birds, For the. 1 - 781 sic passim

Of all the things Mummers has ever done to me, I will never, *ever* forgive her this one.

Oh my heavens, no.

As of this morning, I have been recruited -- in the midst of my busy season -- to be, basically (making a long description and explanation short), her typist; my Mommy fired the person who was helping her because she did not like something they did and is trying to prove something to Whomever, and I've been temporarily conscripted. And, of course, I am being paid Not One Red Cent for this.

Screw bastards; everybody's a total fucker. Srsly.

Bonus points for title's reference. Triple bonus points for finding all the things I am doing to Mummers' shit. I'm expecting most will survive once it's done. I mean, freaking *prove* that Fleegle, Bingo, Drooper, and Snork (1970) did not say half the things I say they did in a defunct journal.

In a foreign language.

At the moment, I am leaning towards Esperanto.

I'm betting no one will look that closely. Heh. Plus, I hear that they were quite prolific authors, and held opinion -- both expert and peer-reviewed -- on many varied topics. As did Momary, Douglas; Jo, Emmy; Hepo, Henrietta; Fraug, Frederic; and Aul, Charles (1977) in their monumental work, Review of the Zoological Neo-Garden. Far, far more interesting than the drivel Mummers is yammering on about.

Damn, I crack me the hell up.

Okay, okay...I am not *that* bad. But seriously, I AM stressing now. I do not need this. I get this, however, 'cos I am the most 'available' of her children, and she needs 'just a little help'. And yeah, I know -- I am the only one who laughs at my jokes. :-)

Sigh. I may not get to sleep again until like, March. She thinks things will change by Friday and she will get her way, but I do not believe her. Let us hope.

Double bonus points for...well, you know.

I want a nickel a word, or something. Fuckers.

bwaah.

.

Welcome to my breakdown; I hope I didn't scare you...

.


Ok...I have to make this quick, 'cos I simply must get some sleep; I am exhausted and in pain.

When I started bleeding, I tried to phone my marvellous gyn, and found out that he was closed. As in for months. My GP told me that he has cancer of the bile duct(s).

Ok, so I broke down over that one. I love my gyn.

Butsoanyway.

So I had to go hunting for a new gyn, and took many recommendations. Of those, I picked the one who would see me the soonest.

Ok, so here's the skinny:

My pain is partly due to cervical cysts/abscess things. That is ok. Since I have never had them before (as far as we know), this is probably easily fixable.

The other part of my pain and the whole of my bleeding however, Dr Gyn thinks may have another cause. I am having an ultrasound over the weekend, and a biopsy this coming Thursday. I really dread being overly-dramatic, and this is NOT a diagnosis, but Dr Gyn is looking at the possibility of endometrial cancer.

Oh, yay.


I did freak, I am nervous (I would be lying if I said that I was not), but I am not going to allow myself a full-blown freak-out until I get biopsy results. So don't panic.

DON'T PANIC: That is like, the best advice in the world. Ever. Bar none.

In Other News, Romeo is doing well and was upped to 150-whatevers of fluids 2x/wk from the 100 he was getting 'cos he is constipated. And I had to buy DSS for him...which turns out to be just plain ol' Colace. Well, the girl at the pharmacy did not know that, and Dr Vet was closed, so I had to phone my GP to ask him if he knew what DSS for constipation was. Thank god my GP keeps freaky hours and loves me...and animals. :-) So Rome is on Colace. 100mg per day, in case you ever need to get your cat of approximately ten lbs to poop and cannot get to the vet right away. It takes about 12 hours to work, and it helps if one wets the pill first to make it slimy.

And Meg is off to some tournament in New Orleans. Mom left for the weekend as well, so I am all alone. And lonely. Sigh. And drowning in work.

More later when I am not so tired and in so much pain. Promise. I have taken one Cataflam *and* 800mg of Ibuprofen, and I am still hurting. Time for Tramadol. Sigh.

P.S.: Yes, I gave Harry the money to get his god damned car back. Call me stupid.

.

The Red Paw of Courage

This is Romeo yesterday evening. They sent him home with a 'Red Paw of Courage'. :-) He is hiding in the upper storey of his cat condo, trying to sleep, wishing Mom would go the fuck away.

Mom did -- rilly. Dr Vet said to.

Today I could not stay home and watch him, so I stayed with him typing for as long as I could, then I phoned Meg to stop by on her way out of town (she is going to Vegas) and take Rome to Dr Vet's for water, another shot of antibiotics (he looked at the Baytril in a Pill Pocket and told me to go screw myself, and he is too sick for me to get into trying to force the pill down his throat), more pain meds, and whatever else.

Right after Meg left, Dr Vet phoned & said that he wanted another kidney function test anyway, so Romeo got that. BUN was still around 80-something, and CREA was 3.9 (he phoned a few hours later, 'cos he was leaving and knew I would want to know). Dr Vet said that was ok for now, all things considered, and he has older pets with similar values who are staying stable with fluid therapy. I offered that if it gets worse, I would want to put Romeo down before making him live with feeling like shit all the time. High Creatinine (I am told) is not *painful*, one just feels shitty and run-down all the time, like being permanently sick. That's a suck-ass QoL if you ask me. I may reconsider if I can get him to purr regularly, or if he *seems* happy and ok with feeling shitty...we'll see when it happens. *IF* it happens.

I have a break right now; I also was told to make Rome eat tonight. Something. Anything. :-) Dr Vet said if Romeo wants pizza and beer, he gets pizza and beer. Seriously, though; I will start with a/d, and if that does not work, I will syringe-feed baby food (again, bless Wildrun for educating me about that!!).

I still have to finish typing one paper, then I am (mostly) done. I still have to go to work all day tomorrow (Eviljob), so I have already made plans to drop Romeo off at Dr Vet's and somehow miraculously pick him up before he closes at four. Argh.

Today I started shaking -- my right hand and arm -- and I thought, 'oh, wonderful; I am sure that's MS or Parkinson's'...then I realised that the last actual sleep I had was Monday night, and the last time I actually ate was Wednesday.

That might have something to do with it. Maybe tonight I'll have some a/d with Rome.

Sigh.

.

Bwaah! I am in MA, and am swamped with work.

Here’s the deal:

I phoned around and a lady from the RG came out to Eviljob and helped me try to net the cat for almost two hours. It is not the tuxedo I thought was injured, it is one of the tigers that were not supposed to be let off at Eviljob after the large speuter day we did. We could not net it, and I finally *had* to leave, so the other lady put out a trap.

To make a long story short, she ended up trapping (I think) Blacktoe. That is a sort-of yay.

I had to fly out; with the coming storm I was sweating leaving period, and hanging around pit I was sure for a while that I was not going to get to bos, but I did.

Butsoanyway.

So Chrissy went out on Sunday and then again today; she did not see the cat on Sunday, but managed to trap four more, one of which was already neutered and one of which sme jackass guy accidentally released at RG’s speuter clinic.

Just fucking shoot me.

Chrissy and two other people will be trying again tomorrow to get the tiny tiger with the broken paw; this time they are going to try to gang up on it with nets like Pat and I did Saturday evening. That almost worked – if only I had been able to start sooner, or had not had to leave, or had more day light, or something.

Everything is ok, but I am all hormonal. That is why I am being so fucking psycho. And I am tired. Very, very tired. I spent all morning thinking about the broken tiger, the lost orange cat (of course Chrissy had to phone me and leave that message, so that I could come back from break teary-eyed, like the psychotic batshit girl that I am), and being generally lonely and miserable. It is this weather – this kind of weather is always my Final Straw.

Ok…g’night.

.

BWAAH!

I am so sleepy. And in so much pain that I had to take two of Mummers'...what is it called? Tradol, I think. Trader Vic? Tralfamadorian? I don't know. Tra-something. She left the bottle over here because she said they make her too sleepy. I was sleepy before I took them, so I guess we'lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllldddddddddddddddddddddkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

zzzzz

Ha, ha. Just kidding. I only took them a couple minutes ago.

I am hoping Cookie & Rhett will be ok. I am worried about that. I am also sore and everything from all the moving, running, and lifting shit I had to do today, on top of the fact that afterwards, I was stupid enough to try to do some stretches. Gah. I was doing all the running, jumping, and everything because our offices are moving at the end of the week, and I had to make sure everything was packed, labelled, and all that crap for the movers. And I did it all in ONE DAY. I am the rockingest. ;-)

Owwwwch.

I was trying to keep my whatzit muscle on my right leg right above my kneecap from spasming and hurting in class tonight, and it occurred to me that leg massages are cool, and they probably really work. I just usually don't pay much attention when I am in pain because it usually goes away eventually. Or after I take a couple of Mom's Tradol. I'm probably misspelling it, but whatever. Hopefully it will stop my feet, legs, back hips, and shoulders from hurting. Tomorrow will be fun. Whee.

This semester is practically halfway over, and I'm still not ready for it.

HELP! HELP! HELP!

Rhett & Cookie were so terrified when I dropped them off today (I am boarding them overnight, 'cos the couple of times I have made speuter appointments previously, I have been unable to keep them away from the food and water, and ended up having to cancel the appointment) that I started crying, and the ladies in Boarding (who love Squoosh to death!) let me come back and help put them in the cage, and so I got to hug them and try to calm them down. I just know they think that I have left them forever. I hope they don't die. I am trying to not worry about this. I miss them so much!

I saw Rhett's blue brother on the way home (I go by Eviljob almost every night to feed and water); he looks like a Russian Blue (growing up, I had two Russian Blues that my father bought for reasons that were never apparent to anyone but him, and Rhett sort of looks like a Russian Blue Tux, if there is such a thing), and Rhett's brother is SO BIG, just like Rhett.

And I just pulled up that link and read it, and then went to British Blue, and now am wondering if that may be the blue in Rhett's woodpile. :-) Rhett certainly is 'inclined towards obesity'. Lord, that's one porky cat...but he gives TONS of kitty kisses, and his little white chin goes pink when he is happy. He is so cute! If he is a BB, I will have to keep a close eye on his teeth and gums, in case he inherited that, as well. :-)

I will have to think of something that will get these cats at Eviljob trapped and speutered. Right now, I cannot do it; I have way too much. Maybe next semester will be lighter, but until then, it is all I can do to keep them fed and watered over there. Unless I run across some help, that is.

Okay; now I *am* getting sleepy.

g'night.

.

And I don’t want to live this life…

Okay, I have to get in a quick update of sorts.

One, Lisa seems to be back in the rescue bidness. She has a new name, new flyers, and I phoned Chrissy and talked to her for a bit; Chrissy still has around fifty cats of Lisa’s, only now to take them back Lisa wants all of them to be tested and for Chrissy to buy $300 worth of building materials. Now, I personally think that is bullshit, but I am not Chrissy. So I offered to give her some of it, and help her raise some more. This really sucks.

Eviljob is the same as always. I haven’t seen Mehitabel recently, so I guess that means that she’s had her next litter. I just want to cry. Breakfast is so friendly…up to a point. Won’t let me near, though. Not that I know what I’d do if she did. Cry, probably.

Job 2 is Hell. Though in a good way. I am busy as crap, but I am having as much of a good time as I am probably capable of having in this life. It’s what I want to do.

Well, mostly.

I just wish I did not have all these other things going on. I realised that the other day; I am, in a couple major ways, doing what I want to be doing, and things are – in this one tiny corner of my life – perfect.

Butsoanyway.

I have to get to sleep, but…things are ok. I am worried about the usual stuff: my upcoming trip, Ms Grammarian’s absence, the cats in the parking lot, and a bunch of other things that I can’t even remember most of the time. I am under this ginormous amount of stress, and I am getting forgetful…or maybe there just aren’t enough hours in the day.

School stuff is ok. Just ok. I am *doing* fine…it’s just that everything is moving so fast. I like having some free time to read and think and stuff, and this semester, I have *none*.

All my cats are great. Even Harry seems to be doing better after this last round of Clavamox and that pill, Whateveritwas.

My father came into town last week to see me, and I and guess it is because I had not been out to see him in a while, so…I guess we had fun. He brought my stepmother, and we went to her favourite seafood place in town. It was a pretty nice evening, though I guess it stressed me out; I went and bought earrings after. And I am still somehow fitting in time to go to the chiropractor, who is actually helping out tremendously with my headaches. Added to that is this other physical rehab thing I have entered, and, well…my dance card’s full. I am *tired*.

Though this really cracked me up: $25 an hour?!? Not nearly enough!

I have a lot to write about, but I have to go to sleep.

.

As I was looking for St Ives...

This is my nominee for Funniest Wikipedia Entry EVER.

As I Was Going To St. Ives

I stumbled on it whilst in class looking for St Ives' Hair Repair, and I swear -- I could *hear* John Cleese reading it.

Butsoanyway.

Dinner last night was same as ever, I am still not finished with that writing crap, and I am having my routine all disrupted, and I'm angry. The pitifully few aspects of my life which I can form into a routine are, in my mind, inviolate. Or should be. For this semester, I spend my Mondays being worked into a philosophical froth, and my Tuesdays in a never-ending seminar with my HoD trying to regain my bearings.

And I pick up some luscious crab chowder and have it in class, too.

Now true: this is one drawback to dual-programming it, which I am to a large extent. The running joke in my (main) field is that when I am done, I'll have enough letters to make a whole new name. But I look forward to decompressing on Tuesdays, because this semester I have worked it where (class-wise) I am doing one program on Monday, another on Tuesday, and the rest of the week on this third thing that actually ends up being Job 2, but I'm not going to go explaining how that works out, 'cos it's not that simple. Job 2 is a real job, but I get credit for it in a roundabout way.

Butsoanyway.

So tomorrow I am LOSING my cool seminar so that I can help make a film-like thing at Job 2 that illustrates how cool we are. That's neat, sure. But I will REALLY miss being in seminar, especially cos today was so damned stupid that i could just spit. I mentioned my unrepentant Phenomenologist (actually, I think I originally called him a Holist, but I can't help but be honest) in the Husserl - slash - My Little Pony sense.

No, I really cannot be serious one bleeding minute longer than I absolutely must. Cope.

Well, doesn't this all just drive me up a tree. Keeping my big mouth shut is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Bwaah. Today we were harping without end on behaviours that *I* attribute (bearing in mind that I am not a Behaviourist) to chaining and That Other Thing, Occam's Razor being what it is and all. Simple explanations will suffice, as long as they both describe and predict the behaviour reliably. No need to get fancy.

Well, it would seem that some people *like* fancy.

Whatever. I'm just staying quiet, and really don't give a rat's ass whether Otho and Ingmar make it to the museum, or not. I hope they get lost, jumped by a street gang, rolled, and sold into slavery. Both of them. I hope they end up on a boat to Taiwan for the NAMBLA convention. Otho and Ingmar can kiss my heinie. It is frustrating to not be able to make clear the difference between a thought experiment and an actual experiment, and it's even more frustrating when one is in a room full of people who don't understand why one is frustrated. And it is *most* frustrating when people think they are being clever by perverting thought experiments to quell a legitimate objection, like bringing up the possibility that a hypothetical dog running through a hypothetical forest might stop to take a nap, or some shit. That crap really pisses me off. Bwaah. What if Otho had a lobotomy?!? Wha...wha...we're talking about something that DOES NOT EXIST, probably would not actually occur, and was only brought up for illustrative purposes, as a canned situation! What if Otho had three dicks and a llama named Tyrone? Huh? What then?

Oh, I've learnt my lesson; this semester, I am staying quiet.

Booop.


Oh, wait--I'm not done. It's *also* frustrating for someone to not acknowledge that a reflex is not the same as 'hard-wiring', and then attempt to refute an event that illustrates hard-wiring by listing off why this event isn't a reflex.

Bwaah!

Why am I doing this? I know. That's the obvious question. There really is a point and purpose, I am just whining about the steps *to* that point and purpose. That's all. Humour me; I'm harmless. And I find cool free things. :-)

So now let's go back to whining about how I have to wake up in just a bit and go miss my favourite seminar (it's really hard to tell which I'll miss most -- the class, or the crab chowder), and be all unhappy. Well, unhappy-ish; I do get to get stuff accomplished, and hand out with my boss who is cool and intelligent, and all that jazz. But I don't get to vent this week. That's my point.

And then I have to go out with Mummers tomorrow night, which means that I will miss trivia (yet another hallowed tradition shot to hell). And Valentine's Day is coming up, which means that the Holiday Season is over.

Yep, over.

There is no justice.

.

The more things change, the more they stay the same...

Ideally, this will be a quick post, ‘cos I have a few things to finish, then I have to start thinking about sleep.

I think I had a good day. It’s rare when that happens, which is why I am uncertain. :-D

One of the things that I had to do today was go pay homage to my HoD, to ask for an exception to one thing, and permission for another, and etc, etc.; he said yes to everything (!!!), and that was in spite of the fact that I had been stalking him (and my advisor) outside of a department meeting that turned quite ugly. Thank god no one decided to take their shit out on me. I hate it when that happens, because I have had such a hard time getting everyone in one place over the past two terms that I was finally left with no alternative then to bribe one of the girls in the office, who phoned me to tell me that Everyone would be at this meeting, and give me the time and place. I just parked my ass outside the room around the corner and read for two hours (all the time tuning out the occasional voice-raising so that I didn’t process anything I was hearing—that’s none of my business), and when I heard them breaking up (HoD has a very distinctive accent), I rounded the corner and did a ‘fancy meeting *you* here!’ schtick.

Oh, whatever—we all know that I am going to Hell already.

Butsoanyway.

So I left my advisor trying to apologise to another prof whom I love (I *so* do not want to know what that was all about), and went to speak with HoD, which is a scary thing. It wasn’t a bad talk, really. He gave me everything I was requesting (we’ll see if my mouth is writing checks my ass can’t cash, as it were, later) with one small exception, and I have a feeling that one thing may be unimportant later. I *think* he paid me a compliment at one point (he is hard to read) when he told me to always be honest, because everything rests on one’s reputation, and without a descent reputation, others will not extend themselves for you (said as he was extending himself). Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am scrupulously honest (with the exception of the occasional Social White Lie), so I’ll take his comment as a compliment where he is acknowledging that fact, thank you very much.

So, with the exception of a little bit of paperwork and making it through a few classes, I am thisclose to being done. Gah. I’m frightened!

In Other News, I believe that I am getting sick again—a return of the jungle rot that landed me on Ketek. My ears are back clogged up, my throat hurts again, I have a headache, and I’m coughing and sneezing. If I sit on it like I did before, it will become a lower respiratory infection, too—I have around a week-ish before I am back with the wheezing and railing cough. So I have made an appointment with an ENT, but I think that I have discovered the source of my ills. Though I don’t want to tell the ENT what it is, ‘cos he’ll probably yell at me.

Ummm…that would be kissing Rhett Butler, ‘cos he likes to lie in his litter box.

Rhett Butler likes to kiss—I didn’t teach him to do it, either; just like Squooshable, Rhett likes to kiss your chin, mouth, and nose. Maybe it’s a genetic thing with them, or maybe Mehitabel teaches her babies to kiss on the mouth; I don’t know. But they both like doing it, it means a lot to them (it’s a bonding thing), only Rhett likes to roll around (and often sleep) in his litter box, and Squooshable doesn’t. Before Squoosh, I had never met a cat who actually tried to kiss in the mouth/nose/chin area. It’s kinda cute, provided you don’t have any freaky hang-ups about cat spit. And although I don’t, I can totally understand if someone else does. Meg has a BIG freaky hang-up about cat spit, and thinks I am gross. But growing up, I used to get in trouble all the time for kissing cats (on their fur) and other stuff. I’m a kissy kind of person; Meg (and the rest of my family) isn’t. :-) To each his own.

But the point is that I have to come up with an alternative to letting Rhett kiss me on the mouth, at least until he stops rolling around in his litter box.

Oh, quit saying ‘eeewww!’; I can hear you. ;-)

Speaking of Rhett Butler, he’s blue. Cookie says that is because he is too stoopid to be a right colour for a cat. But seriously—he’s a silver-blue colour. And his nose is not black, orange, or pink—it’s *blue*. I have some swatches from Glidden (one of my mini-projects in the next few months is going to be painting a few things around the house), and Rhett’s nose is the same colour as one of the blue swatches! It’s a kind of blue-black, ‘true navy’ kind of blue…but it’s still blue. A blue nose. Weird.

Cookie: He’s SO STOOPID…I don’t know how much more of this I can take! He’s not even the right colour for a cat! Gaahd!

Rhett: MAAAH!

I had thought that I might have to bail out of Eviljob this semester, but it looks like I might be able to hang on for a few more months, though I have resolved to cut the string at the first sign of trouble or schedule conflict. This wouldn’t be too bad in that it would be a decent enough excuse to back down this dating-thing thing I wandered into. If nothing else, I am going to beg off as being too busy and let that be it, which isn’t too far from the truth. I mean, I probably could make time, but if Something Horrid happens (like failing Quals), I would be kicking myself. Literally.

In addition, I had a weird and complex kind of revelation over Break; I was watching Foul Play (I just *adore* Goldie Hawn), and realised that Mr Guy has a lot of the same characteristics as Stanley Tibbets. Which isn’t a major revelation, but is in the sense that, well… Take for example something like kissing under the mistletoe; when someone launches that at you, one assumes that it’s a heartfelt and/or cute thing, not just a normal, run-of-the-mill dopey, ‘I’m looking for an excuse to snog you’ thing. And that leads me to wonder where exactly that line is. I mean, where is the difference in wanting your Someone to have some cool experience, and doing the turning on the rotating bed and dropping the disco ball? That’s a hard one to call, and I am not sure I really feel like figuring it out. Motivation plays a part, but…who in the hell knows another’s true motivation(s)? And then there is the issue of how important it is that it is you…I mean, would it be the same were you anyone else? Or…

I am eventually going to have to put serious thought on this, but I just don’t feel like it right now; I have a headache. My neck is also massively stiff, and it hurts. Whine.

Butsoanyway.

I also found out today that my one journical that was being co-authored into the ground was rejected, and I couldn’t be happier, frankly—this gives me total justification for going around my co-authors and either re-writing it myself, or branching off on my own and writing my own prequel that would better establish what in the crap I had originally meant before I had so many opinionated cooks helping out with my broth. When I read the email this morning, I was a little upset, then I realised that I’m not upset at all; I have nothing else that I can use as a ‘see, I told you so’. It is things like this that really emphasise to me that I work better *alone*, or at least in very small groups.

Well, on some things.

So that becomes one *additional* task for this semester. Yay. This is going to be a rough year, but *damn* will it be worth it when it’s over. Oh, yeah. :-)

I think.

I am watching House of the Dead 2 as I am working (I started off just doing a short post, then ended up multi-tasking), and lord, it is god-awful. :-) I love it. Maybe next they’ll let Mrs Griffith’s grade six gifted class make part three. Christ. Or Rhett Butler. MAAAH!

And I have to really wrap things up. More kvetching about journicals later. :-)

.

The sad, sad truth; the dirty low-down…

Oh, am I going to have to make this quick. I am playing trivia, and when it is over in an hour, I am going to BED. I have to get up extra-early to run around with Meg before she leaves on Thursday for aroundabout ten days to finish visiting friends, some relatives, and a pit-stop for gambling. She’s taking Mummers with her for most of it, so I will be in the doldrums holiday-wise for a few days here. I want to go, but I cannot; I have way too much to do here, and even if I promised to work on the road I wouldn’t have enough time. Plus, I am still sick. But a lot has happened, so…here goes:

1) I am STILL sick. I have seven days of antibiotics left, and those things are going to *kill* me. Gah! And I just can’t stop coughing! Well, I can when I drink half a bottle of Robitussin followed by a two-to-four tablespoon Hycodan chaser…

Though I am trying to back off The Juice. No, rilly—I am cutting it with Robitussin as much as I can and still not bring with me the railing, hacking sounds of a TB ward everywhere I go. Well, and at night, when I need to sleep. Diphenhydramine has *nothing* on good old-fashioned opiates, though I keep sticking the two together in my tum to see if maybe Diphenhydramine could pick up a tip or two. Today is Day Seven of my experimentation in the Post-Ingestion Learning Capacities of Pharmaceutical Agents.

I’ll keep you posted.

2) Chrissy’s Issues. Oh, here we go. Okay—Lisa is GONE. As in like disappeared. Lisa was the one who was running Happy Hills Farms, and she said it was hers—her 503c non-profit thingy-thing. Well, it wasn’t. Lise started off as a helper to some other lady who founded Happy Hills, and when that lady moved to some other state, Lise was supposed to just finish adopting out the animals and then wrap everything up and shut down. Well, she didn’t. Lise’s been running business as usual, taking donations, and blah, blah, blah. This all blew up about a month ago—the *real* Happy Hills lady went to go start up her 503c (or whatever it is), and contacted Lise to get her van and stuff back. So Lise stopped answering her phone. Then Lise offered to sell the Happy Hills van to Chrissy for 8k in cash (it is only a couple of years old, and worth way-more than that) ‘cos Lise told Chrissy that she’d decided to get out of the business. So Chrissy borrowed most of the 8k and went out to Lise’s (not knowing ANYTHING about any ‘real’ Happy Hills lady—as far as Chrissy knew, Lisa IS Happy Hills) to get the van, and Lise was acting funny (per Chrissy), and hemming and hawing about the title to the van (saying that she just couldn’t find it anywhere, but she second she did she’d be rushing it over to Chrissy, etc…). And considering Lise had told Chrissy 8k, cash, FIRM, Chrissy had been dreading asking Lise to give her the title without the full amount. Plus, this is very not like Lise—she is very much the kind of person who would tell you to go fuck yourself if you didn’t have the money. So it struck Chrissy as weird (Chrissy told me that she had a VERY weird feeling the whole time, that from the moment Lise opened the door there were bad vibes everywhere), and Chrissy told Lise to find the title, and phone her when she found it.

Then everything blew up.

What I am told is that the real Happy Hills Lady tried to get in touch with Lise, and when Lise stopped answering her phone, Ms Happy Hills phoned around and found out Lise was up and running, and had a space at PetsMart, and so on…so she phoned PetsMart, and PM ended up asking Lise to leave. And I am sure all kinds of other shit is raining down that I am not privy to, but the short of it is that Chrissy is fucked. Chrissy has around sixty of Lise’s cats, and nowhere for them to go, ‘cos there is no more Happy Hills.

At least not here.

And so I went by yesterday (now that I am feeling better) to talk to the new rescue group at what used to be Lise’s PetsMart on behalf of Chrissy. I told the new lady that before Chrissy helped me, I didn’t know crap about ANYTHING, and without Chrissy’s help, I didn’t know where I would be today, as far as this feral colony goes. I mean, sure—I still don’t have Mehitabel, and there are still two kits out there that need to be trapped and fixed in the next week or so, but I HAVE trapped and neutered a bunch from that colony, and I HAVE caught and homed seven of her kittens (not counting the ENTIRE last litter that the other girl at Eviljob caught), and I HAVE re-homed two that weren’t feral at all, but were lost or abandoned pets. Plus, I am only one person and this is an imperfect world, and there is (I have finally accepted) no such thing as a feral rescue group ANYWHERE IN THIS AREA. No one wants feral cats, no one will help adopt out feral cats, feed feral cats, or ANYTHING feral cats…the only reason I have had any help is just because Chrissy and a few other people have been being nice. So it’s Just Me. And I will be re-starting shortly.

Butsoanyway.

So after I convinced New Lady that I wasn’t hitting her up to take feral cats, I tried to talk to her about Chrissy, who is screwed. New Lady said that she might be willing to work out something, but Chrissy would have to help her—submit to a home inspection, and work as a foster mom for a bit while they tried to carousel some of these animals out, ‘cos—catch this—Chrissy is only one of about FIVE or SIX people who have already contacted New Lady, ‘cos Lisa’d stuck them with a shiteload of cats and dogs under the guise of ‘fostering’ them (which translates into warehousing them). So I phoned Chrissy and left a message for her to let her know what’s going on. She is very depressed; she said that for almost a month straight, she’s done nothing but watch TV and cry. When I phoned her she was crying because of something she’d seen on Judge Judy, or whatever; it took her thirty minutes to get the whole story out to me. Plus I got to hear about Judge Judy. This is bad, it’s really bad. I don’t know what is going to happen, but…

Sigh. It will work out somehow. I’ll let you know.

Oh—and—when I went to Eviljob to feed the cats today, I was late (I overslept), and the two remaining kittens were sitting out by where I put the food, waiting for me in meatloaf position. Why do I do this? THAT is why I do this. They believe in me; they have trust in their tiny little furry hearts that I will come and bring food. They need me. God only knows they don’t have anyone or anything else, and the way things are shaping up, they probably never will.

Rhett and Cookie are fine, by the way. I guess with this recent turn of events, I am stuck with them—the only place I had to take them was Lisa’s, where the plan was that I’d pay her $80 each and she’d slip them into a cage at PetsMart, as long as I brought proof of speuter, vaccinations, and negative FIV/FeLV, like she did with the other cats she took from me.

Yes, that *was* the plan…I was kinda hoping they could be Christmas Cats for someone. Only that ‘someone’ is ME. Sigh. S’ok. I love them. :-) And Squooshable loves them, too.

Well, shit…what am I SUPPOSED to do? Drop them back off at Eviljob? They are totally tame and loving pets now. And there’s nowhere for them to go, especially if there’s going to be a glut of pet cats coming in from all of Lisa’s crap. Plus I love them, and they love me—I’m their Mom. Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind. Or Forgotten.

3) With all this happiness afoot, I have to devote a number to the fact that it’s the most wonderful time of the god damned year. And I am making so motherfucking merry that I could just spit.

Or, well, I will. Eventually.

I have put no lights up, I haven’t decorated a damned thing. I feel like I have been in a holding pattern, waiting for something to end before I can get started with this merriment thing. And seriously, now—I make my own merriment. I mean, something goes wrong EVERY FREAKING YEAR. Every year. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? Gang aft agley my ass; every year it’s like a damn free-for-all to see how stressed and strung out I can get, how much running around I can be made to do, and so on. If a fiasco is going to go down, it’s going to go down right in the middle of my farkety Holiday Season. And, might I remind you, that I am supposed to be like, happily married by now? Uhhh…yeah.

Now, I have managed two rather ok outings recently, but…that isn’t the point. And I don’t know if I am going to be up for any future outings. So anyway…

My point is that I am really becoming violently miserable, and here a goodly chunk of my family is abandoning me for the god damned holidays. Well, sort-of. Okay, they *say* they’ll be back by the 22^nd (or whenever), but…whatever. I am completely out of holiday ideas. I am dry. Done. Kaput.

So here’s the holiday plan: I am going to go drive around and look at Christmas lights. This week. I might even take Squooshable with me. I am going to go look for houses that can be seen from Frogstar World B, and those that look like they have merely been invaded by radioactive spiders. And then, once I am off the damned antibiotics, I am going to watch stupid movies on the Hallmark Channel and probably get drunk.

Oh, yes... There will be egg nog.

Butsoanyway. Enough of my misery.

4) Number four was really number three before I went and got all distracted. It has to do with the fact that I can start off looking at Christmas lights on my own street, seeing as how the U-Haul tricks arrived today. Yes, U-Haul. A neighbour up the street brings U-Haul trucks (usually two small ones, occasionally one medium one) every year to unload the Christmas decorations. The whole family comes out, or over, and by Sunday evening, it’s up.

Well, it’s up.

This year they have polar bears, igloos, see-saws, lights framing the lawn, driveway, and the outline of the house, two Santas on the roof, and at least two snow globe blowy things. Plus some other stuff I am surely forgetting. It’s awesome. Although I haven’t decided if I like it or not.

5) I have forgotten what number five is and the game is over, so I am just going to sleep. G’night.

.

I *told* you I was sick.

Okay, so I broke down today and went back to my doctor. As a result, I am *back* on antibiotics, but now we have added steroids, an albuterol inhaler, and codeine cough syrup. We're holding off on anything else until my check-up to see if Less is Better and my immune system will kick the butt of everything else once the bacterial infection is reduced or eliminated. I have managed to pick up BOTH a viral and bacterial infection (including a middle ear infection that I have had since the last time about a month ago...yes, I will be better about going to check-ups), my nose and ears are totally clogged (it sounds like I have a panzer division marching in my ears), I only stop sneezing when I start coughing (and vice versa), and I have a sinus headache that would down a rhino.

That was an attempt at humour.

Meg says I caught it 'cos I let Squooshable (cutest bunny-butt in the world) and Rhett Butler (most co-dependent cat on Earth) kiss me around my mouth. To which I reply that (1) no, I didn't, (2) I didn't teach them to do that, they were born doing it, and (3) it might hurt their feelings if I stopped them at this point. And then Meg said that I obviously caught the ear infection from Squooshable, and so I hung up on her. :-) One can't just go saying mean things about other people's squooshables, you know? And as I am sitting in my doctor's waiting room dying, Harry phoned to tell me that he was at Ye Olde Computer Shoppe 'cos his C drive bit the dust (although Harry has two other drives), and would I 'lend' (those are ironic quotes, chirrin) him the money to fix it.

Sigh.

Harry just finished typing a bunch of stuff for my mother (Mummers has a project; she is writing a book, and asked me to type up some text and tables, and I in turn dumped it on Harry 'cos he has more free time, follows directions well, and needs the money...which I am paying him; Mom--of course--does't pay me). So I said that I would pay for the repairs, then I got talked into it being on *top* of what I had promised to pay him for the work. Sigh. Fine.

And a little while ago, someone emailed me to ask if I take care of the parking lot cats every day, so let me mention here that I did feed them on the way to the doctor, and they are fine. :-) I feed them practially every day (I miss maybe one or two days a month at the most), I put down large piles when I do (that should hold them at least 24 hours), and there are, as much as it is distressing to think about, birds, squirrels, and other things in the woods right beside Eviljob (I mean literally within one minute's walking distance, we have The Forest Primaeval--it borders our parking lot all around three sides almost), plus lizards and crickets in the parking lot itself (plus the birds and squirrels that hang out in the parking lot). So they definitely don't starve. But I just wanted to mention since I am thinking about it that if I don't mention it, I did do it.

I have two more things to accomplish (one of which is urgent), and equipment set-up all this week (we {Job 2} just bought some new cool-ass sensing equipment), so I don't know where I am going to find the time to do the urgent thing. Bwaah! Add to that the fact that I am EXHAUSTED, and, well...this is going to be a fun week. And I will be up late tonight working, and have to get up at five a.m.. Yay.

.

Variety is the proposition; modern is out-of-date...hit it!

:-)

So tomorrow has to be an industrial-strength work day, as does Monday—it looks like, despite my attempts at explaining that quality does not occur overnight, I will get nothing more…augh. My deadline is Thursday, and it is a non-negotiable deadline since it is basically a submission that goes to a group that gives final ok, and then it goes off to be completely finalised, so…it’s out of my hands; like it or not, I have tomorrow and Monday, and not much else, because I have *other* things I have to accomplish this week.

Today I spent out-of-doors, which was kind of nice, only it was because I had to do a training evaluation where I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was cold enough today to be sure, but I still took way too much sun, I think—my face feels as if I did, at least. Go figure.

It wasn’t really bad, it was just very …new. I have never done this kind of evaluation before, and so I really had to focus and do a lot of that paying attention thing that I deplore. ;-) This was a good opportunity though, and I am really, really grateful that I was asked, because even though it is so different, it is also going to be (eventually) a really good skill set to have.

I was nervous, but thankfully my mentor on this one is just fucking awesome beyond words, and was really fantastic about giving me enough freedom to let me walk around and test out my wings as it were, but not enough rope to hang myself (to go and mix a metaphor for no real reason). Not many people are actually good teachers, so when I run across one, I just appreciate it all the more. And above all that, we were 'doing' an awesome group; it was really egoless work, and I absolutely adored it. I am looking forward to having to do it again, though other than briefly on Monday evening, I don't know right now when I will see our evaluatees again (which is a shame also 'cos I absolutely *loved* having an excuse to watch one of them. Sigh. I am *so* going to Hell, hmmm?). It all depends upon how what we did today shapes up.

I guess I will have to either give up on providing detail or do it later, because I am just *exhausted*, and I have to get some sleep right at the moment.

So later…

.

People stop and stare at me; we just walk on by...

I just hate dreaming sometimes. I mean *really*.

I got off early from Eviljob (and yes, fed the cats even though I didn’t see them), came home, and promptly feel into one of those DEEP sleeps where you wake up completely disoriented and freezing cold in a dark room, wondering who in the hell could be phoning you at this god-forsaken hour, not that you know what hour it is.

So I accomplished little today, but that’s not surprising at all to me, ‘cos I am just completely burnt-out. I really, really am. The only things I accomplished at Eviljob today was readying my vacation and getting into a disagreement with a co-worker who insisted that Ciao is a native, non-appropriated French word.

Just shoot me.

I don’t remember what the commercial(s) were for, but stuff like this reminds me of those commercials a little while ago where one employees explains to his co-workers that they have fringe benefits, not French benefits, and so on. I empathise with that guy; I have given up on trying to get one especially annoying line at work changed from ‘perk’ to ‘perq’; I have also given up on ‘ladie’s’ and ‘ensem’ (as in the fingernails-on-a-blackboard-like request, ‘please be sure you are in an appropriate ensem at the company picnic’).

BWAAH!

And yes, I have *seen* a memo that says that, ‘for all intensive purposes we will be launching X on Y date’. I work with ‘conversating’ people who get ‘flustrated’ over the latest security ‘install’. And I could go on. No really—I could; I am trying to remember a really funny one I read just the other day, but it is escaping me. I was on the phone with a friend watching Flavour of Love when New York said that it would be ‘beneful’ for them to be apart for a while. Yes. Beneful. As in the dog food. I had to translate for the person with whom I was speaking—after all this time at Eviljob, I parse ‘beneful’ without a moment’s hesitation. It means full of benefit.

You know—kind of like the dog food.

Sigh.

Bear in mind that I am only kvetching to take my mind off the fact that today I got nothing done and even lost out on a really good dream. And it is now officially the 22^nd, which is always a sucky-assed day in October, anyway.

My apologies to anyone born on this day. Well, except for one person—I don’t apologise to one particular person who fricking made this a sucky-assed day a few years ago.

Butsoanyway.

Speaking of FoL and thinking about sex (now there’s two topics that don’t often converge in my mind), I think that is is tres-way sick that New York didn’t stand up for herself when Flav wouldn’t answer her question about whether or not he was sleeping with Deelishis. Blecch…if you are sleeping with someone, you sure do have the right to know who else they are having sex with! Flav, you’ve disgusted me. That clip (from the Belize episode, where Flav and NY are out on the boat with Gary Busey…Gary Busey *was* there, right? ;-) ) should be shown to every sex ed class on Earth. Girls, leave any man who behaves like that! Stat! That was practically a textbook example of a bum trying to weasel out of answering a legitimate question by blaming the woman, calling her mad, bad, or wrong. And whatever happened to a girl having some class and pride? New York not only took that shit, she went on to sleep with him *again* that night! That girl has the self-respect of a turnip. I could go on, but Ms Grammarian pretty much already said anything I could say a little over a month ago. I was just so, so, SO disgusted and offended as a female by that one part. And I am not saying that New York isn’t crazy as a loon, but I *am* saying that it sets a REALLY BAD EXAMPLE to let some jerk get away with treating a woman (with whom he is having sex) as if her request to know who his other (and previous) sex partners are is a ridiculous request. I do watch FoL for the same reason others watch bad traffic accidents, but…there are impressionable chirrin watching that show who don’t know the difference. I don’t like Flav as much as I used to. Icky. If I were New York’s mother, I would have beaten her senseless(er) after seeing that. And dragged her out for an AIDS test and a flea-dip. Blecch.

Butsoanyway.

Speaking of fleas, as far as kitties go I think my plan now is to just catch the other kittens when they are old enough to be spayed/neutered, make them so, and then put them back. I guess that is all I can do. And I have to get one more whatever vaccination for Rhett and Cookie, and then find them a home. They need to go together, ‘cos Rhett relies on Cookie. Cookie is REALLY smart, and Rhett is, well…he’s a boy. A kind of stoopid boy. A really slovenly, slightly stoopid boy. But he loves me. :-) And I do love him. And please note that Cookie agrees with me that he’s a tich stoopid—he sits in his water dish and then gets up and sits in the (clumping) litter box, fer chrissake. Sometimes, he’ll then go back to sit in the water or food. Cookie and I are simply tired of cleaning him up. It’s kind of funny—it really is like Cookie got the manual on how to be a cat, and Rhett was watching football when it was handed out, or something. Back when I had them in a cage, Rhett knocked over (again!) the water dish, and he was just sitting in it until he noticed that Cookie had jumped into the litter box and was dry. So then he went into the litter box, only it was too late—he was soaked. So I opened the cage to pull them out, dry them off and fix the flood, and Cookie leapt out of the litter box (over all the water) and came over to me, purring. Rhett saw her do this, and tried to copy her—he jumped out of the litter box *into* the water (he’s much porkier than Cookie), and then ran into my lap, coating me in clumping litter and kitty water. GAH! He was dripping all over Cookie and me, and she just looked up at me as if she were saying, ‘he’s SO STOOPID!!’ Cookie’s just given up and adapted to Rhett—he eats all her food and monopolises their toys. No really—I have to let her eat by herself sometimes to make sure she gets enough to eat! I don’t know what Rhett thinks he is accomplishing by starving her, though…who would clean him if she were gone?

I like to classify my cats as humans (and vice versa sometimes!), and if Rhett were human, he would be a lot like Sandy Lyle in Along Came Polly. It was really funny to watch Rhett try to imitate Cookie and walk across the roof of the cage—Cookie managed it with agility, leaping up to the top shelf and zipping across the roof; Rhett lumbered up and fell down about twenty times before he finally made it, but that’s ‘cos he’s close to twice the size of Cookie (or maybe more) avoirdupois-wise. That’s a lot to hang upside-down.

But he is cute—he has very fine, thin, super-short fur that I swear to god feels almost like *skin*, and when I came home today, he fell asleep on me at some point in my nap. He will be a good companion to someone, just as soon as he quits using his claws so much. And he purrs whenever he sees me (Cookie does, too). And he thinks I am his mom.

Okay, I need to quit talking about cats and get to sleep. I didn’t take the day after Halloween off, and I (again) opted to stay home instead of going anywhere (I am getting *so* old-and-boring), so I don’t know how this Halloween will go. I looked back in my archives, and realised that I never posted last year’s Halloween post (I may try to find it and put it up later)—Mom came over because she enjoys annoying me, I spent most of the night trying to keep a Halloween bow on Squooshable, and Mom actually told a gaggle of kids on my front lawn to throw candy at me ‘cos I fussed at her about something, AND THEY DID! And I still haven’t posted anything about The Haunted Shed, so before they get it up and running this year (yes, I am going to visit again if they do), I had better describe it quickly in case I need to refer to it again. Here goes:

Kids build a haunted attraction in a shed, which they call a haunted house. Put up signs—COME TO THE HAUNTED HOUSE! $1.00! Meg and I are driving by and see it, so we stop. I am nice, so I pay a dollar each for Meg and myself to go in, but we have to go in one at a time, ‘cos it’s a small shed. Meg goes in and is all tight-lippedly ‘okay, nice job, kids; that was great—let’s go’. I felt kind of bad because if I were a kid, I would be hoping that my haunted shed would be a good one, so when it was my turn to go in, I decided to pretend to be scared. So I go in, and they have a strobe light, some cobwebs and stuff, and two boys who jump out—one at the beginning, when you first come in, and one at the other side of the shed, right before you leave through the door at the other end of the shed. I said ‘eek!’ to the first one, and then decided that was kind of lame of me. I could see the other boy ready to pounce, so I got ready, figuring I’d be making his day; when he jumped out at me, I let out a huge scream, and yelled, ‘A GHOST!’. So then I open the exit door and the kids outside came running over, asking me if I was okay. Meg asked me what in the hell was wrong with me. I kicked her, and told the kids it was a really cool, scary haunted shed, errr, house. The two boys in the shed came out and took off their masks to show me that it wasn’t real, and another girl asked if I wanted her to go get her mom or the police. At this point Meg rolled her eyes, threw up her hands, and walked back to her car. I tried telling the kids that I was really okay, but they wanted me to sit down and catch my breath (???). Finally, Meg rolls down her window, and yells, ‘LET’S GO!’. As I walked away, one of the girls asked if I was going to sue them. I assured her that I wouldn’t, that I thought it was a really cool haunted shed they have there. I got in the car, and as we are driving away Meg tells me that I am the biggest moron ever. I tell her I was just trying to give the kids an ego-boost, ‘cos it really was kind of a crappy haunted shed. I mean, I totally saw the first boy jump out at Meg before she closed the door, and I also saw the second kid *way* before I was near him ‘cos he kept peeking out from behind a box or whatever it was. Meg asked if I wanted her to go back and drop me off there so that I could help them improve it. I tell her no, that I have my own shed, and I might just steal their idea and make it my own; I think there’s a market for haunted sheds. Meg tells me that I am an idiot. I tell her she’ll change her tune once I have built my Haunted Shed empire and she needs poker money. Meg responds that the one girl seemed to possess a particularly litigiously-oriented nature, and Meg felt that stealing their idea would be ill-advised. We go on to wherever it was we were headed, and on the way back see that the Haunted Shed has quite a few patrons in line. I think this is really cool—I like seeing industrious kids happy. Meg couldn’t care less if I paid her to.

And that is the saga of The Haunted Shed.

In Unrelated News, I just found this out—did everyone else already know this?

Alfred Kahn, an economic advisor to Jimmy Carter, upset the president and his cabinet by stating that the country's huge inflation could lead to a recession, or even "deep, deep depression." He was chastised for this assessment and told that words like "recession" have a very negative connotation and poor political implications. Unfazed, Kahn told the cabinet that he would use the word banana instead, as in "Between 1973 and 1975 we had the deepest banana that we had in 35 years." However, after banana companies started to complain he changed the word to kumquat.

(From Everything2.com)

That is very, very funny.

Okay, now I really, truly have to go to sleep; I have to pick up that dream where I left off!

Hugs.

.

my gyn is an awesome gyn...

Okay, so I have lived through another yearly. Yay. I am so farking busy that I didn't have time to do anything nice for myself as I usually do, so nothing to report there, though I know everyone is just dying to know how L'Orchidée is faring, so I'll go so far as to say that the preliminary answer is Just Fine. My gyn was funny, as he always is, though he didn't give me *half* the crap he usually does about my not fucking anyone this year--perhaps I am wearing him down. :-) This is a good thing. I did have to go have blood drawn for some crapload of 'being on the safe side' tests, and I tried my best to convince the phlebotimist to just draw from the HUGE-ASS papercut I'd given myself on the way to the lab (Dr Gyn is in a med plaza adjacent to a hospital, so he makes you walk over to the hospital to get blood drawn), but the phlebotimist didn't think I would bleed enough, so he said no. Weenie.

Aside from the riding me about having sex and the exam itself, I love visiting with my gyn; he's a MD JD, and knows freaking everything; he is definitely one of--if not the--most intelligent men I have ever met. He said that in about a year and a half, there will be a test (or tests?) that are better for detecting ovarian cancer than the CA-125 (or whatever) test, since the current one (it *is* CA-125, iddnit?) is notoriously bad for false positives, because women can have high CA-125 for a number of reasons. But he said that some place (I meant to remember where, but I think that memory bled out when I got the paper cut) has released preliminary studies on a larger study that are much more promising as far as markers go. At this point it should become really obvious that I don't remember what in the crap he said--I just promised him that I would concentrate really hard and try not to get overian cancer for another year and a half, and he said that would be great. :-)

Butsoanyway.

His assistant was funny--she was a younger black girl, and before he came in, she was griping about how she had really long, pretty nails until two weeks ago, when he made her cut them and take off all the nail jewellery as well as many of her rings and other regular jewellery (ummm...thank you, Sir). I tried to commiserate, but frankly I agree with him. She was funnier than some of the assistants I have been with before, so hopefully this is an upward trending. :-)

Now here--go carve a Jack O'Lantern! Yay! Pumpkins at Ben & Jerry's! or here: Pumpkin-carving courtesy of Georgeanory!

I am adding the Georgeanory site 'cos I continue to pray for the downfall of Ben & Jerry's because they retired my beloved KaBerry Kaboom, the stinking bastards. I don't want to support B&J any more than I must. ...until they bring back KaBerry Kaboom, that is. Then I will love them bestest again. I am fickle that way.

Now that most all of this crap is behind me, I just have work, work, work until break. Oh, christ. Meg is still taking weekends and travelling off to different points of the WPT/WSOP stuff, though she is going this weekend or next weekend (I forget which) to Biloxi to meet up with some friends, instead of to an event. I wish I could go, but I cannot; I have too much to do. Though I do have my little furry heart set on going to Tunica at the first of the year. :-) I made decent enough money last year just doing ring games that I think that may be all that I do--no more entries for me; I think they are a waste of my time and money. I may just not be a tournament player--who knows? I surely don't have the time to ponder it. :-)

I am feeling extra-guilty, 'cos I promised to do something for someone in my program as a favour last week, and I promptly forgot all about it. So that's on today's agenda for completion. God, I suck. :-\ And I wish I had some damned snack something here in the house (I am working from home today), but I never buy the stuff 'cos it always goes bad before I eat more than a little of it. After I finish the one thingy that I am feeling guilty over, I think I will take the rest of the day off and just surf for more Halloween stuff. Yeah. Right. Sure I will. :-) But I want to.

Oh, and I need to fix the template from where I migrated it, or whatever I did. Okay -- that, too. On my agenda. Definitely. And I think I want to change my template background, but that's a lot of work 'cos I don't really like any of the ones Blogger has pre-loaded, or whatever. And I need to figure out how to take posts private, or just give the hell up on it. Sigh. As if I didn't have tons of crap enough to do.

Ok; back to work.

.

Tra Le La Le La La Triangle… Tra Le La Le La La Triangle…

My life's in such a tangle!

There; I finally gave up one of my punch line lyrics. :-) It's Patsy Cline, in case anyone cares. And with the exception of the whole love angle, this pretty much sums me up.

Sigh. It is always something.

I love Job II. Eviljob is the same as always. I am a spooked Blogger at the present moment, and this happens every once in a while (for legitimate reason, might I add), so I am just going to have to go with an 'Impressionist' blog for a bit.

But I do have to mention, in very vague terms, that I tried my best last week to help someone very dear to me out, and this dingbat just didn't want any help. Or did, but didn't know how to accept it. Whatever. I don't care—it doesn't hurt me, it's just hurtful. I will recover. I am ok.

Everyone else is ok. I am not getting a whole lot of sleep despite my best intentions, and so I am staying tired most of the time, but I like to look at the positive: Most of this crap seems to be flying by. It's hard to believe, but this semester is halfway over already.

Well, sort-of. To an optimist.

On the optimistic front, the weather is beautiful; we've slid into the cool and crisp part of the Holiday Season, and I even caught a whiff of what might have been burning leaves…I may go build a damn fire. If I ever have time, that is.

My classes could be going worse; the one I am doing the grad assistanting thing in is probably the most interesting one. Sad, iddnit? But true. And have I mentioned yet that I am tired?

I know it's time to go to bed when Nurse Betty IMs me and I start whining about how much I miss her.

Sleepy time bye-bye…here we go…

.