey. I just cannot bear another moment of misery, judgement and disappointment.
And all I wanted to do was curl up, watch some tv and write.
I can't even take a day off work to sort out my PC mess because they're all on leave, again, or should I say as always, so I have to go in as there's only me to run all the websites. See? Butt monkey.
So, as you can imagine, I missed Stargate and Jonathan Creek, but, as the police declined to take me into custody, I did get to watch Spooks (MI-5) and it was excellent, in spite of my emotional distress.
There was Bashir from DS9 (whatever stage name he's using this week) playing one of the many terrorist roles he excels at, and he did excel. He was so good you really did never know if he was a double, triple or quadruple agent or just a guy caught up in circumstances. Fantastic performance.
Saturday: Stayed in my room all day as my presence was neither wanted nor required, by anyone. I was so upset I forgot to watch JP on tv, which I had obviously been looking forward to, hugely, all week, just to curl up and drool over Alan and get ideas for fic. It was a miserable day.
I'm tired of being me. There's no escaping being me. I can't ever make friends and everybody treats me like complete shit in my job. There's just no escape, and insanity is repetition.
Meanwhile, I'm perplexed about how to portray some of the almost father and son dynamic in my fic without an ick factor. There is a twenty plus year difference after all, an existing teacher/student relationship and a bonafide generation gap so it is there, especially when Billy acts up and Alan has to lay down the law (rather Giles like, to my distress).
Worse, I'm coming up with ideas for part three and I still haven't finished part one yet.
Sunday: I was required to work, and I confirmed that it was a brush tailed possum who had feasted on all the mandarins. I was also surrounded by naughty magpies and I got a feeling of what it was like when Alan was surrounded by the raptors. Sure, my own personal raptors are like 1:8 scale, but they were many, and not taking no for an answer any more.
Then it was back to my lonely room.
Monday: Alarm failed to go off, bus never showed up. Same old, same old. Am now resigned to my life sucking as deeply as possible, and as often as possible. Thus I am miserable, but not insane.
Man, it's foggy today. Not at home, but here I can't see across the street. Cool. The world has vanished, like something in an old BBC kidies serial. Would that it were true.
I just discovered that Alessandro's father-in-law is that John Mortimer, he of the Rumpole books. Well, bugger me. In further research, Ewan was at the lad's wedding. They're an incestuous lot, these thespians.
Well, I rang Dell and spoke to some tightly sphinctered asian woman re my troubles and I've been promised service. We'll see, but at least I had someone to listen to my complaint, if not actually care, and I feel a bit better at least.
I also had a long bitch on the phone to the lass I bonded with last week and she was deeply amused and sympathetic over my weekend of lamentation, so that's a bit better, too. It does sound so stupid when you say it out loud and can laugh at it all.
A couple of nice hot cups of tea and some typing of the fic and we're just about back to our normal miserable self, bar disappoinment that the impressive fog has finally burned off. Bugger. Back to reality, I guess.
I have, in my travels, found a quote that I like for my next story, though it suits more for me, I feel, what gets interupted trying to write, as often as the poor boys do:
- Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!"
- Robert Browning (1812-1889)
I've discovered, when one is still a bit emotionally shakey and extremely resentful towards being left in charge again, that's surprisingly easy to cyber stalk Alessandro on the net. It wasn't my intention, really, I just realised as I wandered from page to page that I was slowly building, from snippets here and there, a rather detailed biography and genealogy of the boy. What can I say, I used to do that sort of thing as part of duties past and it does pass the time that I feel inclined to waste deliberately as a pleasant and informative diversion. I could probably dig up some really personal information if I wanted to, but I don't and I won't. I was just curious as to what made the lad tick, in a hopefully benign sort of way.
If only I used my genealogy/investigative powers for niceness, instead of evil - grin.
Oh my god, he's married to my least favourite character ever from Sharpe. Well, bugger me. I knew she looked familiar. Insert Marge Simpson like disaprroval noises here. I always knew I didn't like her - snarky grin.
Oooh, pics of Sam and Eric Close in today's Herald. Happy dance. Yep, Eric Close twice a week - I guess some things are worth living for.
Am supposed to be going out to see fave band tonight, but I'm still feeling rather too delicate for the rough and tumble of Aussie pub life, so perhaps not. Frell, fetch me my cocoa and slippers, but I'm really not feeling up to it and the last time I said how bad could it get, well, my definition of a bad time was greatly expanded.
Sympathies to Chris Martin. At least I'm not the only one to dummy spit this weekend.