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thessalianAmusement of the day: Patient rings up, having got the wrong end of the stick about something Dr Slater said to him in clinic this morning. Winds up telling me that he can't go into hospital tomorrow because there's a delivery of furniture and a wheelchair coming in for him that day ... and because the police want to talk to his son about something drug-related. I did not need to know this, but what the hell; if you have to hear a patient's life story, it might as well be a good one.
I'm bored and tired at the same time -- surprisingly well-matched states. Too tired to do anything, too bored to wake up properly. I don't want to type clinic letters; I want to wake my brain up, not put it out of its misery. I want to be creative. Thren is rattling at the bars of her cage, demanding to be set free to besiege the helpless packs of characters roaming free and unmolested across the plains of my imagination. And yet there are clinic letters and I must type them. Woe.
However, there are benefits to being the Almighty Queen of Multi-Tasking. I think I might be able to get the reply to Lucius' last letter done by the end of the working day. Toos does apparently look forward to these. With a lot of luck, I might even get some NaNoWriMo work done, given that I skipped yesterday entirely. In any case, that can also be done at home.
We were having a chat over lunch yesterday about what a shame it is that more of the group doesn't do mentor letters et al (by the way, Simson says that he'll be getting back on track with the Jeremiah stuff in December, as he has his own novel-in-a-month challenge to complete). We were discussing what Skank's letters to mentor would read like were he in any sort of friendly contact with his mentor (fat fucking chance; Andy O started burning that bridge and I just went and napalmed it, and it's only going to get worse).
Me: "Kicked demon arse."
Andy O: "Got shrunk. Don't ask. Really -- don't ask."
I was also saying recently that I could probably keep going at this pace pretty much indefinitely. I am that warped. That got![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nadriel talk about the campaign he ran for about seven years, all told. Okay, looking at it in terms of years is really daunting. I find it easier if I just think of it as mind-fuck on top of mind-fuck. Hey, it worked for six seasons worth of TLAS.
Right. Back to the clinic letters. One day they'll chain me to this fucking oar. Bleh.
I'm bored and tired at the same time -- surprisingly well-matched states. Too tired to do anything, too bored to wake up properly. I don't want to type clinic letters; I want to wake my brain up, not put it out of its misery. I want to be creative. Thren is rattling at the bars of her cage, demanding to be set free to besiege the helpless packs of characters roaming free and unmolested across the plains of my imagination. And yet there are clinic letters and I must type them. Woe.
However, there are benefits to being the Almighty Queen of Multi-Tasking. I think I might be able to get the reply to Lucius' last letter done by the end of the working day. Toos does apparently look forward to these. With a lot of luck, I might even get some NaNoWriMo work done, given that I skipped yesterday entirely. In any case, that can also be done at home.
We were having a chat over lunch yesterday about what a shame it is that more of the group doesn't do mentor letters et al (by the way, Simson says that he'll be getting back on track with the Jeremiah stuff in December, as he has his own novel-in-a-month challenge to complete). We were discussing what Skank's letters to mentor would read like were he in any sort of friendly contact with his mentor (fat fucking chance; Andy O started burning that bridge and I just went and napalmed it, and it's only going to get worse).
Me: "Kicked demon arse."
Andy O: "Got shrunk. Don't ask. Really -- don't ask."
I was also saying recently that I could probably keep going at this pace pretty much indefinitely. I am that warped. That got
nadriel talk about the campaign he ran for about seven years, all told. Okay, looking at it in terms of years is really daunting. I find it easier if I just think of it as mind-fuck on top of mind-fuck. Hey, it worked for six seasons worth of TLAS.Right. Back to the clinic letters. One day they'll chain me to this fucking oar. Bleh.
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Date: 2004-11-15 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-15 11:35 pm (UTC)That's the spirit! And when they do, you can complain that it doesn't meet with EU standards. ;)