**My broken house behind me and good things ahead – This Year, Mountain Goats**
I got a phone call from my leasing agent today, she wanted to check that I definitely was moving out because she – and I quote – “wasn’t taking [Flatmate]’s word for it because it just didn’t sit right with [her]”. I confirmed that yes, in sixty-six days – at the most – I would be moving out. She was glad to hear that my flatmate wasn’t trying to surreptitiously move me out without my consent by telling her that I was moving out and then submitting an application for a new tenant. read more…
I haven’t posted in a week. Whoops. I am not dead. All is relatively well. Here is a photo of a awsum warthog and a pair of awsum mongeese/mongooses.
As you were.
**So tell me, Cameron, what on earth – just tell me, because I want to know – what on earth could make you think that we would want to share a flat like this with someone like you? – Alex [Ewan McGregor], Shallow Grave**
I told Calamity Jane where to stick his lease extension. Okay I was a bit politer about it, although not by much:
I have no intention of extending the lease. I do not wish to continue living in the flat with the situation as it currently is; just last night there was more fighting and violence and then again this morning there was yet another shouting, door-slamming incident. I do not have a problem living with you, I have a problem with the issues that [Poisonous Little Shit] creates and the fact that you don’t seem to do anything about it. [...] I won’t be staying after the current lease expires.
It feels really liberating and at the same time, a little scary. I have a set deadline to get the hell out, not just of the flat but ideally out of Scaberdeen. The fuse is lit. Run!
**I have a new personal crusade. I’m going to hunt down the people who have strong opinions on subjects they don’t understand. Then I’ll bop them with this cardboard tube.- Dogbert, Dilbert**
There are four letters in the English language that irritate me more than anything else. More than errant punctuation marks, more than Endemol-produced tv programmes and more than people who say “literally” when they mean “metaphorically” ["I literally exploded with joy". No, no you didn't and if you did then somebody better clean that mess up]. Those letters are ASAP. The moment anyone directs those four seemingly harmless letters towards me it just gets my heckles up. I hear those four letters and I am already mentally pushing your request further and further down my to-do list. read more…
OCTOPUS IN A TIN!
Update on Tuesday’s post:
- Still technically clinically depressed.
- Still not heard about the job. I am taking this as a good thing, I haven’t been rejected outright.
- Discovered antiemetics, thus much less vomitiness. May have pushed the new-found non-vomitiness a little bit too far with the hellz yeah! food! Nom nom nom!
- The Boyf and I are sellotaped back together. He wooed me with a Kinder Egg. I’m a cheap date.
I had drafted several posts about the last few days, but fuck it. Bulletpoints cover it adequately enough for now. In the past five days the following have all happened [in chronological order]:
- I got diagnosed with clinical depression
- I had a job interview
- Side effects from the anti-depressants made me feel like hell
- The Boyf dumped broke up with me.
[1] Scares the crap out of me; [2] I think went alright which probably means that I won’t get it; [3] is a range of vomity, dizzy tiredness, and [4] hurts most of all and more than I could ever have imagined.
**I think the best way to solve problems is to run away from them. This is a distinct philosophy of mine. No problem is so big or so complicated that it cannot be run away from. – Linus, Peanuts**
I’ve never really had anyone in my life who has actually really cared about me. At least no one who wasn’t legally obliged to, and even then, the care only extended as far as fulfilling the foundation levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy. For anything more than practicalities I’ve been almost exclusively self-sufficient my whole life; I “deal” with it myself [the sarcastic quotemark-age around “deal” indicating that I know I don’t usually deal with it, I ignore it until it goes away]. read more…
**Don’t taunt the fear demon…it’s just tacky. – Giles [Anthony Stewart Head], Buffy the Vampire Slayer [Fear, Itself]**
Just finished reading my rss feeds for this morning and I couldn’t tell you a single thing I read. Not because they weren’t interesting, I’m sure they were, but I just couldn’t pay attention because I am amid a hyperbolic phobia which is freaking! me! the! hell! out! I’m having a blood test later this morning, and…
- They’re going to be stabbing me!
- I normally bleed a fair bit when I cut myself, what if I don’t stop bleeding?
- What if the needle snaps and a bit is left inside me?
- It’s stabby and pointy and going into me!
- They’re probably going to use a vacuum what if they suck it all out?
- What if they miss the vein?
- What if I get blood on my pretty dress? [Ha! See I can be girly when I put my mind to it]
- It’s stabby, pointy, hurty horribleness!
Last night I was just as phobic about it so The Boyf tried to quell my fears – well, at least I think that what he was trying to do. He was telling me horror stories about blood draws and then suffixing them with “but that probably won’t happen”.
I now have visions of the needle going in, the word “Whoops!” and then “Oh! That’s bone”. The Boyf assures me that they won’t hit the bone, after all they have to get through the tendons first.
Sometimes I’m such a wussy scaredy girl.
Addendum: May 28, 2009 – 13:06
I went, none of the worse case scenarios happened. Instead, the nurse took my blood in exchange for a lecture. I came back to the office and complained that she took three test tubes of my blood, wouldn’t entertain my hyperbollocks and gave me a lecture. Before I could even get to the point in the anecdote where I explained what she was lecturing me on three of the four people listening to my rant jumped in at the same time to finish my sentence. Yes, yes, yes, she lectured me about eating – or rather how I hadn’t since yesterday lunchtime, since apparently a cookie and Kinder Egg doesn’t count as eating. I would say that they do, because I certainly didn’t do anything else with the chocolaty foodstuffs in question [except for the Kinder toy which I build - after more difficulty than strictly necessary]. End rant.
And she didn’t just lecture me on not having had breakfast, I also don’t drink enough water as I’m a little dehydrated.
That’s not even a lecture a test tube, someone somewhere got screwed in that deal. I think it was me.
**All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. – Albert Einstein**
I used to go to church, believed in it as well. Then, over time, there were more and more discrepancies between what I believed personally and what the church was telling us that I drifted away and became a non-church-goer. For the majority of the time I was churching it up, the minister was a stereotypical bitter minister. Pretty much a’la David Mitchell:
