A cup of tea! A cup of Tea! My kingdom for a cup of tea!
Okay, so I don't have a kingdom. I'm not getting a cup of tea, either. Grizzle.
Let me present a further demonstration of how my life is needlessly made shittier than it has to be. You know, how the universe always goes that little extra turn of the screw. Okay, here it is. This week I'm doing the work of three people for no extra pay or overtime, my remaining co-workers hate me and are constantly very mean to me, I have the most dreadful flu and a really bad period and if that wasn't enough, which it obviously isn't, the tiny kitchenette has been ripped out and there's a hole in the wall where the urn used to be so I can't even get a cup of tea - the only thing that was going to get me through this week.
Why me? I ask again and again.
At least I have a clean bathroom to throw up in at work. The one at home looks worse than a crime scene: blood and yuck everywhere. It's amazing how you can just tell you've stepped in a puddle of blood and not water in the dark. Only trouble was I was so out of it I left bloody footprints everywhere. Oh well. Happens when you're gushing like a geyser.
Saturday: Finally spent some quality time with Del Boy, especially as I bought Del Boy a mouse, sorry, optical pointing device (so you can guess which country licenced the manufacture of said optical pointing device, like, what was there problem with mouse? Did thy think it might be offensive to mice?) and all is well at last. No more doing bad things to my files by accident. Well, not so much, anyway. I even burned my first cd with Del Boy, so that was cool. I mean, I burn cds for work all the time, but I've never had a pc of my very own that just did it before.
Del Boy also apparently talks like Becks. You see I was trying to play the Pirates of the Carribean cd that came with the Saturday paper and Del Boy was grizzling, not having the software to play it properly and, after about the fifth or sixth grizzle I just piped up with, in twee whiney sotto voce: "I down't laike pirates", speaking for Del Boy, and it's stuck now. Never mind, it was hilarious at the time.
Went off shopping and partook of cafe society, which I enjoy. I meant to get a tray for Del Boy to facilitate lazy mornings typing in bed but you'd have thought I was searching for [insert mythical object here] because there was none to be had, not even for money. So I had to settle for a chopping board so huge I swear it's only function can be for dismembering body parts. Still, it'll do, and you never know when it might come in handy.
Sadly the incompetent store clerk failed to pack up the cheap necklaces I'd bought so no bling bling this week. Pout.
Funny too how that town has changed. It used to be little Lancashire but now it's little Korea, or rather, it's still a clearly dileneated half and half, or maybe one and three quarters now. Came home and watched Ecky Thump (cf The Goodies). Seemed appropriate.
Then there was major bakyard work and moving sheds and the like under grey skies of falling white ash from nearby burnoffs. It was as beautiful as it was creepy, and it's the closest we get to snow, or indeed a white Xmas.
Oh yes, we uncovered a nest of cockroaches (think that scene in the Mummy) that had the magpies almost burping up cockroaches, and sadly little room for fish and chips, but the currawongs took up the slack. BTW, the currawongs are on my persona non grata list now cause they tried to make off with my SG1 dvds on Tuesday. Hmph.
Sunday was spent being hormonal, reading and writing. Bliss.
Monday: The birds know I'm home and are loitering outside my window. It's creepy. I don't care that I should be at work. I've been clutching the ol hot water bottle and watching Viggo in Witness. Who knew the cute guy in Witness would end up as Aragorn? Certainly not I.
Folks is trying to guilt me into going into work, but after all the bad mouthing last week, screw 'em. Ypu can't treat someone like shit and keep expecting them to give 500%. It don't work that way.
So I'm home, I've had some sleep and my brain is starting to sift through the cluttered backlog of thoughts on hold. Like for starters, it just occured to me that Caleb in Buffy was wearing a preacher's collar and blue jeans. Smack me now, because it didn't hit me before, and I call myself a Garth Ennis fan. a huge honking Preacher ref and I missed it. Hell, smack Joss hard too, for daring to invoke the work of the mighty Ennis.
Speaking of Nathan, we watched a Firefly on Saturday. Heart of Gold. The old gang of hookers story, check, and hey, even the locations were strangely familiar, cough, and I finally got the much promised nekkid Nathan. Jayne got all the best lines, as always. Next time though I'll set up the lap top in front of the couch. We were watching it on the dining room table and I was ready to confess and name all my familiars by the end of it, ie a reference to an old witch torture, and those chairs are so damn uncomfortable, sadistic and calvanist. Pikes would have given us more ease. Seriously, torture devices. No wonder we never had any dinner parties.
Should get out Del Boy now but one is just a tad too crampy for that. I shall languish, read and write instead.
Yesterday there was a Sean fest: Don't Say A Word followed by FOTR, both of which I enjoyed. Forsythe Saga was good, too. Damian ran through all three of his expressions and we were even treated to Soames dancing. Well, perhaps treated is too strong a word.
Then I decided to watch Essex Boys. That was a mistake. Another dvd best used as a coaster. At least I picked it up in the $10 bin. Popped it out (cf Homer ejecting Paint Your Wagon) and found Peter Wingfield shirtless on Queen of Swords. Have some vague memory of some Sharpe/Methos thing, but it eludes me. Shrug.
So anyway, in spite of the ridiculously late deadlines I made it to drinks on Friday night, after most of the folks I don't like had already left. I think it was so rude for HO to call with urgent deadlines on a Friday evening when they knew I was off for Friday farewell drinks, the first time I've wanted a Friday to myself in over a year. Very rude. So we drank in this old pub that was seriously stuck in the 80s, 1984 to be specific. 1984 drinks, 1984 music, I wasn't sure if I was caught in a time warp, had time travelled, the pub was being ironic or deeply, deeply tragic. The latter, I suspect. I had to use my swipe card to get D--'s car out of the car park so I got a lift home, which was nice, and we ended up at my local thai, which was also nice.
I'm sure I could have been a much, much better person if I wasn't me, but I think I behaved myself for the goodbye bit. I think. Maybe. I don't know. I suck at being on my best behaviour.
Anyway, got home in time to watch most of Stargate afterall and then Spooks, which was very predictable (we think they announced the plot two hours before the show started) and rather distiurbingly soapy, and the domestic scenes with Tom and Zoe washing up together, well, it was all starting to head inro Bennifer land, which is not a good thing. There was more Tom and Harry schism and Tom chose his CIA chick over everything, afterall. Oh oh. This does not bode well.
Tuesday: This is a good lark, this staying home sick business. I should do it more often. Brit boys ahoy. There was charming Coupling Jack Davenport in this cheery little film called Gypsy Woman yesterday (no great shakes but it was sweet and Jack whined and pratfalled a lot) and Sam West and Tony Curran in Over Here today. I'm a happy camper.
Happier still with chirrups of Danny glee. The currawongs tried to make off with my silver booty but I have Danny dvd and vcd. Yay. It's enough to almost get one writing. Almost.
Yay, Danny's back, whiny little bitch that he is (according to Shanks). It was cute that Jack kept all Danny's personal stuff, which is about as good as we're going to get in these homophobic times. The lift scene was priceless though.
As for the "death star" (note ironic quotation marks): coughripoffcough. The next time I see George I should give him a copy. I mean, I know the fine line between playful homage and callous ripoff has been much discussed, but imho SG1 hs crossed that line and jumped up and down on it insanely.
Still, Danny's back. I can forgive a lot for that, and probably will have to. Oooh, I hope they torture Jonas lots. Not his fault that they made him a Danny clone instead of his own man, but hell hath no fury and all that.
The evening was rounded off by insane Crichton (when is he ever not outstandingly nuts) and 1812 DRD, whom I adore. I shall be humming the 1812 all today as I slowly or rather rapidly go nuts.
Was up late being ick and ick again so I also got to watch the last Sorkin episode of the West Wing. Sigh. It was good, but sigh. My former aquaintances will find further excuse to loathe me, but I much prefer Jeremy to Rob Lowe. Much.
So here I sit, barely able to keep myself upright, and no soothing cup of tea to be had. Oh, this isn't going to be pretty.
Oh, and it just gets worse and worse. I've got to go into head office tomorrow to be formally told off for not meeting deadlines, never mind that I was sick on Monday or they'd send through incomplete content after I'd left for the day (Friday). Never mind that I'm trying to do the work of FOUR people. Fuck. I knew this week was going to be bad but I never knew just how bad. Might be looking for a new job this time tomorrow. Oh, fuck. I think I have to go be sick again.