thessalian: (facepalm)
I seem to use my 'facepalm' icon an awful lot these days...

Anyway, um. Christmas was fine - it was just me and my roast beast and a lot of sleep. I think I even managed to mostly shake this lurgy! There were even presents in the form of [personal profile] ilyena_sylph getting me paid time on Dreamwidth (thank you, sweets!), which was unexpected but awesome. I also crawled to level 83 on Warcrack (I really haven't been playing much) and archived my meagre offering of DA fic on AO3, as well as doing a bit of writing of same. (Yes, [ profile] mitchy, your thiefy-fic is coming along, though I'm not entirely sure where it's going yet.) So many WIPs, so little time now that I'm back at work. But AO3 is very cool, and I am looking forward to posting more stuff there when I have more stuff to post.

Speaking of, though, what remains of this week seems determined to mess with me. The first part was getting there - not entirely sure how I missed it unless they didn't precisely announce the fact very well, but apparently the trains are running a Saturday service at the moment. Which I didn't know until I got onto the train platform and discovered that not only was the next train to where I needed to go running seven minutes later than usual because of the 'Saturday service' crap, but it was also running three minutes behind schedule on top of that. Hooray.

Then of course, my first tape of the day started off ... troublesome. Mostly because it started with a list of people to send the letter to and then launched into the text of the letter without so much as giving a hospital number or, y'know, a name of the patient. At least it gave the patient's age and gender, so it was a matter of digging through the pile of notes to find someone that matched the gender and age given and then double-checking the addressees to see if they matched up. Of course, it couldn't be the set of notes on the top of the pile, or the bottom of the pile. No, that would make sense. I swear if I have to play Guess Who with the rest of these letters, I am going to track down the registrar and make him eat them. Also his letter makes no sense.

I really ought to move downstairs, since apparently none of my colleagues are even in the office (well, as of a little after 9am, anyway, and usually someone's in by then) and there are spare desks down there. Someone dug a radio out of storage up here and so this current office arrangement doesn't even spare me from Heart 106.2 anymore. *whimper* They try to keep it quiet but the radio lives on the desk directly behind me, so if they keep it at a volume the whole office can hear, it's ... loud. Some of it's not so bad but what I do not need at this time of morning is "It's Raining Men". I don't give a damn if it's raining men, women or chimpanzees so long as they shut up and let me type. Anyway, the main reasons I don't are that a) there might actually be someone in there by now, b) there are the phones to consider and c) I do not want to have to haul the heavy stacks of notes I managed to lug up here back down again. Going up the stairs with them is fine, if tiring and painful, but going down ... well, my varifocals don't allow for the clearest of peripheral vision (my own fault for going for the cheap ones this time around) and it tends to mean that stairs are a bit of a trial. To clearly see the stairs, I have to look down, and it's hard to do that when there's a huge stack of notes in the way. So ... yeah, none of that.

I need more coffee, but I didn't think to pick up an extra jar so I'm running perilously low. I may have to borrow from a colleague until lunchtime. Which cannot come fast enough.


Dec. 20th, 2010 07:26 pm
thessalian: (Shy)
Wow, more regular posting! Shame it's all to complain.

Today was one of those days where the world was clearly telling me that I should not go into work. There was a feeling of impending flu, that kind of thing. But I have to be there, so I got up and got dressed and got out.

Fuck, I wish I hadn't.

So the first thing that happened was I reached the train station, headed for the stairs leading up to the platform ... and slipped on a patch of ice I hadn't noticed. It was one of those probably really impressive-looking falls, too; where there's actually a split-second where you have time to realise that your feet have totally gone out from under you and this is going to hurt. And then the impact shocks you so much that it doesn't actually hurt at first. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground on my left side, well aware that at least half my weight landed on the point of my elbow but not feeling much but dull incipient pain, with two guys trying to ask if I'm okay over whatever noise I was blaring on the headphones that hadn't entirely slipped off my ears. I told them I was okay. I thought I was okay. So I went to stand on the platform and wait for my train.

The train that approached the station about ten minutes later should've been there twenty minutes previously. That boded ill. And by the time it arrived, there was so much pushing and shoving and cramming that I couldn't even get near a door, much less on the train. By this point, I was starting to hurt, and hoped that the next train would A) not be long in coming and B) maybe have a seat available. It is to laugh. The next train arrived thirty-five minutes later and I only got on it because a crush of bodies forced me there. Me with my bruises and my made-of-pain. Still, I survived, and finally managed to get to work.

I got through about five hours of that, determined to at least clear my desk before I bogged off to A&E because everything - walking, moving my arm, breathing - hurt like hell and the fingers of my left hand were numb. My hospital does not have an A&E department. I therefore hopped a bus and got to a nearby hospital that I knew did have an A&E department, because I used to work at said hospital. They took my details and told me to sit down in a completely jam-packed waiting room. Half-hour later, I saw the assessment nurse, who said she'd send someone out with painkillers. Forty-five minutes after that, painkillers had not yet come but I was seeing a doctor, who told me that my ribcage was sprained, noted that my left arm did not straighten as thoroughly as my right one did and sent me to X-ray. Twenty minutes after that, I was having X-rays taken of my fucked-up elbow, and still no damn painkillers. Finally, it was back to the doctor, who gave me farm-grade pain-death and a prescription for more of same, told me that the bone was only bruised and sent me on my merry way with orders to 'take it easy for a few days'. Yeah. Right.

So the running: Left leg bruised beyond from hip to knee. Left elbow bruised down to the bone. Sprained ribcage. I AM MADE OF PAIN. And public transport is fucked enough to make any attempt to get to work and home again a trial even when in good physical condition. And yet I am still going to drag my bruised carcass to work, mostly because I have no real choice in the matter. I hate being holiday cover. Oh well, at least there's not that much to do.

So my Christmas present is apparently pain. Can I remind the universe at large that, while purple is my favourite colour and blue and black are in the top five, particularly in terms of my clothing colour choices, bruises are not a fashion statement?
thessalian: (blue)
It's not been a particularly good day. Hell, it's not been a particularly good week.

This morning, my alarm did not go off. I don't know why - it just didn't. Which meant that I woke up around the point I was supposed to be at work, swearing a lot. What followed was one of those comedies of errors you just never want to see - ATM at Tally Ho Corner was borked so I had to hike quite some distance to get cash to renew my travelcard, then there were no buses, then I had to wait ten minutes for the next Tube out of Bounds Green, then I got stuck just outside Seven Sisters for 20 minutes or so, and then finally got to Walthamstow Central and again, no buses. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I made it into the office alive or sorry I didn't stay in bed.

[Edit: Someone's pinched two sets of notes for a clinic that only finished fifteen minutes ago, which I'm going to need to type the damn clinic letters once I get through with the mass wodge of stuff from the 16th. Also, some people's printers are down and on the whole, it's a little nightmarish. I wish I'd stayed in bed. Still, couldn't really afford to stay home from the point of view of either pay or built-up workload, so...]

As it is, I got in really late and am now working through lunch, though since my line manager generally insists that people take at least a half-hour for lunch just to have a break, I'm going to take a ten-minute smoke break shortly just to get away from the computer screen. Really it's just wanting to get this stuff done rather than the cash angle - and frankly, I have no intention of working past half-four. That's when I can actually deal with the commuter horde level, and therefore that is when I will leave the office. I can quite happily sacrifice my lunchtime and eat a sandwich at my desk to get out and to somewhere civilised before the crowds on the Piccadilly Line and the 221 get crushingly bad.

There's weekend plans to consider now. I was thinking to pick up DDR but now I'm wondering whether I really want to shell out the cash for that right now. It's not much, but I just feel bad about blowing the money on something that's not strictly speaking necessary. I did say just yesterday that I deserved a treat, godsdamnit, but ... well, there is Spending Guilt. I hate Spending Guilt. I know the sensible thing is to put the vast majority of the extraneous into my savings account and not touch it except in an emergency or for Christmas shopping, but ... I'd like some kind of treat, you know? Sure, I got Sims 2 Apartment Life the other week, but ... argh. I was mainly looking at Dance Dance Revolution because I'd like to get some exercise in a reasonably fun manner that involves as few people as humanly possible watching (and potentially laughing at) me do it. At least it's partway practical. But all the same, I sort of end up second-guessing any purchase of over ten quid that's not strictly speaking necessary. And sometimes even stuff that's less than ten quid, because it all adds up.

There is a difference, or there should be, between being frugal and being miserly. I'm just having a hard time with where the line is at the moment. Which is a little depressing, but never mind. Either way, I think what I'm going to do is get out of here in just over two hours, check out GAME over at the shopping centre by Walthamstow Central, see if they've got what I'm looking for and if they don't, I have another night to think about it. Thing is, I need something to cheer me up, so I should really stop overthinking the idea of spending money at all. I mean, it's not like I haven't budgeted for the grocery shopping and my contribution to the household expenses, or like I haven't already bought my travelcard for the week. There's a fair bit of discretionary cash that's mine free and clear, and I shouldn't feel too bad about using some of it for a little bit of selfish pleasure.

thessalian: (inspired)
So ... yeah. Anyone who says 'getting there is half the fun' should be shot.

Saturday panned out like this - I packed my gear, meeped briefly (see previous post) and then left. Miracle of miracles, the stations north of Finchley Central were actually open today (they're so often not) and I didn't have to amble very far to get to a Tube. That, in effect, was the only bit of travel luck I had trying to get to the Hangleton Community Centre and the Brighton Below LARP.

Northern Line to Euston, fine. Got off at Euston to change for the Victoria line. Discovered that the platform I sought was shut. Fuck, say I, and stomp back to the platform I just left to take the Tube one stop down and change at Warren Street. Manage that, finally get to Victoria. Huzzah. Stop off at that little shopping centre dealie to grab some food and a top that is suitable for such doings, head for the bus station in (I think) plenty of time to grab the 1pm bus out to Brighton. Spot a Whittards, stop for chocolate-covered espresso beans. Woman in the queue ahead of me is being a total pain in the arse and holds up the queue for ages. Finally get to the bus station, and the queue for tickets there (as the ticket booths are undermanned) prevent me from making the 1pm coach. Next coach - 2pm. "No problem," think I. "That'll get me there at a little past 4pm and I should be able to make it to the venue before game starts." However, then my coach is delayed. Which is a right royal pain in the arse, but still, I think, "It's not that big a delay - I should be able to make it there just before the game starts..." Except that when I get there, the roadworks on the Old Steine appear to be gumming up the traffic all over Brighton city centre. Bang go my chances at getting to LARP on time. I text the man in charge, as he was at that point the only person whose number I had, letting him know I was going to be late and sat through the bus journey, which involved one of a small pack of teenagers throwing up in the seat just ahead of mine. Then I got off the bus too soon, and wound up walking a good two miles uphill in unsuitable shoes and in the rain until I finally got to where I was going. Needless to say that by the time I got to Hangleton Community Centre, I was flustered, bemused, and vaguely pissed off at the world. Which I suppose is as good a 'getting into character' method as any for one's first time in the Underside in some frail mortal shell.

Further complications ensued about costumes. Turned out that the lab coat I was offered had been left in Dan's garage workshop through no real fault of anyone's, and as Daz hadn't known whether I was coming, the Gladstone bag didn't materialise. However, I did get a briefcase that worked well enough for my initial foray, and in a way I'm glad I didn't have the lab coat because it really would have changed my first entry into the whole thing. As it was, it went very well, and Travesty Moran came away with a fealty pledge to a noble House with a very big loophole in it, various allies and people very interested in her and what she can do, primarily in a positive way. Also quests to pursue. There are tales - many, many tales. So much to say about the Foundry folk and Hannington and Saint and the preacher and the 60s reject and Dawg and Morley and ... so, so many stories for a five-hour thing. However, they're going to have to wait for at least a little as I am rather sore, incredibly tired and possibly hungry. Suffice it to say, however, that I saw Daz and [ profile] yshala and Dan and Gav and Drinn and someone who was on JN ages ago who calls himself Uncle Steve, and they are all still awesome people, with particular kudos to Daz and Gav, for making my RP with the Foundry folk so fun, and to [ profile] yshala for her hospitality and 'group mum' instincts. I also made at least one new friend (the first person to hug me on relatively short acquaintance in some time, and I didn't even mind overmuch - he was like a puppy, really), who complimented me on my LARPing ability and said that our IC stuff had been a lot of fun. So I'm very flattered. And yes, there are tales, but they must wait.

Then we crashed at Dan and Kate's overnight. There were cats! Three of 'em! Yay for cats! Also yay for sofas to sleep on and finally getting those bloody boots off for awhile! Then there was helping [ profile] yshala with the washing up and then watching her and Kate pack 'posh plates', thus seeing [ profile] yshala buried in bubble wrap. There are pictures of that... Anyway, then [ profile] yshala and Mark were kind enough to drive me as far as London Bridge station on their own way home. So after an uneventful Tube ride, here I am.

I am achy. I am tired. I'm pretty sure I am hungry now. But I had such a good time. Can't wait 'til the next one. Now I just have to figure out how 'down time' actually works...
thessalian: (defiant)
Further data on Brighton Below:

I'm looking to be paying £10 minimum, £17.50 maximum to get there and back again, and I would definitely have to crash somewhere in Brighton as getting back that night just isn't possible unless I take the train. Which actually wouldn't be quite so bad as I could get there and back on the same day for £16.50.) Another tenner to pay for the LARP. Plus say £10 to pay for food and drinks once I get there, as a girl must eat. So that's between £30-£40 total.

The question is, is it doable with things as they stand? Even on three-day paycheque wages, I could afford to blow £20 on the Sims 2 EP, after all. I suppose it depends on how much I wind up getting tomorrow (calculating my per-hour after tax is not my strong point). Plus I could go as NPC this time around, get a feel for the game, and that would save a bit.

FUCK ME but this is complicated. I really want to go but the logistics are a right pain in the arse. Still, I managed to organise a trip to San Francisco, including passport renewal, on what, three days' notice? This cannot be beyond me.

So I've now emailed the guy responsible to see if Travesty Moran is considered sufficiently 'jazzed up' for gameplay on Saturday. If not, I'm available as NPC as that takes the price of the day down a bit and justify the train journey.

I forgot how complicated logistics could be.
thessalian: (sucky day)
It's been one of those days. One of those miserable, forsaken days that you really want to just wipe off the bloody calendar. Mercury. Fucking. Retrograde.

Got into the office thinking, "This will be a good day. Lunch with [ profile] yshala, bank run on the way, no problem." However, my early afternoon got completely scuppered by an unexpected team meeting (I've been there two days and I'm technically a temp! AUGH! We spent hours going over a bit of NHS policy they were talking about implementing when I was back at St Barts lo these many years ago, for pity's sake!) and I didn't have [ profile] yshala's phone number to tell her. I emailed Daz (copying her in so she'd at least know I tried) and wound up spending the rest of the day running around like a headless chicken or stuck in meetings and IT training. I got the bank run done but sacrificed the whole 'actually eating lunch' thing to do it, and the one tape I managed to get done ... well, I didn't get to finish it because some yahoo of a SHO decided that I could quite easily pull a patient's details up to type a Did Not Attend letter with nothing but a date of birth - no hospital number, no patient name, nothing. Man, I was so glad when the workday ended and I could go home...

But of course, that didn't go well either. The train stopped at Camden Town for awhile, during which we were told that there was signal failure at Highgate and East Finchley (both of 'em! At once!) and therefore would be significant delays while they 'harmonised the service'. Which meant sitting at Camden for ten minutes, then chugging along a ways before being informed that, to 'harmonise the service', the train I was on would be terminating at Archway. Juuuuuust brilliant. Then, of course, after another ten minutes of hovering on the platform at Archway, I discover that the next train is heading for Mill Hill East rather than High Barnet as previously stated. Again, 'harmonising the service'. Some time after that, I finally got on my packed Tube home.

There was nice dinner that I tried to appreciate despite the flat and the headache and the rampant screaming bleeeh. But tonight? Oh gods, this has to be a bullshit-free night.


Oct. 18th, 2007 06:52 pm
thessalian: (inspired)
Fish-wrangling is not in my job description, kthnx.

My first day at a private dermatology clinic went really well. It's like ... everything I like about medical secretarial work without the sucky bits. I impressed people rather a lot. This is always good.

However, then there was about 10 minutes before I was supposed to clock out for the day. All of a sudden, I hear frantic-sounding voices from the reception area, and go out to see what's the matter. Lo and behold, the pump on the office fish tank is borking wildly, spewing water all over the floor. At which point, half the office (fine, all of four people, but still) started running around with paper towels and trying to work out what the hell happened. Turned out the pump had started running backwards or something stupid, and then just completely borked out. We had a spare fish tank - it's smaller, but it does in a pinch - and we had to move the fish from Tank A to Tank B. Cue the fish-wrangling. These were not huge fish, but neither were they small fish. I left, later than I should have (but then, I got in late - fucking roadworks) and slightly damp. *grumble* At least the job doesn't entirely suck.

The commute home, however ... I'd forgotten that my iPod's battery was dead, so both ways, I had no music. This is always of the everlasting suck. What's worse is that in the wake of the fish tank furore, I left the book I was reading on the window sill in my office. So the bus, trying to cross the North Circular during the peak of rush hour, with no form of entertainment and an inability to nap all the way home because of the arsehole in the seat across the aisle from me who was playing gangster rap through his headphones loud enough to damn near deafen me, sitting two seats and an aisle away. That little twonk can't possibly still be able to hear...

And I'm cooking dinner tonight. Go, me.

Still, at least my copy of Dark Tales arrived safe and sound. Now I have new reading material and, if it looks like my kind of thing, a place to submit short stories. Win!
thessalian: (inspired)
There is jobness! Okay, it is very, very short-term jobness - a 5-8 day stint at an advertising agency, to be precise - but every little helps. Besides, at £13 an hour, who can really complain? Just goes to show that the agency I signed up with this afternoon is on the ball. This makes a nice change. (I was disappointed in the typing test, though - only 89 words per minute. Feh. Then again, with the amount of sleep I haven't been getting lately, I probably shouldn't be surprised.)

I'm very, very tired, just now. This is actually a good and useful thing, as it means that I'll be able to get up at a reasonable hour for job-thing. Still, I was tired when I went to bed last night as well, and that did not mean I got to sleep at all. Yeesh. Anyway, on the whole, I'm looking at an early night tonight, circumstances permitting. I suppose it's time to go back to being diurnal.

Oh, and the Transport for London website is still on crack. Yes, I know one can get the 134 to Archway. However, I also know that the 263 to Archway is a hell of a lot faster. So when I ask for the quickest bus routes to where I'm working, and I need to catch a 17 from Archway, why the hell does it tell me to catch a 134 to Archway when I can take the 263? How much crack can one site that's supposed to be useful be on, anyway?
thessalian: (weiiiiird)
And, after all of that ... the Tube strike is now off. I still don't entirely know what the hell they were disputing (though I seem to have put together a tale of woe involving the collapse of Metronet and the strike being pre-emptive action to protect their jobs, pay and pensions, somehow) but apparently they are now reassured and it's over now. Except they're still talking about whether or not they want to do it again next week, which seems ridiculous because ... well, they've stopped now.

I don't like the idea of taking the Tube anymore. It's obviously being driven by crazy people!

Oh well. At least I can get to work.

No-Go Zone

Sep. 4th, 2007 03:44 pm
thessalian: (angry)
I did not get to work today. I got as far as Swiss Cottage (after being thrown off my bus at Golders Green, further after getting stuck for half-past-ever trying to cross the North Circular) when claustrophobia and squishedness seized me. There was no damn way I was getting back on a bus, and the idea of packing myself underground (and then coming out again, only to try to cram myself onto yet another bus) caused a mild panic attack so I decided, "Sod this" and went home. Which in and of itself was not a great deal of fun. I will be trying a different route tomorrow, I think. Oh, and incidentally? The Piccadilly line's out too. Lying fuckers. FUCKERS, say I.

*ahem* Anyway. I haven't really done much today. Ate lunch, watched Buffy, hit FFXI and made a terrible lot of bug broth (I now have something like 52k gil and intend to go back in a bit - I just needed a break from the Bastok music. Still, there are some people out there who are looking at the number of shell bugs that are getting bought at the AH at the moment and going, "Holy shit - who wants these things and why?!? Ah, who cares - at least they're selling!") ... slow day, really. I'm bored, but what the hell. Boredom at least means last of claustrophobic nightmare.
thessalian: (Default)
So the Tube's on strike again. 72 hours, started at 6pm this evening. All but the Northern, Piccadilly and Jubilee lines will be shut for the duration. And the three lines that are running will be packed to the rafters. Then there's the people who will be driving in, which will increase traffic, which will make life a misery for the people overloading the bus network. In short, it's going to be hell and I have no idea how I'm even going to make it to work this week. If that weren't bad enough, getting home is going to be worse, so what of the day I don't spend at work, I'll spend commuting. That strikes me as decidedly unfair.

And the stupid thing? They're doing the exact same thing next week.

Actually, the really stupid thing is that this is a pointless exercise. Apparently, the people striking actually don't have any demands to speak of. They're just striking because, although their demands from the last strike were met, they weren't met by the right people so they 'don't count'. I am perplexed and annoyed and horrified. I mean, it's surely ridiculous, right?

Cue the London Underground Song!

So now, despite the fact that I really should be getting up early to face this monstrous commute from hell ... I can't sleep. I am far, far too stressed to sleep. The very thought of cramming myself onto overstressed, overburdened transport media and then stuck there for an indeterminate amount of time really, really gets to me. I can't do this. I'm going to try, bless my stupid Hufflepuffy heart, but I can't imagine that it's going to do me any good, and ... ugh.

So in the meantime, in order to try to calm down, I'm planning my strategy for levelling various of my crafting skills in FFXI. Next stop is a spot of fishing over in San d'Oria - Cheval Salmon to level 20. I need to save one of the ones I catch back for awhile until I hit Windurst, so I can hand it over to the Guild for my next level in the Fisherman's Guild, but the rest can be crafted into lovely cooking things. Mainly I'm thinking smoked salmon, but I need to get my Carpentry up to level 9 to make that fly without the endless critical synth failures. There's going to be a lot of camping out in San d'Oria, I think, until I get that stuff up to scratch. Maybe I'll give logging a shot - it's got to be cheaper than buying lumber all the time, and San d'Oria's good for that. Plus there's the fact that I need to hang out in there anyway for reasonably cheap San d'Orian grapes so I can make grape juice and level Cookery to 50, thus moving up in the ranks in the Culinarian's Guild.

Of course, if I ditched this vain notion that I might actually get into work without dying of stress during the strike, I might actually be able to do some of this stuff... *whimper*
thessalian: (inspired)
I think the fever broke last night, as I woke up this morning feeling cooler but drenched in sweat. Of course, while this is a GoodThing (tm), it's not such a good thing to realise that a) I still ache and b) I couldn't actually sleep last night for the coughing and fever and aches and pains; particularly given c) I have the first day at my brand spanking new job today. I can't afford to just not go, though I do intend to try to get out early on the grounds of being ill. I don't think I could survive the full day.

Doing bits and pieces of maths as regards transport. I'll be so glad when I'm getting paid weekly again and can just buy a weekly Travelcard and say 'screw the whole mess'. As it is, I'm acutely conscious of what I'm putting on my Oyster card and generally how I'm getting around. Turns out, oddly, that the Tube is not necessarily the easiest, fastest way to get there in all cases. Of course, some of the routes are completely insane, but that's the TfL site for you. It's looking like the 82 to Baker Street and the 74 to Lillie Street at the moment, which at least is the cheaper option but honestly, means I'm going to be getting home at around about 7 every evening. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but it's going to happen no matter how I look at it so there's no sense in complaining.

Speaking of, though, I guess it's time to put some socks on and get moving. I need to go and bung some money on my Oyster card before I hop the bus out of here.
thessalian: (weiiiiird)
Two months without it, and I still wake up a few minutes before my alarm goes off. Even when I've only had about three and a half hours' sleep because of the snoring from he with whom I share a bed. So ... go, me.

I'm only up because I have that specialist appointment this morning. 9 am. Blegh. On the bright side, it means that I can come home afterwards and go straight back to bed. And, of course, there's a vague chance that someone can tell me what the hell is wrong with me. That would be nice.

So anyway, this means that I'm going to have to go start cat-wrangling and generally getting ready to depart, as I'd much rather get there on time and I'm not sure what the traffic's going to be like at what is technically the rush hour. Bleh. At least it's only a few stops on the Tube from Golders Green.

I'll let you all know how it goes.
thessalian: (too cute)
It's a miserable day, weather-wise. [ profile] dodgyhoodoo is on a photography scavenger hunt and I am soon going to depart for my shoe-shopping expedition. I would have left already but realised that I did not charge up iStress last night and I am not going out without music. Nuh-uh. Not when I have to grab the bus to Camden because there are engineering works shutting down the entire High Barnet branch of the Northern line ... again.

And I still don't even know which shoes I want. Waaaaaaaah.
thessalian: (defensive)
Today, all signs point to "inauspiciousness".

Yuki gave me grief this morning, pulling her usual "pay attention to meeeeeeeee" tricks (like, for instance, getting herself wedged behind the bed in the spare room/study). I got out of the house pretty much on time but still managed to miss my bus. Charing Cross branch Northern Line train wasn't turning up for a good 15 minutes, so I had to go the Finchley Central -> King's Cross -> Holborn -> Chancery Lane route instead of the normal Finchley Central -> Tottenham Court Road -> Chancery Lane route I normally take (which is quicker, with less Tube line changeover and generally more convenient). Get to the Central Line platform at Holborn? Packed to the fucking gills with no information whatsoever on when the next train is turning up. Of course, it turned up as I was leaving the platform in a "fuck it, it'll be quicker to walk" frame of mind, but I wound up walking anyway because there was no way I was fitting on that train and I didn't know when the next one was going to turn up. At least it wasn't far, and despite everything, I was still on time for work, but that's not entirely the point, is it? Then there was sloshing my coffee all over my mouse pad, which is absorbant squishy stuff rather than plastic-coated. So my mouse pad is soaked. And my knee hurts, probably due to the change into cooler, wetter weather (this always happens). And there's the fucking rash and I'm still not managing much more than a meal per day. Which is apparently great for the diet I'm not even on. My favourite denim skirt is now really weirdly loose on me, and if this keeps up I'm going to have to consider new clothes in general, which I can't afford, particularly not with this US trip coming up. As it is, I may have to skip New York. At least there'll be another time on that one, not to mention seeing [ profile] leopard_lady at the wedding, whenever that is.

What with one thing and another, I think I can be forgiven by writing today off as one of those ones in which I should minimise my contact with the human race, which for various reasons I've been doing since last night. I'm tired (despite two good nights' sleep, so I'm thinking getting to bed before 3am is overrated), I'm hacked off with most of the world and with myself, and in general I am really only up for curling up in bed and re-reading Memoirs of a Geisha. Which sucks for me because I still have seven hours (counting the lunch hour during which I will likely not be in the mood to actually eat) during which I have to be at work. Bleh.

Ignore me. I'm already having a bad day. Plus it's the fucking 'anniversary' of my last suicide attempt - the one that landed me in a Mississippi intensive care unit and then two psychiatric facilities. It'd be so nice if the day held any sense of positive occasion, you know? One that makes me think something other than "I hate my life"? Bitter. Fucking. Irony.
thessalian: (rage)
I have to renew my Travelcard today. And do you know what? I resent it. Want to know why?

Because for the last two fucking days, my commute has been irredeemably fucked, that's why!

Yesterday morning: Got to Finchley Central, discovered to my dismay that there were no Charing Cross tubes. So I had to get on a Bank branch train, which arrived after six minutes of standing in the rain with no umbrella because all the space under the platform awning was occupied. And then the train was obviously packed so I was crammed into a corner and, at every stop, mercilessly squeezed, squished and stamped as more and more people forced their way onto an already overcrowded train. Of course, there were Charing Cross tubes by the time I changed at fucking King's Cross, but that didn't help me very much, being as I was on the Bank branch at the time. (I. HATE. The Northern Line.) So I was still stuck getting the (vastly overcrowded) Piccadilly Line train to Holborn, where at least I was early enough to walk from the station to work and pick up a Krispy Kreme on the way.

Yesterday afternoon: I waited for the number 17 bus. There were none. And none. And it was raining and half the world was waiting for the fucking bus, so I decided that I would take the 8 to Victoria and then the 82 home. However, I soon remembered the folly of trying to cross the North Circular in rush hour traffic so I decided, no; I would get the tube to Southgate (it would have been Bounds Green but, y'know, North Circular) and take the 125 home. Which was a phenomenal idea, until I discovered that the Piccadilly Line was running with severe delays. It wasn't until I was on the overcrowded Tube that I was frankly lucky to catch that I discovered why there were severe delays on the Piccadilly Line. And the Northern Line. And the District and Circle Lines, I'd imagine. There was a fire at King's Cross station. So no mainline trains were running from there. I discovered this at around the point that my train pulled into King's Cross and the vast multitudes of people using the Piccadilly Line as an alternative to the WAGN route between King's Cross and Enfield shoved their way onto the train. At least by then I had a seat, so it wasn't like yesterday morning when I was unceremoniously crushed into a corner and stamped.

This morning there was a note on the whiteboard at the bottom of the steps on the southbound platform at Finchley Central: "CENTRAL LINE CLOSED IN ITS ENTIRETY". So it's back to the Piccadilly-Line-From-King's-Cross-Walk-From-Holborn crap again. Well, at least I got a seat on the bulk of the journey this time. Though the Piccadilly Line train was a cattle-car nightmare because someone had a stroller with a child inside who couldn't have been more than a couple of months old. I felt so bad for that kid...

And I repeat the London Underground Song. Over and over and over again. In my head. So that I don't go down to Chancery Lane station (which miraculously reopened the minute I decided to walk from Holborn) and rip someone's godsdamned head off.

On the other hand, the Saw soundtrack kicks serious arse, I have my copy of Anno Dracula (fine, it's battered; it'd look about that way soon anyway given how much my books get lugged around and reread) and my PSP is arriving today, with luck. And last night, there was some kick-arse roleplay as kai decided to help some of the traumatised mages through the worst of the whole mess. And I got to write the 'news report' dealing with the explosion of the Verbena house, which was fun. Also, today's Tuesday and apparently tonight's episode of Lost deals with Charlie's little drug problem. So all in all, whee!
thessalian: (confident)
For all of you Londoners who have to deal with Tube strikes, defective trains, signal failures, trains that don't go where they say they're going to go and the drivers don't tell you until the last minute, crazy screaming lunatics on the platforms and trains who belt their trousers below their genitalia or make attempts at busking by playing and singing U2's "One" badly on a guitar with only three strings or something, being puked on by drunks, being shoved by tourists and rude bastards, having your every journey monitored by the Oyster Card system, bottlenecks due to yet another escalator 'repair' job and all the other crap we have to deal with every single working day, ensuring that your weekday is miserable and screwed up before you even get to work...

Courtesy of the friendly folks at Charleston by Night (who provided the link)...

This one's for you.

[ profile] dodgyhoodoo says he wants The Jam to get back together just to do this song.

Bad Luck

May. 9th, 2006 11:20 am
thessalian: (grammarian)
This is not a good day.

Managed to get to the Tube on time, but that didn't matter because the Northern Line was screwed because of a defective train at Stockwell. So my train kept stopping in the tunnels until we got to Camden, when we were told that this train was going via the Bank branch. "Fine," I thought. "I'll go to King's Cross, take the Piccadilly to Holborn and go from there". Except either I missed something or the conductor was given another last-minute change order, because when we got to Euston, it was "All trains terminate here". So fine. I took the Victoria Line to Oxford Street and then Central to Chancery Lane. That worked and didn't get me in too late (5 mins, tops).

The workload's not too bad, but Michael got narky at me (or sounded like he was narky at me) for asking whether he knew if Ham-Fisted Editor was coming in this week. He thinks not, but thinks Ham-Fisted Editor is coming in next week with Lady Competence. Except Lady Competence left me a note when she was in last week saying she won't be in until the 24th. *shrug* I have no idea but shit is piling up. I wish that ... that ... that miserable excuse for an editor would just come in and sort things already. I also wish he'd use apostrophes correctly, but that's to be expected.

Then, sipping my coffee, a bit of it went down the wrong pipe. So I'm coughing, trying not to spew my mouthful of coffee all over the desk ... and manage to do so anyway, except via my nasal passages. It's happened before, but I'd forgotten how painful it was. Now my nose hurts like buggery. I'm just glad it wasn't very hot.

I want to go home now, please. Before something worse happens to me.

The Grump

Mar. 21st, 2006 11:29 am
thessalian: (inspired)
Gods, I'm knackered. Slept in this morning, barely made it into work on time (stupid fucking Northern Line; three Bank trains before the Charing Cross one turned up), and now I'm tired and I ache. There are no words for how much I do not want to be here, but here I am, weeding out the Sent folder again. Thankfully there's not a whole lot else to do that can't wait.

Still nothing from the Hollow City people. I'm putting off emailing about it because I don't want to be a nag. Plus right now, I can't be bothered.

No, I did not sleep well last night. It makes me cranky. I'm sure I'll feel better after lunch (skipped breakfast. No time. Stupid fucking Northern Line). At the moment, though, I'd like to just go home and sleep for the next three days. I didn't even have the energy to go through the Changeling sourcebooks I brought with me for the commute (Autumn People and The Enchanted, plus Commoner's Luck that I actually left in my bag by mistake; I meant to leave that one home and bring The Shadow Court with me). Wah.
thessalian: (attack womb)
South Dakota criminalises abortion.

So they say that the criminalisation of abortion on a state-by-state basis is some kind of bid to overturn Roe vs Wade. Which is interesting, because Roe vs Wade determined not so much that abortion should be legal, but that criminalising it was a violation of the 14th Amendment, Section 1 of which reads:

All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

So, technically, South Dakota is already going against the decision made in the case of Roe vs Wade (note: "No State shall make or enforce any law..."). They are justifying this unConstitutional behaviour by stating that they are acting in the spirit of the 14th Amendment - after all, they're working to ensure that these unborn babies are not deprived of life. Except it's potential life, isn't it, because even with the great medical advancements we've made, terrible accidents and problems may occur and there's no guarantee that the child is going to live anyway. Plus there's the whole "fetuses aren't people" issue. I'm sorry, but they're not. They are entirely dependent on the life of the mother to survive and come to term, unlike infants, who can be handed off to a foster mother. More to the point, fetuses are not sentient. In the first trimester, a fetus goes from a clump of vaguely differentiated cells with no brain, no sensory organs and no way of supporting itself in any environment but the womb into something that sort of resembles an oversized lima bean with a limited and probably dormant nervous system, eyes that don't see and again, no way of surviving outside of its current environment. It cannot think. It cannot feel. It doesn't even have gender yet. It is still connected to, and therefore part of, the mother's body. Her body, her choice. It's that simple.

But there's going to be real shit over the lack of provisions for rape or incest. Let's say a barely pubescent girl gets repeatedly raped by her uncle and winds up pregnant. They say that there will be better adoption services, better counselling, and a whole slew of new services to support this poor unfortunate. However, we all know where the money goes in the current American government, and do you really think that 'better' counselling is going to be around when that poor girl is lying awake at three in the morning crying her heart out because she's started to show and her parents won't believe her / she's been branded a slut by her peers because she can't tell them the truth / everyone knows that she's an incest rape victim? Will they have the right words to take away the fact that, by being forced to carry and deliver her uncle's bastard child, he's basically raping her all over again? Even if adoptive services get involved, what happens when the child finds out he's adopted, goes to find out who his parents were, and finds out that he's the product of incestual rape and basic inbreeding?

I don't think I could go through with an abortion, personally. However, I do believe in a woman's right to choose. I've read things that prove to me that, in various circumstances, abortion is the best way to go. Parents who punish their children by sticking them with HIV-infected needles. Parents who pimp out their children for drug money. Parents who have their infant suckle from the family dog. Women in shitty, drug-addled, abusive homes should be encouraged to abort, in my opinion. What the hell kind of life will the kid have? They stand up, the pro-lifers, and say, "Won't someone please think of the children?!?" I am thinking of the children; more than you are, at any rate. I'm thinking that children feel unwanted enough in a good home without it actually being true; that parents project their own failures and issues onto their children without them being walking evidence of a stupid mistake or a horrible crime; that it's not fair on parent or child to put the child in a position where telling them the truth about their origins leads to hideous mental and emotional issues.

So South Dakota state legislature is not only being reactionary and unConstitutional; it's not doing right by the very kids it wants to protect. If they want to bring more screwed-up, ill-treated kids into the world, let them have their own damn kids and screw them up. Honestly, if you want to stop abortions, promote birth control! Make it easier for people to get the morning-after pill. Have government subsidies for the Pill. Give away free condoms in clinics. Educate people on what various forms of birth control can and cannot do. Advocate 'belt and braces' - Pill and condom - particularly if you don't know your partner's sexual history all that well. Educate people and give them options, not limitations! We're talking about government here, not the Catholic Church; it should not be "Abstinence or HELLFIRE!"

Closer to home, the world just keeps making me nuts. They're rewriting 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' in case it causes offence. So there aren't allowed to be any black sheep. Or, in fact, white sheep. Honestly, have you ever seen a rainbow sheep? And they've lost the black sheep and the Seven Dwarves but kept Snow White, which I don't get. Please, world, get a grip: apparently 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' was written in the 1700s to satirise wool taxation. It's not racist, okay? Black parents thought it was ludicrous to change the stupid rhyme when they tried to get all PC about it in the 70s! Please don't go around telling people of a different colour, race, gender, physical makeup or sexual orientation to yourself what they find offensive. Let them tell you; they'd know what offends them better than you would.

And the Tube's going to be a total mess for the next year as they make major repairs. And people are bitching about it. However, I really don't mind. I want the Tube fixed. I want it to be safer, and for it to run properly. So I don't mind a year's worth of inconvenience; I won't really notice a difference anyway, given that the Tube is pretty much inconvenient anyway. Or rather, I wouldn't mind if I thought the 'repairs' were going to be particularly good. However, I get this impression that they got cheap contractors in, and these workmen will come in, have long tea breaks, do a half-arsed job, go over the allotted time-frame and wind up really screwing us over for no appreciable benefit. But I'm a cynic about some things.


thessalian: (Default)

July 2012

1234 567
151617 18192021
2930 31    


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 11:06 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios