I found a voice memo that I recorded on my phone on a particularly long, confusing, and boring drive back from Eastbourne earlier this week.
… The message is:
“EXCLAIMATION MARK BADGERS”
I am still alive. Tumblr has taken over my life, and I have posted several things to it which, in light of the fact that you cannot f-lock a tumblr and the fact that it uploads uptomatically to my facebook, I should probably have written here instead.
I don’t know, I’m an idiot.
My life has mostly been taken up with my new job for the last month, which it really shouldn’t be since I only work two days a week, and for which I can only blame myself adn my inability to just let things go already. Basically, Ihave designed a database that I can use when I go around being official and auditing things in April. Which was great, my boss loved it, yadda yadda etc. The problem starts, really, when I sat down to actually make it.
I am not good with excel. What I know of excel I have taught to myself out of a need to not go to my Key Skills IT classes when I was at HHC, for fear or murdering the teacher. The database I designed needs quite complicated things. Like, calculating VAT and then adding the vat to the total order only if a certain column is marked ‘N’. Or not removing the total for an order from the sites budget if the “bought by patient?” column has a ‘Y’ marked in it. And of course, the site budgets are on another sheet. Because I cannot make things easy for myself. No, that would make sense.
So there’s that.
Last week I was distracted from even my holy quest to the font of excel knowledge by the fact that Lauras Art & Soul exhibition was on Friday and Saturday, and I had to get up at 8.30 both days to be there on time to set up/open. And I had to talk to a lot of people on Saturday. It did not help my undying hatred of the generally unwashed public. By the end of it I was a bit twirly, and acting a bit drunk, as I tend to get when exposed to huge sensory overload. But it was good fun. I look forward to next year, although if it ends up being a 3-day thing like is being planned, someone may need to pry me off the ceiling at the end.
Also, don’t let me drink six litre of diet coke like I did this time. That was bad.
The other thing that’s been taking up my time recently is the writing bug that bit me a few weeks ago. I blame work, honestly. When I’m forced to only really do left-brain, organisational, thinky things for significant preiods of time, it responds with stories.
Which means that in less than two weeks I’ve managed to write just under 8,000 words in Word, and 30 A5 pages in my notebook.
Looking at the photos I took in Paris makes me want to cry. And then go back there and not leave.
Tags: paris, photography, photos
324 photos edited individually in three hours.
😀 Now just to get them onto flickr…
EDIT; Done!photography, photos, wedding
Please stop twitching. I know you’re nervous, but twitching is NOT HELPFUL when trying to holding a camera steady.
And then Chris and Ronnie will hate you for screwing up their wedding photos, and then you will die alone.
No. Bad Government. That’s a VERY BAD GOVERNMENT.
If that doesn’t seem wrong to you, then you obviously have something VERY WRONG WITH YOU.
I am against ID cards not because it’s an invasion of my privacy, but because it’s bloody pointless, and I am opposed to pointless things that cost me A HUNDRED FUCKING QUID. If you’re going to blackmail an entire generation into putting all of their personal details into one place, at least give it to them for free. How many students trying to get loans do YOU know that have a spare hundred quid lying around?
Which means that it’s not just students who this affects- it’s their parents, too. Because it’s going to fall to THEM to pay for these cards, and I know a lot of parents who don’t have a hundred quid spare. So much for giving preference to people who were less likely to go to uni- now they won’t be able to pay for it anyway, because they won’t be able to get a loan.
Are they going to decide that you can’t get a pension until you get an ID card? If there’s a group of people LESS likely to be able to pay for one than a student, it’s a pensioner. They already get fucked over with the amount of money they’re expected to live off, so the logical thing is obviously to take another hundred pounds off them.
And what comes next? No schooling without one? No healthcare? No jobs? No housing? If they get away with this, where will it end up?
Something to think about, perhaps. Do me a favour and pass it on.
You do not pwn a three-thousand word essay; the essay pwns you, and there is nothing you can do about it puny mortal. Your 138 IQ is not ready for this jelly. Oh hells no.Tags: bad life choices, college, writing. essay
… Fit into my camera bag:
Digital camera tripod.
… Don’t fit into my camera bag:
… Make me hit my head on solid surfaces:
The cost of a decent-sized camera bag.
The number of bags I have to take to college.
People moving to New York.
Driving to college so that I can’t have a mojito in the morning.
I cannot stop reading marthastewart.com and am currently in the process of “doing things” to my bedroom. Things involving PINK and CREAM. It’s going to look like a strawberry daiquiri and a white Russian drank too much of each other and THREW UP on my room, and I think I like it.
, and maybe some pink-patterned wallpaper or fabric?
I wrote another entry earlier that went on pretty much every other blog I have, except tbwc.co.uk. But because LJ is, like, my baby (well, my second baby. But since I can’t remember the password for my pitas blog and probably never will because all I know is that it was something verrry stupid, LJ is my baybeee!) you guys get your own! Written all special-like. Bask in the glory that is livejournal. Or, uh, don’t. Your call.
That other entry contained much rambling about chronic stress and how, oh yeah, I have it. Chronic depression, I am used to. Stress? Not so much. Huh. So, yeah, you’re not missing much.
I actually have absolutly nothing to say, other than that I tripped over the cat again this morning, nearly fell asleep in history earlier, and am looking forward to tomorrow: the day I wear cute shoes and hopefully don’t yell the words “SNUFF GREASE: THE MUSICAL” at anyone (and, yes, I have said those words MANY TIMES since Tuesday, and honestly, I am So Over It. Other things I am So Over include: insomnia (although my brain and body DISAGREE STRONGLY and would like to keep it up a bit longer, bitch); wearing trainers, flat boots, or converse every. Damn. Day, because while they are comfy for my walking-to-college feet, my soul CRIES OUT for stiletto heels and funky colours; Not swatching my knitting, because ARGH; my hair.)
Aren’t you glad I wrote this for you guys all special-like? No? Pfft. Have a cookie.Tags: gah
I was going to sit down and write something properly. Something that did not involve a) crying, b) stress, or c) drugs.
Then? I realised that, ‘Holy Crap I am seeing my family tomorrow, and then going straight to a party where everyone is going to look at my photo, and holy crap I cannot wash my hair, for THE EAR PIERCINGS, THEY BURN, and also I have nothing to wear.’
So, excuse me, I have to go and put together an outfit that says, “hello, I take pretty pictures,” while also saying, “GO WALES. HIT THAT AUSTRALIAN IN THE FACE. DO NOT DISGRACE ME LIKE ENGLAND HAS.”
… Any clothing advice will be worshipped, because there is STILL TIME for me to go shopping tomorrow morning…
Instead of the afore-mentioned ‘proper’ entry, I give you a pretty, pretty picture.
7.54: Shut up, Sid Miller. Just no. I must mute you to stop your horrible mangling of the French language, and yet it doesn”t work because I know that you’re STILL SPEAKING.
7.58: National Anthems. Oh dear. Is the big, mean-looking Argentinian guy crying?
Yes. Yes he is. Oh, rugby world cup. I heart you.
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, writing?”
“I am . I am writing.”
“You’re playing Neverwinter Nights.”
“… Would you believe me if I said that this was critical research?”
“Since that’s what you said about taking the photos of the pretty boats? And about watching Veronica Mars? And about making chocolate chip cookies? And about playing Killzone?”
“I’m going to go with ‘no’.”
22:25pm: I have written exactly 68 words since that conversation. In order to fulfill my quota for today (which I really, really need to because of the whole scrapping 8,346 words of work, aka All Of It), I find myself in need of home-made chocolate chip cookies. Great. Fantastic. Only, I have no chocolate chips. The eternal question: Do I drive to the 24-hour TESCO in Hove (like, 8 miles away) to get some sugery, sugary goodness? Or do I just eat sugar straight out of the bag instead? (Hey, it saves baking time…)
00:14am: Did not go to tesco. Drank three bowls of tea with four sugars each instead. Wrote another 197 words. Was glorious. My new main character has a cat now. It’s gray and its name is Tabby. I don’t know why.
Now, to business.
I need one of those survey/quiz things everyone fills out on their LJs/blogs/bebos/myspaces/etc etc.
I need the biggest, baddest, meanest, all-encompassing motherfucker of a quiz you can find.
I will Do Something for the person who gives me the best one. You are free to pick the ‘Something’ because I have no idea.
Go forth and plunder!Tags: pleh, procrastination, writing
Oh, right. Because that is Hard, and I Suck.
Oh, oh, but writing the prose for that bit of dialogue between Liss and Arrath is hard, it is physically hurting me to write, and I wonder whether that means I should just scrap the whole thing? The dialogue is a little odd, it doesn’t flow properly and I would quite like some people to read it out loud for me so that I could see where it’s wrong because when I read it I know that the pacing is wrong and fairly stilted, but I cannot figure out how to change it.
Adding the prose is making it less jolting. But, like I said, painful.
It’s also destroying my brain, I think. Because while recommending The Lies of Locke Lamora to someone I said this:
“I love the lies of Locke Lamora. i would have children by it if that was possible (I think they would be slightly inky. Maybe part squid? Davey Jones!)”
So yes. When the men in white coats come for me, just show them that so they know that they’ve got the right girl.Tags: argh, book, prose, writing