I am Woman, Hear Me Geek

I made the DVD player work! Go, me!

Well, with one screw-up. I got a SCART to SCART connector cable by accident and while my TV has a SCART socket, my DVD player does not. I did not need new cable; I needed an adaptor. Which I got at my local Sainsbury's Savacentre for seven quid. Picked up a copy of The Faculty for eight. I am a happy girl. Though I do not have happy neighbours, not with a hefty helping of subwoofery goodness. The "Class of 1999" version of "Another Brick In The Wall Part 2" is great, particularly when interspersed with fireworks and hefty American football tackles, but I'm sure the neighbours downstairs didn't appreciate feeling it through the walls and ceiling at eleven-thirty last night.

This weekend's mission is to join Blockbuster or somewhere and start renting things. Nifty with the niftyness! No longer am I at the mercy of British terrestrial television! Wa-ha!

*poingpoingpoingpoingpoing*

Now all I need to do is set me up an Amazon.co.uk wishlist for DVDs within my region and I'm go!

Thess

That Was The Year That Was...

A year rehash. What a concept.

I can't rehash this year, really. Why? Because there was only one really notable thing about it -- it was a normal year. God, my life's been fucked for so long that living like a normal human being strikes me as weird. Everything really weird that's happened in my life has been peripheral -- happening to someone else that I happened to get in the middle of.

Basically, I entered the workforce again. That was the extent of it. Over 2002, I've worked in about six different hospitals and three clinics doing secretarial work for God only knows how many medical specialities. And it's ... actually pretty sucky.

Don't get me wrong -- there's a certain amount of job satisfaction and it's not overly depressing or too strenuous while still retaining some challenge and the girls at X-Ray were thrilled that I'd consider staying on as a permanent member of staff. It's just not what I want to do with my life.

That's the thing. Nothing but writing will suffice for me; it's the one thing in life I'm sure of. So it's time to really start taking it seriously on a non-fic scale. So I got The Writer's and Artist's Yearbook 2003, which is the prospective author's Bible. So when I finally get a little further along on "Buffy on heroin", "Friends meets Withnail and I", "Through the Safety Glass" or any of the other stuff hiding away on my craptop (by the way, none of that is a real title; it's just the only way I can refer to any of it until I can find one), I know who to send it to.

But of course, it's not that easy. Wakaranai alone out of all my friends manages not to express pride and happiness that I am making decisive moves towards fulfilling an ambition I can't remember being without; in fact, gives the appearance of grumbling about the time that will take away from the "non-paying" stuff. I know he said he didn't mean it that way, but that's how it sounded when he talked about what I would be devoting less time to (fanfic) instead of thinking about how great it would be for me to be able to do this for a living. To not have to go to some job my heart's not in. To be sitting at a computer and suddenly be hit by an idea and not be able to do anything about it because I have a job to do so letting it go.

But never mind. Even if Neko and MintSauce hadn't been so nice about it, I'd have gone ahead and done it anyway. But confidence bolstering is a help.

Speaking of the writing, though, I should probably head home and do some of it.

Thess