My nose is running

Yes, thanks for that rather unnecessary and completely disgusting information, Dee.

It was the noodles, you see.

I was too lazy (and a bit too sleepless, unfortunately) to pack a lunch today, so I resorted to insta-rice-noodles-in-a-box-with-pseudo-Thai-spice-fake-style-food. They're not really too spicy, but they're juuust hot enough that my sinuses are attempting to drain.

Actually? That's not really a bad thing.

I'm just not sure why I felt the need to tell my two fans all about it, that's all.

----------

So, the particular form of insomnia we (me and alllll of the voices) seem to be enjoying this week is the one where I get to sleep all right but then decide to be awake a few hours later. And then an hour or so after that. And then... oh, but I imagine you're getting the picture by now.

It's an ever-so-slightly fuzzy picture if you happen to be in my brain.

It also leads to one of two blather situations. Either I do nothing but blather, or I find it hard to blather at all.

And which are we stuck with at the moment? Well, see yesterday's post. Or Saturday's. Apparently I'm letting the pictures say a thousand words right now.

Erm... except right now, that is. Right now I'm trying to force myself to blather, and you can see how useless the results seem to be.




Ah well. Can't say I didn't attempt, at least.

----------

One last thing, and this is directed at the t.v. club: Wheat has promised to pick up wine gums on his way back from lunch.

Hands up all who are expecting Wheat to pick up wine gums?

Really?

I would have thought you people would have a little more faith in him.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's all you're getting. I'm tired.

Blah blah blah t.v. club blah blah blah... yep, by now you should be able to fill in the blanks yourselves, I'm thinking.

See you tomorrow.

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll have to be it. I'm tired and I'm kind of busy anyway.

Oh, and you can insert something snotty about the t.v. club here if you want to. I'm sure you all know the drill by now.

Oops

Yeah. Kind of unexpectedly disappeared from cyberworld for a couple of days there.

Best not to ask.

I see a dog's arse appeared on the blog in my absence, though. Should I take that as a compliment... or a hint?

----------

Oh wait. There's something I have to do before I go any further:

*shakes the hell out of the t.v. club*

ARE YOU PEOPLE AWAKE YET?



You'd better be. And if I hear anyone complaining that it was on a different night than you were expecting it to be, I can promise you now that I will have NO sympathy. None at all.

It's not like you haven't been warned.

----------

Ok then. This is the part where I say I have nothing for the blog. I do have a headache, but it's mine and the blog can't have it.

You see, the problem with the disappearance of the snow (yes, it's pretty much gone now) is that it marks the reappearance of the pollen. And that, boys and girls, is the reason for the current headache.

And the current mood.

And, incidentally, I'm a bit confused as to whether a plain old ocarina that someone's put a neck on really does count as a loon whistle.

Oh, hold on a sec... here. Loon whistle. What do you think? Is it an ocarina or not? And isn't it slightly wrong to be blowing into a loon's back end?

Hmm. That's the second mention of a bum in one post, you know. Not sure what meaning to attach to that. Maybe it's better not to ponder.





Did I mention the headache? Let's just blame that, then.

It's convenient, if nothing else.

Pointless photo of the day:

Just me playing with one of my hand drums again.

You have to find something to play with when the weather's too crappy to bother being outside, you know.




Oh, I should have said that you'll have to excuse the mood this morning. The snowstorm isn't helping, naturally, but the current state has a bit more to do with lack of sleep than anything else. Now I know I mention lack of sleep fairly often in the blather, but usually it has more to do with general insomnia and less to do with the smoke detector deciding at 2 am that it wasn't happy with its battery.

And before anyone reminds me that I'm supposed to check/change the battery in the smoke detector when we change the clocks, just let me state that it isn't actually my smoke detector. The lovely road conditions (did I tell you the part about the snowstorm?) meant that I didn't go home yesterday as I usually do, so I'm still at my father's place.

And this, of course, means that I'll likely be working on the weekend since I'm not working today. Especially considering that the weather isn't looking too promising even now.

Ah well. What can you do besides whinge and beat your head against the keyboard (which I haven't done, to be honest, since it's not my keyboard)?

You can play with your hand drum, I guess.

But I've already done that.

So what else?

Well...

I suppose we could look at another deer photo, couldn't we?

Yes, I think we could.

That ought to do it for me and my crankiness for the moment.

Before I go, though, a quick reminder to the t.v. club that you'll soon enough have to wake yourselves up. That's right, the new episodes are actually on the horizon. Another rerun tonight, I understand (but from this season), and then all new starting next Monday.

And about fricking time, really.

Fire... wood

Or fire Wheat, is what I was really thinking. SOMEbody is a baaad t.v. club member and missed last night's episode.

I mean, seriously. Do I really have to hold your collective hand, people?

Ok, fine. New episode TOMORROW. Tuesday, that is. No excuses.

----------

I came in to work today after a week off because of the COLD. Did I mention the COLD? Well, it was COLD.

The problem is that I've physically made it to the building but it seems that my brain didn't come along. Or maybe it did, but not in a way I would have preferred it to. You see, I went to bed at a decent time last night after informing my brain that, as long as it was warm enough for me to start the car without being in actual physical pain from going outside (Note: in reality it turned into a "just barely" this morning), I was planning to make it to work today. My brain apparently took this to mean HOORAY! WE'RE STAYING UP ALLLLL NIGHT!!!

Stupid brain, anyway. Who'd have one?

So, after sitting around for a while playing with the sudoku machine that Santa gave me (or was that Satan? It keeps me entertained when I can't sleep, but sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't have more chance of being asleep if I wasn't entertained), I did manage to get a few hours of snooze in.

Not enough to make for a working brain, I guess, but it's a start.

Now if I could only figure out a way to make my non-working brain start the work that I'm meant to be doing at the moment, things would be fiiine.

It ain't gonna happen -- at least not today -- but getting to the building is a start. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll manage to work my way up to functional.

Or at least semi-functional.




And before I leave off, I just wanted to say that no furniture has been harmed by any of my body parts yet today, or vice versa. The day is still young, I know, but at least there's a little bit of hope.

Hey, guess what?!

We're expecting windchills of -40C tonight!

Yep.

And if you're wondering about the photo, let's just say that this kind of weather would have me contemplating sticking my head in the fish pond just like Max... IF THE FISH POND WASN'T SOLID ICE RIGHT NOW.

Bleah.

This kind of weather means you shouldn't be expecting to see me around the blog too much in the next while, because it's actually a bit dangerous for me to be outside for more than a few seconds at a time. Long story. Google cold induced urticaria if you don't know it.

And Wheat? I think we need to talk about how I'm going to manage to make it in for this week's programs. Seriously.

Ah well. I'm out of here. One more stop to make, and then it's full-on under the blankets mode for the rest of the day.

Stay warm, everyone.





Oh, one more thing. Do I need to slap the t.v. club around to wake them up? Check your guides, everyone. We're going from famine to feast in the next week and a half... and then back to famine again until... well, until whenever the strike is over.

Sigh.

Antici... pation

Yeah, the title's a Rocky Horror reference. I'll leave it to you to look it up if you're desperate to.

I'm very much the model of a snit at the moment (gah. That sent me straight to being the very model of a modern major-general. Sorry if it did the same to you... although there's really nothing wrong with a bit of G&S running through your brain now and then). It's cold, I haven't had a chance to get used to the cold, and that means that life just now is all about rashes, trouble breathing, and a constant headache.

Yay winter.

Once again, let's relax and look at the pretty flower.




Ok.

The biggest trouble with suddenly being blindsided by winter like this, though, isn't actually the physical reaction I have. It's the knowing that I'm going to have the physical reaction, that it's going to hurt, and that there's not a whole lot I can do to prevent it. Lessen it, yes, but not prevent it. Well, except by refusing to go outside, which is pretty much what I did yesterday.

And this morning, until about ten o'clock.

Anticipation of pain is just not, not fun.

It makes me cranky.






The funny thing about all of this is that I've been looking to take some time off since my current work term is drawing to a close, but being forced to take time off because I don't want to go outside isn't exactly what I had in mind.

It makes me a little stir-crazy, to be honest.

And cranky.




Did I already say cranky?

Must be true, then.

I'll end with a note to the t.v. club: I hope you enjoyed last night's wine-gumminess, because we're about to enter the December drought unless the writers' strike suddenly and miraculously ends. There'll be reruns in the meantime, however.

Are reruns still worth wine gums? I hope so, because I don't want to have to go into withdrawal. Maybe we can declare December a wine gum sours month as a ridiculous form of protest or something, eh?

Or not. I'm going back to my snit now. Singing, naturally...

I’m very good at integral and differential calculus
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-General...

And today's excuse for the non-post is...

Work.

What? It's a legitimate excuse.

I was at a school doing a program today, so I'm behind on my usual morning's nonsense. Plus, I have a cold.

There you go. Two excuses.




Want three?

It's fricking freezing out there today, and the first fricking freezing day of the season always does a number on my system. Google cold-induced urticaria to find out why if you don't already know. I'm not in the mood to type it all out again. Just know that our weather lately has been mild enough that fricking freezing translates as fricking PAINFUL at the moment.

Ok, let's all relax for a moment and look at the pretty flower.

Pretty.

And with that... oh, I suppose before I go I could remind the t.v. club that not only is it a proper wine gum week again, but there are currently reruns from previous seasons on Mondays as the network does some empty-space-filling.

Done now.

Piloerectors

And another pointless clematis photo because that's what I had.

Yes, that's the only reason.

----------

For anyone puzzling over the post title, I'll give you a moment to google piloerector.

No, really. Go ahead. I'm too lazy to do the work today.






All done?

So, yes. I'm sitting here with goosebumps today, although I think they might be partially psychosomatic. I think it's a little chilly in the office, but I know it's a little chilly outside. To make things worse, it's supposed to get downright cold tonight and that doesn't make me especially happy.

Not a big fan of the cold, if you've forgotten.

And I do realise that a) I'm living in Alberta and b) it gets cold here in winter and c) we've been pretty lucky to get mild weather up to this point in November... but STILL.

I don't like giving the piloerectors a workout.

It doesn't help that with the sun getting lower my south-facing apartment is getting more light, either. The place heats up like a greenhouse, I'm overly warm and miserable all night, and the rest of the world just seems that much colder afterwards. And if anyone was going to suggest opening a window... sadly, no. Not when it gets too much below zero. We have baseboard radiator heating, and I'm not that into paying for the replacement of burst pipes.

Whine whine whine.

I know.

But I'm cold, you see. It turns me from a five-year-old to a three-year-old.





I really am chilly.

Makes me cranky.

That, and the whole doing sudoku at 4 am thing. Apparently that's when my brain was done sleeping today.




I'm so very much out of stuff. Could you tell?

Let's end with a big smack upside the head reminder to the t.v. club that we're still getting new episodes for the time being. Enjoy them while you can. Unless pretty miraculous things happen with the talks next week, the writers' strike seems likely to last a while.

Too bad we can't just send both sides wine gums. Wine gums fix everything, right?

An addition...

... to this post from the other day.

Read this (and yes, the t.v. club is familiar with her work) and then tell me what you think of the WGA strike.

Interesting, no?

Fired

I've often said that the only thing that could make me believe in reincarnation is my fear of fire.

Er, no. Let's rephrase that. I'm not afraid of fire; I am, however, very much afraid of being burned. Not that anyone (well, mostly anyone) looks forward to being burned, of course... it's just that I'm morbidly afraid of it. Have been for as long as I can remember.

The weirdness comes in when I tell you that I've never been seriously burned in my life, and the few minor burns I've had haven't been caused by fire. Hot pots and the occasional curling iron, yes. One small chemical burn back in university, I think, but that's it. Overall, nothing in my experience should have caused me to have nightmares about burning.

I did, though. Fairly often, even, when I was a child.

It was enough to keep me away from things like hot stoves, which sounds like a good thing for my personal safety until I mention that it kept me away from things like hot stoves right into my teen years. My poor mother -- I'm sure she thought I'd never have a hope of learning to cook for myself. She tried very hard to teach me, but in the end she decided to make me take Home Ec in junior high school instead. I suppose she figured that my fear of being burned would be trumped by my fear of getting bad grades.

Smart move. I learned to cook, but it was torture.

As I've gotten older I've managed to get past the fear for the most part. There are tricks. Using full-hand oven mitts rather than just pot-holders around the stove helps, for example. The brain convinces itself that the hands are suitably protected, and you get on with things.

I even learned to make a decent campfire one summer when the fellow I was doing campground shows with turned out to be completely pathetic at that facet of the job (I seem to remember that there was a lot of paper, a lot of matches, and a lot of blowing involved, which usually leads to a lot of paper ash blowing around and not much actual fire...). It's amazing what you can make yourself do when there's no other choice.

The question remains, however. What could make a young child who's never had any experience with fire or burning become so completely afraid of it? Oh, and before anyone guesses at my secret history of abuse... no. Thankfully, I can honestly say that I've never had to deal with that kind of horror. I was a neurotic child (makes sense. I'm also a neurotic adult) and was afraid of a lot of things.

I was terrified of fire.

Weird, huh.

I've jokingly said on occasion that it must be because I was burned at the stake in a previous existence. I don't really believe it, but it's kind of an interesting possibility. Could something like being burned at the stake (or, more realistically, dying in a house fire or a cooking fire. Cooking fire accidents, after all, used to be one of the top causes of death for women. Or at least I think that's what I heard on one of those Food Network shows) create so much terror in a being that it transfers over to that being's next life?

Really? I doubt it. I'm still going with the theory that I'm just not hooked up especially right.

For one thing, it goes too well with the rest of my life to be ignored.

In the meantime, do me a favour and keep that lighter away from me, ok? I'm afraid I don't have my oven mitts with me just now, and without them I might cry...



Yes, that last bit made no sense. I don't care.

Shut up and prepare the wine gums for tomorrow's t.v. club meeting, already.

Does that seem odd to you?

Is wearing annoying earrings a suitable enough excuse for not being in the mood to blog?

Not sure?

Would it help if I showed you the earrings in question? Ok, gimme a moment.





*one moment later*

Here they are:

Or here one is, at least. Yes, I just now wasted prime blogging time by digging my camera out of my briefcase and shooting (and cropping) a pointless photo of my own left ear.

Yay me. A new height in pointlessness.

Anyway, the annoying thing about these particular earrings isn't their size or their weight (they're actually pretty light). It's the part where the monofilament that's holding on the letters makes a whoop whoop whoop noise every time I turn my head.

Yes, boys and girls. I now come with my own sound effects.

I hope you enjoyed the earring, though. It's as dressed up as I got for Halloween this year.

----------

Now, on to the meat of the matter. I got (yet another) ad from my friendly local cable company in the mail yesterday offering me an "unbeatable" package deal if I combine my television service with home phone and high speed internet.

I threw it away.

What? Not even tempted, Dee? But it was big, big savings.

Yep. It was. For someone who might want cable television, home phone, and internet. I want television. That's all I even have a use for out of that list.

You see, I haven't got a home phone. I went to just my cell a while ago, and I haven't really noticed a difference except in the way that there's less money coming out of my bank account each month. And as far as internet service goes, it doesn't do you much good if you don't own a computer.

I don't own a computer.

Does that seem odd to you?

I maintain two (well, one and a half) blogs. I'm a regular visitor on a handful of forums. I'm the search engine queen. And none of that happens at home. It's either here at work or at my father's place on weekends.





Does that seem odd?

It does to the government, apparently. And to the telemarketers and pollsters that I used to end up talking to back when I still had a home phone. It seems that if you say that you don't own a computer that it translates as I'm a Luddite or I'm functionally illiterate or I'm lacking modern-day skills or I'm Amish.

I'm not Amish, as far as I know. Just in case you wondered.

I also don't miss having a computer at home.

I suppose the fact is that I spend plenty of time on the computer at work, and it's kind of nice to not have the temptation at home. Sure, there are times when it would be more convenient to be able to look up something quickly or send off an e-mail to whomever, but most of my looking-ups and whomevers can wait until the next day. Or put up with text-messaging, if it's really urgent.

Urgent like discussing last night's virtual meeting of the t.v. club.

What? It's urgent. Ish.





And here's the part where I cut this short and go back to work. Ish. Erm, no... I really will go back to work. Sorry if you were expecting the blather to come to some sort of conclusion, but you take what you get when I spend time shooting photos of my left ear.

Them's the rules.

I dunno... something about mustard?

This is the part where I'm supposed to pretend I have something to say after several days of insomnia. I don't, as you might suspect.

Yesterday there were, admittedly, several missing hours from my night. The Toronto office suspects alien abduction, but judging from the fact that I'm almost sort of functional today I'm thinking that I may possibly have been sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. Weird, huh.

It still doesn't give me anything to blog about, however.

----------

Wheat managed to get himself fired from the t.v. club this morning. His excuse was something about baseball and reruns, but as there was no rerun I'm not sure I should accept it.

And there are no wine gums here.

A person could get a little cranky, really.

----------

I still have nothing, if you haven't figured that part out.

----------

Did you know that I've already written a post about mustard on this blog? That's sad, you know. I put mustard in the title thinking, "well, I don't have anything but I could at least talk about something stupid like mustard," and here I've already done it.

I must have a more obsessive brain than I realised.

There wasn't enough mustard on my ham and cheese sandwich (for sandwich read: stuff I put on a french bun because I'm out of pitas and the world would end if I actually ever made a sandwich with ordinary sliced bread like a normal person) today because my current mustard bottle is getting disturbingly empty. Disturbingly because I could swear that I bought mustard not all that long ago. How long should a bottle of mustard last, anyway? This was the strong deli-style mustard, by the way. It should have had enough flavour to go a fair long way.

Not at my house, I guess.

I'm out of dry mustard too, as of Monday.

I think that maybe I have a mustard problem.

Did you ever wonder what the first person to try eating mustard must have been thinking? The stuff's strong, and it burns. The plant does that on purpose, you know. It's trying to keep itself from being grazed by making sure it's unpalatable.

Unpalatable to everything but humans.

Homo sapiens (strictly, Homo sapiens sapiens. Because saying it twice is twice as nice) is a very strange animal that way.




And in many others.

I see there's a message on my phone because I decided I didn't have to answer it during my lunch break. My lunch break is pretty much over, so I'm either going to have to pick the voice mail up or pretend I've developed red-green colour blindness and can no longer see the little message light that's glaring away at me right now.

Either way, it seems that blatherage time is over for today.

Don't applaud too loudly, for heaven's sake. You might wake up the other voices. You know, the ones who wish I would talk about ketchup now and then instead of going on and on about mustard...

Pointless photo of the day:

Just to remind everyone that I still exist.

Or maybe just to remind me.

Sleep hasn't been going so well the past couple of days (Sunday night? No sleep. That's right, no sleep all effing night. I was thrilled). Yesterday I stayed home to avoid being a danger to the world at large. Today I managed to be semi-productive for the morning, but I've hit the point where I can feel the shutdown starting. I'm planning on taking the hint and heading home pretty soon.

With my luck, I'll fall asleep this afternoon and end up wide awake at three in the morning. Yay insomnia. You rock.

Or suck. I always get those two mixed up.

Anyway, I'll leave it to the t.v. club to get their wine gums in order for tomorrow. As for me, don't think that my current lack of functioning brain will result in the unforgivable missing of an episode. Ain't going to happen.

If nothing else, it's why god created pvrs.

I love my pvr, but that sounds like it might be a good subject for a day when my head is actually working. Later, all.

Hidden ham

As far as I know, there is no hidden ham in today's pointless photo. There was hidden ham in today's pointless pizza, however.

My brain decided that it was more important to watch the recording of last night's Letterman than to make lunch this morning. As a result, it was off to Pizza With a Tan (a.k.a. pizza by the slice which may or may not have been sitting under the heat lamp for a while, depending on how busy they've been) to get something to eat instead.

The place makes passable pizza overall, but I try to avoid things like the ham and pineapple. It's not because I have an aversion to ham and pineapple (I rather like it, actually, especially with lots of crushed chilies sprinkled on top), but because the Home of Tanned Pizza has somehow managed to find the world's blandest ham to use in their offerings. I don't know whether they're trying to save us all from sodium overload or what, but the stuff just has no discernible ham flavour as far as I can tell.

As a result, I try to choose something that doesn't have ham in it if I'm having a pizza day. Between that and avoiding green pepper (which is EVIL) at all costs it cuts down on my choices a bit, but I usually do ok.

Except when they pull a fast one and the innocent-looking pepperoni and mushroom turns out to be hiding ham instead.

Gotta watch that hidden ham.




This could have led to a long, extended rant about the fact that I also hide my share of ham (the performing variety this time) and, in turn, use my hammish nature to hide my true shyness whenever possible. It could have, but I've decided that I'm not in the mood now.

Bland ham on a pizza can do that to a person.

Besides, my two fans have heard variations on that theme often enough by now that I'm sure they can whistle the tune by heart. If you're missing reading the usual shyness blather, I strongly encourage you to write your own version. Feel free to e-mail it to me when you're done, and I promise it'll end up here on the blog with absolutely no credit given whatsoever.

Or something.

Honestly, I've lost all enthusiasm for this and anything else that might come out of the afternoon now.





Bland ham on a pizza can do that to a person. Did I mention?

----------

Just a reminder to the t.v. club that we've been preempted for baseball tonight, so there is no official wine gum requirement for Wednesday.

If you feel like bringing me wine gums anyway, you're always welcome to.

I'm good that way.

I really have no idea

What kind of ladybird this is, I mean. I'll look it up in my ladybird book (yes, I have a ladybird book. And shut up, world. I'm a naturalist. I'm allowed to have a ladybird book) after I've posted this.

It looks pretty lonely, though. The ladybird. It wasn't lonely since the house was well decorated with them, but it looks it.

I also really have no idea what to post about today. I've had another one of those sleep-deprived nights, and while I managed to keep the energy level artificially up during my morning program, I seem to be sinking now. Quickly.

I wonder if it has anything to do with the leftover Thanksgiving turkey sandwich? The whole tryptophan thing's a bit overblown, but if I can blame lunch for the fact that I'd like to do a faceplant on the desk and have a bit of a snore, then I'm all for it.






Sorry. I was just debating with myself as to whether anyone would notice if I did take a nap. It sounds awfully tempting.

It'll never happen, but it does sound tempting.

Anyway, I've pretty obviously got nothing. I suppose I'll just remind the t.v. club that even though it feels like Monday it's NOT, and that I bought the wine gums last week so it's not my turn tomorrow.





If anyone wants me, I'll be curled up in the corner over there.

A note to the ladies:

You're disgusting.

In public washrooms, I mean. Yes, I'm speaking to all you hover pee-ers and foot flushers. You know, the ones responsible for the wet seats and the broken levers. Ninety-nine percent of the things you morons seem so terrified of aren't a problem if you JUST WASH YOUR FRIGGING HANDS WHEN YOU'RE DONE. That's all that's needed.

And fergodsake stop leaving those little bits of toilet paper all over the floor. Geez. Do you do that at home? Huh? Is that how your mothers raised you?

If so, your mothers deserve a good paddling. And then they should have to scrub out the cubicles and replace the toilet mechanisms.

Just saying.

----------

Ok, now that we have that out of the way I'd better let you know that today's pointless photo is, in fact,a purposefully screwed-up one. You probably suspected that, right? I was mucking about with the photoeditor and the autofix decided to crank the contrast on this grape leaf up to ridiculous levels.

I liked it.

I have another photo on my nerdstick that has more natural colours. Maybe I'll use it tomorrow by way of contrast.

If I remember.

Tomorrow's a long way away, after all.




Tonight, however, isn't. If there's anyone -- ANYONE -- in the t.v. club who thinks they can claim that I didn't give them enough notice, you're so so SO very wrong at this point.

It's outta my hands.

I've done all I can do short of phoning you all individually.
And I don't like you enough to phone you all individually.





I could text, I suppose.
If I weren't so lazy.





And if I cared.

Or if I was decently bribed.
Or maybe indecently bribed.

Have I mentioned that it's Tuesday today? And that tonight is Tuesday night?

I thought so.






Do you get the feeling that this post is more or less finished? Yeah, me too.

Pointless photo of the day:

We haven't had any insect porn for a while. I figured it was time.

----------

I've been too busy singing along with the internet radio this morning to bother coming up with a post. I thought about relating the very weird dream that woke me up this morning, but you'd have to know the principals involved to get the full effect. I will say, though, that even in a dream it takes a long time to fill a boat-sized bathtub with water.

Boat-sized, yes. And complete with wooden decking.

Arrr.

Anyway, back to the singing. I haven't talked about it a lot on this new blog, but a regular feature of the old one was my singing problem.

Singing problem, Gracie?

The problem would be that if my spirits are anything better than completely in the toilet, I sing.

A lot.

I sing where some people mumble. Often I'll end up singing without realising I'm singing until someone points out the fact that I am, indeed, singing.





I know it's weird. And shut up, world.

It's not like my singing's horrible. I'm a trained singer, as a matter of fact. There are one or two people out there who even admit to liking my singing. I always tell them not to because it only encourages me, but it's more of a joke than anything.

I don't mind the singing so much.

I'm noticing it at the moment, though, mostly because there hasn't been much singing happening in the past while. My two fans should know that no singing usually translates as Dee has something on her mind. Something more than air pressure, even.

My two fans also should know that when I have something on my mind I almost never tell the blog what that something is. This ain't a diary, folks. If you came here looking for my deepest darkest secrets, you're probably pretty bored by now.

You're probably pretty bored anyway, but that's what you get for coming to a blog where the word pointless is right up there in the title.






Ah well, whatever. Let's leave this half-started topic with the reassertion that I've spent the morning singing along with the internet radio, and you can take any conclusion you want from that.

Or no conclusion, really. It'd be appropriate, since that's how so many of my blog posts end.

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Hey, t.v. club: Today is Sunday. Following Sunday would be Monday. And after Monday is where you usually find Tuesday.

Just thought I'd mention.

I'm not having anyone accusing me of not giving enough notice. No sir. What you do with the notice is entirely up to you.

It'd better have something to do with wine gums, though.

Arrrrr...

Actually, that's all you're getting for fake pirate speak today. I don't have the energy. Unless someone out there is desperate to have me call him a blackguard (blaggard in Pirate, I suppose). I could blackguard if I had to, I guess is what I'm saying.

I'm not shivering anyone's timbers, though.

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You might have gathered that yesterday wasn't an especially good day as far as the mood went. It picked up a bit as the day went on, but yesterday morning was pretty rough. There are days, folks, when I really should come with a flashing red light or something of that ilk to warn people away. You know, like a buoy. Or maybe I should just go straight for lighthouse, since at least that way I'd get my own foghorn.

It's times like those that make me grateful that Wheat understands sign language.

I should explain, shouldn't I?

Well, I'd gone in very (VERY) early to set up my morning's program, mostly as an escape from people. Don't get me wrong: I like the people I work with, but I just really wasn't in the mood to be anywhere near people first thing yesterday morning and so I went out of my way to put myself in the corner, metaphorically speaking.

I have a little bit of a temper, you see. The nice thing about knowing you have a temper, though, is that if you're smart about things you can remove yourself from a situation before it actually becomes a situation. Or at least before it becomes a worse situation.

Wheat, having got in a bit later in the morning, couldn't have known that I was secretly wearing the big FUCK OFF sign internally. Wearing it, in fact, to the point where opening my mouth to talk to anyone would have resulted in either someone getting yelled at (by me) or someone in tears (me again).

Gotta love those moments. I was the very definition of snot-in-a-knot. And for no reason, really. I just was.

Anyway, Wheat came in all Wheat-like to ask if I wanted any help and... all I did was motion him back out of the door. Oh, I believe I may have also said "no" if you were listening carefully, but mostly he got the grand Go Away.

So he did.

We have a pretty good working relationship, the two of us.

Some people (i.e. my former supervisor) would have taken it upon themselves to decide I needed to have a talk or get some things off my chest or (god forbid) put up with a moment of friendly concern for my well-being. Wheat knows that sometimes I just need to be left alone.

Wheat also knows that I'm capable of throwing things.





I throw like a girl, true, but even a girlie throw occasionally hits its mark.

In the end, I got things out of my system more or less and then came back to the office when I was ready to play nice. The end. No moral.

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The end of the story, not the end of the post. I was just wondering if anyone thinks I should start slapping the t.v. club around NOW just to be sure that they're all ready for next week. Next week, yes. Just like Christmas, the new season does come around eventually. It doesn't help that they're starting nearly a month later than last year, of course, but somehow things just seemed to get sooo draaaggy this time around.

By the way... who's bringing the wine gums?

Ah well. I've given you enough notice. You can decide it amongst yourselves.