Highlander/Jews In Space randomness

Mar. 28th, 2017 08:32 pm
lannamichaels: "מה רבו  מעשיך" (mah rabu ma'asecha) in white text on rainbow background (jewish)
[personal profile] lannamichaels


The scrivener name for this was "immortal chometz", which, come to think of it, is probably something from night vale :P

Anyway, lashing out at Jewish holidays in the only way I know how, yet again... you guys, I dread Pesach so much



A Response To The Jews Of Ganymede. (519 words) by Lanna Michaels
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Highlander: The Series, Zionist Galactic Federation (Tumblr)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Additional Tags: Jewish Humor, Pesach, Fake Halacha, Jews In Space, Ficlet, Yinglish, Insufficiently-creative rabbis giving opinions
Summary:

To the Jews of Ganymede on the question of the permissibility of selling chometz to Immortals.

I’m a freak, I’m a loser…

Mar. 29th, 2017 07:53 am
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
[personal profile] mockturle06

I am my own worst enemy. Nobody could ever hate me or sabotage me or simply just screw up my life and make things difficult the way I do.

Today I have a job interview, a big meeting, a walk and a hair appointment and I’ve left my bloody phone at home. Twas to be expected I suppose, with a last minute bag change, chronic insomnia (or disturbed sleep via angry possums) and me having a really bad concussion week: face still going numb, still with the dizzies, the nausea, the falling into things and dropping things. Which is probably what happened to the phone. I hope. It’s only an ancient Samsung, what could possibly go wrong with it nestled in the folds of my hastily thrown aside quilt?

Then there was trying to buy a boxcutter in Coles, queue sirens and questions. Why? Because I want to cut up boxes, that’s why. Himself spends all his money on Ebay then tosses the boxes behind the rotten front door to rot and I mean to have at them. Meant to get at them last night but I had a very long and difficult day at work and then the bus caught on fire, so, you know, late.

I am a stupid and selfish child. Who cares about nothing but what on TV. True, that, but in my defence, between my allergy to washing powder and washing a month’s worth of crap and pegging up a month’s worth of socks with my concussion, I was good for little else but sitting on the couch and letting what’s left of my brain dribble out of my now deaf ear. If I’ve got to go, I’m going out watching the Pine, and that’s that, as far as I’m concerned.

I care about things that aren’t important. This is true. But I have no control over the things that are important. None.

Ever since that new manager showed up, life has been an unendurable hell of long hours, no OT and snide comments. And now we’re having another restructure and I’ve got to apply for my own job. Again. Hence all the job hunting (and not getting).

I can’t do anything to help about my Aunt’s stroke because I can’t afford a plane ticket. It’s fallen all to my cousin, the eldest, to manage everything and I want to help, because I remember how fucking awful it was for me, with no help, or support or relief and work and managers and rellos being just officious, judgemental and making even more demands on me and having not one person willing to buy me some food or pick me up from the hospital on a cold, dark, wet night.

So I want to be there, but I can’t. And it must be hard, because she never had a warm relationship with her mum, and she had a kid out of wedlock and she was in the car crash that killed her father so she’s always been on the outer, which I suppose is why we’ve always shared long letters, since I was a kid. I love her to bits and I want to scream that I can’t help.

So I tried posting some tea and biscuits. It’s not much, but the folks I talked to said they’d much prefer Tim Tams to a hug, so I thought it’d do. The first time I tried I was told I wasn’t allowed post tea and biscuits to the UK, possibly under the Sending Coals To Newcastle Act. They said organic matter was verboten, which is a bit of a stretch, definition wise, for Tim tams, but there was no posting to be done that day.

The next day I tried again. This time I was in trouble because I didn’t know her phone number. I’ve never had it. It’s always been letters, and now Facebook. Growing up, phoning the UK cost a month’s wage, so it was just never done. Never even thought of. Even phoning my Aunt from a UK landline felt weird and wrong and she’d hang up almost instantly out of frugal habit.

So I had to look up the white pages and return for a third try. Well, they accepted the parcel at least, but I’ve no guarantee it’s ever going to get there. They don’t make it easy to try and be kind these days.

I judge other people when I’ve no right even existing. What would I know about other people? According to what I read yesterday I ought to, as my mother always said, be locked up and have the key thrown away. I am a mess. A fat, ugly, old, miserable, about to be unemployed, everyone hates me, useless, exhausted, broken down mess.

But hey. I’ve got that job interview (and I’m deaf in one ear and I haven’t slept in days). Just look at me in the mirror. Yeah, I want to punch myself in face, too. Loser. I deserve everything I get. It’s all my fault. I don’t try hard enough. I’ve been a waste of space since the day I was born. A nuisance to all. I should just shut the fuck up right now.

PS. Richard 3 tomorrow. Pissed off and bitter freaks UNITE!

More stuff I found interesting: https://plus.google.com/u/0/113197665355692280218

Birthdays 13th March - 2nd April

Mar. 28th, 2017 10:04 am
beren_writes: Loki smiling with the words "Sweet and innocent ... honestly" (Avengers - Loki sweet and innocent)
[personal profile] beren_writes
Hello all :) I am back from lovely hols in Canada (well I've been back from hols since last Thurdsay, but today is the first day I am doing anything sensible online :)). I should have thought to do all the birthdays from when I was away before I went, but I didn't so please forgive the catch up.



Happy Birthday to:
13th: [livejournal.com profile] sugata/[personal profile] sugata
14th: [livejournal.com profile] bookworm_2005,[personal profile] blaidd_drwg, [livejournal.com profile] kupukello
15th: [livejournal.com profile] gameazel, [livejournal.com profile] vix_spes, [livejournal.com profile] krysnel_nicavis, [livejournal.com profile] anna_blue
16th: [livejournal.com profile] joyslin, [livejournal.com profile] inmyth, [livejournal.com profile] digitallace, [livejournal.com profile] cephalopinguin, [livejournal.com profile] assassinofjoy, [livejournal.com profile] sapphirequill
17th: [livejournal.com profile] etacanis,[personal profile] passer, [livejournal.com profile] avioletmermaid,[personal profile] patcchi, [livejournal.com profile] phoenixtorte, [livejournal.com profile] yaoisex
18th: [livejournal.com profile] filmatleven
19th: [livejournal.com profile] sorion/[personal profile] sorion_writes, [livejournal.com profile] inspiredlife,[personal profile] inspiredlife, [livejournal.com profile] katemonkey/[personal profile] katemonkey
20th: [livejournal.com profile] greenhouse3,[personal profile] beanarie
21st: [livejournal.com profile] sabinefrappe, [livejournal.com profile] furor_scribiend, [livejournal.com profile] alloveryou
22nd: [livejournal.com profile] evvva_90,[livejournal.com profile] welsh_briar
23rd: [livejournal.com profile] trudyblue,[personal profile] thywillbedone/[livejournal.com profile] thywillbedone
24th: [livejournal.com profile] dickiesicebox, [livejournal.com profile] lady_armand2
25th: [livejournal.com profile] sam_mccoy,[personal profile] suaine, [livejournal.com profile] jtsbbsps_dk,[personal profile] mremre,[personal profile] gestaltrose,[personal profile] bethycool
26th: [livejournal.com profile] maeglinyedi,[personal profile] ngaio/[livejournal.com profile] ngaio
28th: [livejournal.com profile] andantecantible,[personal profile] dracavia/[livejournal.com profile] dracavia, [personal profile] vodou_blue
29th: [livejournal.com profile] xena_2001de,[personal profile] skypointing, [livejournal.com profile] charismamidday
30th: [livejournal.com profile] nagasaki175, [livejournal.com profile] frostfalcon
31st: [personal profile] darkly_ironic
1st: [livejournal.com profile] katie__pillar
2nd: [livejournal.com profile] meridian_star/[personal profile] meridian_star

I hope you all have great birthdays and Many Happy Returns to every one of you.

I Hear Motion

Mar. 28th, 2017 06:55 am
mockturle06: (Chris)
[personal profile] mockturle06

This morning I tripped and fell in the utter blackness right into the lavender bush. I always looked like I’ve been dragged through brambles backwards, but at least today I smell nice.

Sunday was spent, on the one day this month it didn’t rain for an 8 hour period, desperately processing loads and loads and loads of washing. I couldn’t get the bloodstains out of my Spandau Ballet t-shirt, which is sad, because I both own a Spandau Ballet t-shirt (but they’re great live) and I bled all over it, and stained it forever (well, I could probably try soaking it in a bucket but there wasn’t time). I bled because the other week I was having such a bad period and I was in so much pain I gave myself second-degree burns with my dangerous hot water bottle and never even noticed it on top of everything else, so my whole back has been a bloody pus-filled mess ever since. Yay. I’ve just about run out of black shirts to wear to work (not goth, just bleeding, which I suppose is pretty goth).

Anyways, when not washing I was watching the Chris Pine double feature on Foxtel. Because. It was Star Trek anyway, which is my happy place. I don’t know why because that film has plot holes that could suck down an entire galaxy, never mind a planet, but there it is. But it makes me happy watching the wee space twink (as he was), so I don’t care what you think.

The other was the regrettable This Means War starring noted children’s television entertainer, Tom Hardy. Well, he dropped another bedtime story this weekend, didn’t he, and some pics of him filming Peaky Blinders, and looking just stunning with his pal Cillian, and bless Peaky Blinders for their complete lack of pointless retooling, at least from the photos I saw.

I could have watched it all on DVD, but I’m too lazy, and it was there, like an excuse to view, right then, bugger doing anything more worthy or important.

Ah, don’t mock my DVDs. We have no decent broadband, so I have my DVDs. Our local streaming companies are very limited library-wise, so I have my DVDs. When they remove films I like, I have my DVDs. When they delete files from my library, even though I paid for them, I have my DVDs. Don’t mock the DVD.

Besides. I remain amused by my stack-o-Pine, that is rather like the pile of Fassbender I used to have circa 2005 when he was doing all those TV series I loved him in that he pretends he was never in these days. The spines of my DVDs show a rake’s progress of young Pine.

I worry about him these days. In the last six months I’ve seen like 27 different personalities, all with their own haircut and wardrobe, like that McAvoy film, and only one of which I’ve been able to link to a film role. I do hope the rest are related to our boy being suddenly all method and indulging in some performance, rehearsal, performance art project or whatever I don’t know about, because otherwise I worry.

The only other people I’ve ever known to try out a different personality every other week are all dead now. So I worry. And I hope it’s just performance. And because I can’t sit the boy down with a cup of tea and a Tim Tam and ask him if he’s ok, I hope his friends will. Because, seriously, none of the other actors I like are like this, even the terribly arty British ones. I mean, sure, they change for roles and the odd OTT fashion mag shoot (like Ewan shaving his hair for Fargo), but they snap back to their normal selves in-between times. I haven’t seen Pine look like himself since, well, since before Anton died (see the first Beyond press appearances, compared to everything that has come after). And that worries me.

So I hope it’s all performance, because otherwise, you won’t hear the crash, it’ll just be silence.

But hey, I’m just reading it totally wrong and being way, way oversensitive, because, you know, I lost a lot of people I loved, back in the day (because I was young, ignorant and careless). But I worry. Because it’s a different personality every other week. I do hope there’s a crap art performance reason for it. Somebody tell me he’s fine, he’s happy and it’s all just his art. I’m sure it is (and I’m just the one being melodramatic). It’ll all make perfect sense in the end. I’m sure of it. I hope for it.

Maybe I’m just tired. Last week broke me. The house is falling apart around my ears and a month of rain has not helped – huge puddles everywhere inside, running down the walls, dripping from the curling ceiling. Would that I’d been paid my 300+ hours of unpaid overtime, but it went unpaid, so no money for fixes. I have to fix the front door now because it got stuck and instead of leaving it like a normal person and exiting through the other door, Himself put his foot through it in a temper, so now I have to pay for a new door, too, somehow.

Good thing I’d already given up on seeing Jude Law on stage in London (I had a ticket). Besides, my Aunt’s just had a serious stroke so I wouldn’t be welcome as an added distraction anyway (I sent two care packages, and, oh man, they don’t make it easy for you to post stuff these days, that also broke me).

Oh, and work, aside from the joy of doing nine versions of an interactive accessible form and the client decided to stick with their 90s PDF instead, and that’s just one job that went nowhere last week, I have to reapply for my job and my boss hates me so we know in this round of musical chairs once again they’ll keep the pretty thin girls who do nothing all day and get rid of the tubby bad diet, bad sleeping 300+ hours of unpaid OT grumpy old cow, and does anyone ever think I might be grumpy because of the 300+ of unpaid OT and the impact it has on my sleep and mealtimes, working 6am to 11pm, with no breaks or meals, just to make ridiculous and arbitrary deadlines that the pretty girls won’t do and don’t have to, because they’re pretty? So there’s that.

Which is a pity because I really believe in the work that we’re trying to do. I really believe in trying to make information accessible (which is why the client clinging to their 90s PDF is so maddening). I mean, I watched The Green Death when I was a wee thing, and now I’m working in an environmental portfolio. But you know, with the politics these days, it’s not a good place to be. So there’s that, too.

The only bright spot in this bleakest of months (rain, nonstop), has been, of all things, a Disney Prince, in the form of Dan Stevens. If I wasn’t enjoying Legion so much (I adore the Prisoner/Avengers/Jason King/UFO aesthetic), it’d just be Beauty and the Beast, which was fine. I’d not seen the cartoon, but any opportunity to see my Brit boys get their screaming panto on.

And when I saw it at the State, that frou-frou of a palace, at the non-premier, with the bubbly and the dancers dressed as candelabra and being given a rose and a goody bag, and having the crowd so into it they all whooped and cheered and sang along and it was really great, seeing that way. I really loved them for roaring with approval when Le Fou got his man at the end. That was nice (and why all the controversy, has Beauty and the Beast ever not had a queer reading?). And Dan was still Dan under the CGI, and Ewan gave me my money’s worth, so it wasn’t a waste of time. And it made me forget my troubles while the screen flickered, and that’s all I can ask of these magical creatures we call actors.

I did manage to get through Saturday, which involved another Aunt (it’s all a bit Wooster, as if things weren’t topsy turvy enough) and her big birthday party with the rellos I never ever see (because they think I’m gay) and it was in a religious retirement home and they’re all hard-core god-botherers and they drink Coopers beer without shame (both are pro-religion, anti-equality) and yet they were all off to see Beauty and the Beast (written by gays, performed by gays).

Sucking up that amount of hypocrisy does bad things to my liver, I can tell you. Or maybe it was the prawns. Or the cheese. Whatever, it was more of something to be endured than enjoyed. There was a mighty fine bottle of Di Bortoli Yarra valley merlot that I demolished, so I’m pretty sure I’m free from invites for the next decade. Mission accomplished.

Haven’t been to the theatre much, but I saw a rather disappointing screening of the RSC’s The Tempest. I was so looking forward to my favourite Simon Russell Beale as Prospero, but he seemed to just phone it in that day. Maybe it was the cameras, or the real-time digital effects, or it was a wet weekend and I wasn’t feeling fab. Either way, shrug.

Much better, and far more effecting, was the screening of the Donmar’s production of George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan, with a revelatory Gemma Arterton in the lead (I never knew she could do that).

I care nothing for religion, and this play had a fair bit to say on the matter, as you might imagine, but the gender issues, the whole woman versus the established patriarchy, the power games between the rich, the entitled, the powerful and those who set themselves up as gate-keepers (and how these things are often opposing forces rather than interchangeable titles), well, that was all entirely relevant and current and electric (and they didn’t even need the conceit of the fake Newsnight broadcasts to hammer than one home).

Had I seen it last year, before all the shit hit the fan, it would have merely been good. Now, with all that is going on in the world – and how fucking depressing that a play about medieval persecution is so now – it was one wild ride. I hope you saw it. Weeks later, I’m still thinking about, often. It got under my skin, because it was so on point, and so visceral. That’s proper theatre: timely, thought-provoking, commenting on the real world and gut-wrenching. Even just watching the screening, the punches landed.

The only other thing that have given me joy recently is Preacher. It is taking me forever and a day to get through this (limited bandwidth plus a month of wet weekends, and every man and his dog hogging my .0004kps connection, does not make for streaming fun).

My main lark is that, however many liberties they may take with the source material, for better or worse (and I really dug the comic in my misspent yoof), Cassidy is still Cassidy. I always knew Cassidy was the sort of character who wouldn’t stand for any actor trying to bring his interpretation to the screen. No, Cassidy is having none of that shite. He is what he is and that’s an end to it

From the photos Dominic posts from set, Joe Gilgun seems to be either the most method actor ever (take note, Pine) or they simply managed to employ an actor who is Cassidy, 24/7. It amuses me greatly. Because I have long adored Cassidy. He’s scruffy, a vampire and, well, Irish, and I always think it’s the being Irish that gets him in trouble far more than being a vampire, which amuses me further still.

So I’m loving that, what I’ve seen of it (though it gave me a moment of difficulty to press pause mid flailing entrails and answer a call from a prospective employer, because I was watching it on my phone at the time, because at least I can use 3G to fill in the wifi lags, at great expense).

Hey, the mashed spud brain still knows all the lyrics to The Models I Hear Motion. They were playing it in Coles while I shopped in the wee hours.

I’m impressed, because there’s precious little I remember these days. A few flashes of Yeti and Cybermen from Doctor Who. Admiring my stack of Fassbender DVDs like Smaug and his pile of gold. Posting on a Life on Mars board once. Watching a dumb film while flying across the orange part of Oz. Don’t remember a second of the holiday I was coming back from, but I remember that. What film? Please don’t ask. Who was in it? Who do you think?

So, buried somewhere my Models discography is still intact. Yay?

Mind you, last week Coles were playing Bucks Fizz. I figured if I throttled any deserving arseholes that day I could cite mitigating circumstances, having been unduly provoked. Because Bucks Fizz.

And finally, the word of today is: amplexus (when two frogs like each other very much…)

News from the front: https://plus.google.com/u/0/113197665355692280218

well, s**t...

Mar. 1st, 2017 06:47 am
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
[personal profile] mockturle06

As I wrote in my Twitter feed (what, you’re not following? The wit, the pearls, the absolute gems, I tell you), it was recycling day today, which meant I had to run the gauntlet of two garbage trucks with their grabby robot arms (which would be nervous making enough if I’d not grown up watching Doctor Who) snatching at bins as I duck and weave in the blackness on my way to the bus stop.

Ah, and they are indeed the bins of social shame. Not just for the ‘who put that in there’ kind of thing that’ll get you’re a fine from the council, usually because some neighbourhood miscreant has done a midnight fling of old nappies into your carefully washed and folded recycling, but the audible evidence of personal vices. Or, to put it bluntly, one can get an estimate of the average alcohol consumption of each household by the din caused by the smash and crash of many empties being flung into the trucks.

I mean, I thought the house next to the bus stop had an eyebrow raising number of empties in the mix, but the house on the corner is either running a speakeasy out of their lounge room or someone needs to ask if they’re ok, because, seriously, dudes. That was quite the protracted smash and crash. It just went on and on and on. One can at least ope there were a few Chinese takeaway containers in the mix.

Yes, I’m being judgemental and mean, still, and I can’t seem to help it. I mean, I read about personality changes being a symptom, but man, this is weird. Weirder still is that I know this is going to win me a lot of friends, not, and I’m finding it hard to care. Ah well I was always far too sensitive and emotional.

Okay, that was so weird. Just spent four days away, or struggling to be me, or suffering what the Victorians call a brain fever. Probably just the concussion giving me another whack. One minute I was at work and getting it done, the next writhing on the bed shaking and suffering such fever dreams that even the makers of Legion would have dismissed as too far out there.

Then I had a couple of days of still being woogy and needing to have post-it notes everywhere like Dean in that episode of Supernatural where he got hexed (I know, not narrowing it down). I really felt for the poor boy, though killing the witch that hexed me wasn’t really an option for me.

Or maybe it was. Some real mean girl posts (don’t know why but these episodes make me really mean and cranky) some mad as fuck dreams and a couple of thunderstorms and I’m a bit better. At least in a sitting up at my desk remembering my passwords kinda way.

Bit better than yesterday, when following the slender plots of 70s and 80s cop shows was a struggle. No, I’m not telling you which shows but I found them on a channel up the back of the dial, as it were, and as I wasn’t up for reading and the worksite next door ruled out sleeping and I was feeling all unhappy I thought maybe a wallow in the past might help. Oddly, it did.

And at least I was home, with the telly on again, on Monday when I had two building sites going at it hammer and tongs, and trucks, and I got to see the Oscars fiasco, and that delighted my feverish wicked heart no end, just because, like a vogon, I didn’t see why anyone else should have a good time, and seeing skinny blonde girls humiliated never gets old (especially as it so rarely happens, they get everything they want in life, people love them).

I know, I shouldn’t be mean, but I was feeling awful and the schadenfreude of seeing that film, where the untalented and arrogant white guy never stops telling everyone how things should be, actually get kicked off the stage, there was beauty in that. Cruel, yes, but rather deserved in their insufferable smugness and presumption of destiny.

And as for the dude who messed up the envelopes, man, I wouldn’t want to be him, but watching the whole thing play out in the media, it treads a fine line between blood sport and there but for the grace of, you know? Usually I’d be way more sympathetic, but eh, shrug.

And still with the crazed fever dreams, but points for incorporating Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe into the mix, surely. I know, what the? My head is a perfect bubble and squeak of places I’ve been, things I’ve seen, not this week but years, even decades ago, all mixed up and set to simmer. I couldn’t even tell you which library I was dreaming I was in, as it was the National Library of Victoria, the State Library of NSW, the British Library and maybe even the Bodleian, all jumbled up Escher style. I was looking for a book that was straight of some of the lurid stuff I’ve been watching/reading and then I was trying to get to the park, and I kept getting messed about on the way. Needless to say, I never made it.

Tourist of my youth

Feb. 28th, 2017 06:44 am
mockturle06: (Chris)
[personal profile] mockturle06

I forgot to mention in my review of The Finest Hours that Chris Pine must be a real little trouper, as he must have taken a bucket of cold water to the face for days while filming that. The dear boy.

So I suppose if he can put up with that, I can put up with this, though, like Renton in Trainspotting, I’m really feeling the ‘thirty more years of this’ ennui.

You might have noticed I’d not reviewed Newton’s Law, despite being a Toby Schmitz fangirl. There’s a reason for that. Oh dear. It’s such a bad 80s lawyer show, and it’s really kind of awful. Pedestrian scripts of limp mediocracy and acting straight out of an Aldi ad. Oh dearie me.

Not that I was watching it properly, or uninterrupted, but, yikes. Legion was a bit of a drag, too, a bit too realistically like a fever dream for me to really enjoy it.

And I was really looking forward to last night. I was supposed to have most of the night to myself so I tried to leave early (didn’t, but tried), but I blew past the shops to catch the bus and the sun was still up when I opened the back door, just. Okay, kissing the rooftops, but, you know. Not pitch dark yet (soon I’ll be going out in the black and coming back in the black again).

Instead of making dinner, I thought I’d order in Thai, and, as MenuLog have been sending me ‘are you dead’ emails, I thought I could tender those in court as proof that takeaway is a sometimes treat, and not eaten every night as we who live in the outer commuter belt are always accused of doing (usually because I’m commuting when I should be cooking). I thought it could be a treat.

What I wanted to do was wriggle into the corner for an hour, just one hour, and try and write something, anything, on the cheap nasty PC I’ve had for a year and have never actually used for typing yet. The keyboard is pretty bad, as it turned out.

So I decided to order Penang curry, and settled down to type away, the reviews in the previous post, and it was kind of nice. Just me and my cheap, nasty PC.

And I’d timed it so perfectly that Himself and the delivery guy arrived at the gate at the same time, and the curry was good, and I offered to wash up by myself, so I don’t know where I went wrong. But I did.

Much like a scene from Legion, I ended up with the contents of the fridge hurled at me. My milk, my marmalade jar smashed to the floor, my near empty packet of Tim Tams, my left-over rice. In fact, the only things I have in the fridge. At the time it just looked like everything in the fridge being thrown about, but no, just my stuff. I read once in an article on domestic violence that if it’s only your stuff that is damaged or destroyed, then the seemingly random violence isn’t quite as random as it appears. Whatever.

I still don’t know where I went wrong. I said I’d wash the dishes and asked if there was room in the fridge for my leftovers and suddenly my milk and Tim Tams are bouncing across the floor (the marmalade didn’t bounce). I’m fairly sure I’d remember saying or doing anything that’d make a Penang curry worth a face full of fridge contents.

So it’s midnight and I’m showering glass and marmalade off myself (I ate the Tim Tam). And I have to get up at 4am and do it all over again. I think of Chris Pine taking bucket after bucket in the face making The Finest Hours, and I button up my big girl’s blouse and get on with it. This, you see, is why I need Chris Pine in my life. Just something, anything, to take me out of myself. I need a reason to keep going, and staggering from film release to TV show to theatre ticket seem to be it for me.

Meanwhile at work I get blasted for letting a colon slip through because I’ve had no sleep and it’s still in the style guide so basically I’m offending against rules I haven’t been told about and an email smack down isn’t enough, no, I get a bent over the desk verbal follow up, too.

Other people decide they don’t like the heading styles in the template and it’s all that’s okay, I’ll change it for you, anything for you. I miss stray punctuation and I’m in the stocks wearing cabbage leaves. It’s always one, harsh, brutal law of made up on the day rules I’ve never been told about for me, and red carpets and free gifts for everybody else.

That Renton feeling, thirty more years of this? Yeah, I’ve got that now.

And I’m only telling you this so that if you read my previous whine about not being able to write because of other people’s shit, this is what I’m talking about.

(no subject)

Mar. 26th, 2017 09:23 am
lannamichaels: Astronaut Dale Gardner holds up For Sale sign after EVA. (Default)
[personal profile] lannamichaels
I mean, sure, I woke up at 2:40 this morning and took aleve and then ate 3 cereal bars, but no really, my meal times are totally not fucked up... oh god i don't care what's in it, if i'm eating it before 10am, it counts as breakfast, not lunch.

like, thanks to sleeping pills, no real jet lag issues from the trip, but oh my god, meal times.

but, like, i can't blame the trip for all of this. i spent the early days of this cough (oh god it has early days and later days, that's how long this has gone on) with no real apetite and forcing myself to eat, so i guess now that i'm hungry for all of the things (but only certain textures, naturally) that's good.

fuck imma need to go out and buy more cereal bars. i don't wannnnnna go outside. i went outside yesterday.

still need a new body

Mar. 25th, 2017 08:12 pm
lannamichaels: "(but I digress)" written in black text on textured background (off-topic)
[personal profile] lannamichaels


So, the new muscle pain: it's lower back, hips, and upper thighs. This can make sitting uncomfortale, and also getting in and out of bed. (this morning was an ordeal)

I managed to get more of the Pain Meds Of Last Resort from the doc, but I can't combine it with one of my meds and I'm very cautious about combining it with others, so it remains Of Last Resort.

The muscle pain of ten-on-the-pain-scale i-can't-move doom I usually have is neck/shoulder, or my bad leg. I've had lower back pain before, but not like this. Also, my sides ache sometimes when I cough (I don't understand at all). This pain seems to come and go, at least, but it's still there. Sometimes it feels like it's my lower spine just being really angry.

Ideas for stretches/ways to sit or stand up/good ways to get in and out of bed/tricks or whatnot? I've been doing massage and also using sticky heating pads. I'm really hoping that this is somehow (????) a side effect of the bad cough and will go away once this cough goes away, but... well, either way, I still have to live with it.

(of course, through all of this, I'm still having shoulder pain and cramps because of course i am)

what the hell did i do to myself

Mar. 22nd, 2017 05:02 am
lannamichaels: Astronaut Dale Gardner holds up For Sale sign after EVA. (Default)
[personal profile] lannamichaels
yesterday, presumably from all the coughing and random ways of moving my body for that, lower back and hips hurt a lot.

after first sleep segment over this night, they hurt way more. took more pain killers after that.

third sleep segment ended very soon after second, with coughing/near retching, but with *pain all over body* and my spine goddamn hurts. It took me about 20 minutes to manuever myself out of bed and it all still really hurts.

seriously everything fucking hurts. my lower back is terrifying and my hips and my legs... this is not good. and i thjink i'm all out of the good pain meds for muscle spasms. and even if i could convince doctor to refill, there is no way i could actually get to the pharmacy.

everything goddamn fucking hurts, this cough is a wreck, and im not sure this cost was worth the fun parts of travel. it really seriously hurts.



fuck you thermometer i make it all the way to the bathroom do i look like i'm in any shape to figure out what 35.5c is in f???

(no subject)

Mar. 19th, 2017 03:20 pm
lycomingst: (Default)
[personal profile] lycomingst
The library had a sale of cds, .25 each. I bought:

Billie Holiday: Love Songs
Prince: The Hits 2 (I don't have any Prince)
Jean-Pierre Rampal: Greatest Hits Vol. I
Lara St. John: Bach , Works for Violin Solo

Not bad for a buck.

(no subject)

Mar. 18th, 2017 02:07 pm
lycomingst: (Default)
[personal profile] lycomingst
I’ve been dramatically sick the last few days. I think as reaction to my increasingly finicky digestive system to new eye medicine. I’m just about reaching normal,with my energy level still down. Now I have to get dressed and get some food in the house.

Netflix movies Refrigerator Mothers, Family Name )

*******************

Really, is it possible to hate that jackanapes in the White House more? Every day in every way.

Planning ahead! \o/

Mar. 17th, 2017 10:36 am
lannamichaels: Matt Smith as Eleven moving a Dalek figure. (matt smith plays with his toys)
[personal profile] lannamichaels


Thank all the fucks ever for internet shopping. I currently have 20+ boxes of kleenex, and something like 10 boxes of my fake tea. I have just reordered both of those, since I have no idea how many will be left at the end of this weekend. :P

Days without voice: 3? 4? I can't even count, I don't understand clocks. IT'S BEEN SOME TIME.

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The League of Obscure British Actors

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