beandelphiki

[Certain fandom] + [certain pairing] + [certain act involving abuse of synthetic polymers] = BRAIN EATEN.

Actually wrote about 900 words of fic last night before passing out on my face. (Which means nothing, because I never, ever finish fic, EVER. I've still got three Housefics and two Whofics sitting around on my hard drive/in notebooks unfinished, and they're likely to stay that way. Especially the Housefic which I got up to 1900 words with a YEAR ago before stalling.)

Was fun, though, since I got into that place where the characters refused to do anything I told them (i.e. wouldn't shut the hell up, why do these people talk so damn much, etc.), and surprised me with every line. I actually didn't do anything else last night: no lj, no surfing the intarwebz, just writing. I keep letting life lead me to forget the fact that I actually LIKE to write, when I'm not writing at someone else's say-so.

Although trying to get these two characters IN character feels like I'm blindfolded and trying to hit a piñata, and I honestly should just admit I can't. That I'm terrible at this. Which is probably the reason I never finish or post any of it. THEN EVERYBODY WOULD KNOW I WRITE BADFIC, OMG.

It's nice to feel productive though, even if it's the most useless sort of productive.



...Apparently, the U of C admissions stupidly think they're still waiting for transcripts from me ("Alberta Postsecondary,") when I can clearly see from the list of what they DO have records of getting (high school, MRC, SAIT) that they HAVE all my transcripts already.

I'm going to have to call someone, aren't I? Fuck, I HATE THE PHONE. *grumps*

Guess who ELSE was sick when I went to work yesterday? The Boss's Daughter! So we all got treated to another installment of the B.D. Show. Little princess she is, and totally convinced she's a tough act.

Christ, I can't even be SICK at work. If she hadn't been sick, she would have undoubtedly gotten her period or something else to moan about.

And then when I got home, I got treated to another princess act from my mother: "Jeez, this cold takes a lot out of you, doesn't it? I had to take a three hour nap to recover from shopping!"

I said, "Yeah, I'm so sympathetic." Hello? I'm sick too, and I just had a 14-hour day, running around town and then working a 7-hour shift. Not all of us can live on spousal support.

Oh, and I forgot my meds at home. It was a great Friday.


SAIT has updated it's washrooms, apparently. The newer buildings have always had (in the time I've been going, anyway) those automatic-flush toilets which flush constantly and spray your bare bottom while you're sitting on them. They've also had automatic faucets which only dispense water if you're wearing the right color underwear. But they've always had hand-pump soap.

Apparently The Powers That Be have decided people can't pump their own soap. So now there's an Autosoap dispenser at every sink, which spit soap into your palm when you hold your hand in front of them. Those seem to work fine.

So if all else fails, you can wash your hands with Autosoap and the fresh spray off your butt.


I finally finished watching Voyage of the Damned. Whoo, Doctor Who tonight! So excited.

I've been out of school for more than a week now due to a nasty cold my oh-so-loving sister passed on to me. FUN! Of course this has to happen on my make-up semester, right? I'm just praying I can catch up on the stuff I missed.

(Our computer recently kicked the bucket too, so I haven't had a lot of opportunity to get online. Luckily, Nicole - that's my sis, for the uninitiated - has a new boytoy friend, Steven, who lent us a computer to use for a while. Which is how I'm online now.)

I managed to get into the school Friday to cover the Open House 2007 and Skills City I signed up to cover a few weeks back. Friday was also production day, so that's a bit of a crunch, but I figured I'd do better covering and writing a story on the same day it went into the paper than I would getting a week or so to dick around and NOT write a story.

Barkley says of managing ADHD - bring the task and the reward/consequences closer together. So that's what I did.

I MUSTA bin crazy!

I don't know if anything could have driven me more nuts than sitting in the Mac lab listening to my instructors/editors harp that they were waiting "for copy." Yes, I'm AWARE that you're waiting for copy! I'm WRITING the copy; nagging doesn't get it done faster, especially when you add MORE copy for me to write! (A hole on the back page ended up requiring them to ask me to write 100-120 words about the photos on the page...photos I didn't take, and knew next-to-nothing about, mind.)

The worst thing EVER for my working state of mind is people agitating in my ear that they would like my work done TEN MINUTES AGO, plzkthanx.

AAAARRRGGHH! *kills*


Then, over the weekend, I got sick, sicker, sickest!

( TMI follows. No, seriously )

After all that, I was fearful to try eating dinner this evening, but the fish I had seems to be staying down, and the wheezing seems to be gone, or at least has quieted way down. On the "boo" side, my ears are very plugged. Boo. But, failing a developing ear infection, I seem to be mostly over this.

Oh, and since I'm NOT at work, I at least get to watch House, M.D. in person tonight; this is the first Tuesday I've been scheduled in a LONG while, and I was sad that I would have to tape it and possibly even risk missing it if the tape malfunctioned. But I'm home, so...

Oooooh, American Idol just started!

HOUSE IN AN HOUR, HOUSE IN AN HOUR, HOUSE IN AN HOUR!

What a bitch of a weekend. I wish I could have spent it on lj instead of doing a silly astronomy project.


Buuut...no such luck. And what a yucky day it's been on that score. Really, if you need something done, do it yourself. The world proves this to me every day.

( Ranting about stupid project group members )

So I sort of felt even worse when I saw Elena and Myles' observing report, but...god, it was so beautifully done. That's all Elena, the artist. She had everything printed up on nice stationary-type paper, with hand-drawn (and with Elena, that's saying something) title pages for each section, and little symbols for sub-sections. All that and it was bound like a book with a cover that Elena had painted herself - a little painting of she and Myles gazing up at the sky. It's just their backs, and Myles has his hands in his pockets and Elena is pointing upward.

It's just honestly beautiful, and the cover painting is touchingly whimsical.

Studying for my English diploma, the writing part.

I've just read Ernest Hemingway's "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" and been researching it so I can understand all the themes, symbolism, etc. if I want to use it for tomorrow's exam.

It's a slog. I have to take numerous breaks. I mean, when you get into "Hemingway vs. Camus vs. Fitzgerald in existentialism vs absurdism"...well, I dunno about you people, but it's making my eyes cross.

Ah, the joys of high-school English.

This is the story I promised elsewhere, one of my faves to tell...

When I was 9, my family moved from Saskatoon to Calgary (which I now consider my home.) I was not very popular at school in Saskatoon, kids thought I was a nerd, so I was happy to get a chance to start over. (Isn't any outcast? But how rarely hopes pan out...)

Unfortunately, I didn't do too well at my new school, either. (Big surprise.) The school was quite old-fashioned, with big wooden desks. The desktops were all individually patterned, and apparently the teacher saved the "best desk" for me, the one all the other kids coveted, because she wanted to make a new student who arrived half-way through the year feel "welcome." This didn't win me any friends...neither did being smarter than everyone and getting told I would be skipping a grade...neither did wearing boy's clothes and having a boy's bowl haircut. I simply had no friends at all.

As I've mentioned, the school was old-fashioned. They had separate doors for boys and girls to enter and exit by at recess. Maybe because these doors were right by the respective washrooms, strict rules were kept about kids only using the doors for their assigned gender. A teacher stood at each set of doors at the beginning and end of each recess period, and scanned for deviants.

I hung out by myself on the playground, making no effort to become friends with anyone. Subsequently, there was no one willing to defend me when I needed it.

One day, after I had only been at my new school for a couple of weeks, I got into trouble when the bell rang. The teacher "guarding" the girls door did not teach any class I had, and did not recognize me. I had been able to sneak past a myopic volunteer when she was absent, but now that she was back, she caught me. "Just where do you think you're going, young man?"

"I'm a girl," I told her, just like I was supposed to.

"What do you think I am, stupid? I know just what you're trying to pull young man, and you won't get away with it!" (I was 9. What did she think I was trying to pull?) "Get out of here!"

Girls streaming past up the steps giggled and gave me nasty looks, as if to say, "That's what you get when you look like a boy."

I had no better luck at the boy's door - the "guard" was my French teacher, stern, formidable and unyielding. When all the other children were inside, both teachers hauled shut and locked both sets of doors as if they didn't even see me, alone and near tears, sitting on the ground a few dozen feet from the steps.

I was terrified. What did I do? It was absolutely forbidden for a student to use the front doors during school hours unless they were arriving late. I knew my teacher, Ms. Green, would be mad at me. I sat and waited for someone to come find me. No one came.

Finally, I decided to risk a front-door entry. It was just my luck the principal was coming out of his office right then. He demanded to know what the hell I was doing. I couldn't answer. He told me I had detention with him and sent me to class.

Ms. Green went atomic when I appeared at the door, and gave me a chewing-out in front of the class about being late off recess, making her put me before all the other kids, and how unfair that was. (She put me first, huh? Why didn't she make an effort to find me for 20 minutes?) I got detention with her.

I served my detention with Ms. Green, skipped out on the principal, and had my parents fix the sitch. Thank God. Oh, and I didn't skip a grade, either. My parents moved me schools after I was there 6 weeks.

Sorry this is such a long entry. I'm amused by this now, of course...mostly.