kbk

I just freaked myself out.

As edithmatilda could tell you, I've been obsessing about cannibalism for a week or so now. It started with a crappy bit of fic in my head, and it has not quite reached book-buying stage, but I have been reading bits and pieces. (Actually, I was reading about serial killers a couple of weeks back - I forget why... no, I was reading wikipedia for QI and there was a link and so on. And I just finished knitting this hat which I saw a while back and thought was awesome. Still have to block it and sew bits, though.) Anyway, I'm fairly comfortable with my weirdness, morbidness, etc.

On the bus today, coming back from getting drugs (god, drugs! I ran out two days ago and yesterday was curled up in bed sweating ridiculously, and I managed to force myself to class but my inner thermostat was fucked, and then I ended up staying up all night so I would get drugs today) I started thinking about a story that starts, "The first time I knowingly ate human flesh..." and so when I got home I had to start writing it.

That's not what freaked me out. One of the other people is essentially my brother-in-law - not that you can tell from what's written, which is only about 400 words, but the one character point he has, yeah, that's where he came from - and I just implied that they later killed and ate him. And my POV character only comments on the loss of his cooking skills. Actually, the whole roast dinner is inspired by the meal we had at their house last weekend. (At the end of that visit, sister commented that I had "hardly said a word," which ties in with last post somewhat; but I was comfortably quiet, for most of it, just didn't really have anything to say, especially since I was already on the cannibal track.)

Anyways! Stuff, me, has been up and down, therapy has been happening and I hate it but that probably means it's working, progress on the flat is slow (but the other day I tidied what was hopefully the last big mess, a pile of dust and ash, and wound up with black snot), also I bought a Logic Puzzles magazine and have been obsessing over that somewhat. Had a 'talk' with parentals at the weekend which may or may not have helped; complained that dad said fuckall and got about two words out of him, that sort of thing.

Also Miriam gave me copies of "Murder Ballads" by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, which is my latest play-over-and-over-and-over, which probably is not leading to a brain full of sweetness and light, but it's such fun, especially "The Curse of Millhaven".

Anyway, I have achieved, I went out and I have made stuff and I have even written a little for the first time in aaaaaaages, so, go me! and now I shall sleep, if I can.

I thought I had lost my camera, having gone round the room looking in and under things, but I picked up one more thing and there it was. Huzzah.

I have this bad habit, you see, of putting things in visible places and then putting other things on top of them, or knocking them over, or suchlike. Occasionally I put things in 'safe places' - this is a family joke, because my mother used to do that, and then forget where exactly said place was, and we once got christmas presents in, um, April? Or I toss things down at random. Or I put a bunch of unrelated things in a bag, usually to take them downstairs or bring them back, and then I leave them there, and when I look in said bag I'll only see what's on top and assume that's what that bag is for. So. My life would be easier if I was tidier. Or had less stuff. Or had more storage. (I can't wait to be in my flat.)

Also, having worn my copper ring for no more than two hours, my thumb has a greenish tinge to it. Yay.

Today I spent over five hours at the flat, painting on goo and stripping off wallpaper and painting on primer and stripping off goo-ed stuff. I am really freaking sore now so I am running myself a bath.

As far as I know parentals are back tomorrow, so I have been tidying some more - I did actually do some tidying earlier on, so there was not a whole lot. And I emptied the tumble-dryer yesterday. But on the way home, about half-way from the bus-stop, I paused, because I had the sudden thought that they might be back, and if they were I didn't want to come back. That's not what home is. Sigh.

I was going to say the only thing I will miss is the cats. But I won't miss the yowling and the puking and the fighting and the pissing and the occasional dead animals. So I won't miss much at all, really.

I know the flat is basically all I'm talking about right now but it's most of what I'm doing right now, so.

Yay, bathtime. My shoulders will thank me.

Am mildly dead.

Finally went to the flat today, spent about three hours taking off cork tiles - some of them came off remarkably easily, which meant I didn't get terribly frustrated. I did however skin about half my knuckles. Heh. Also the man returned our ladders so I can strip the wallpaper up high in the bathroom.

Also I went to B&Q on my own on the way home. It is a little inconvenient and a little intimidating but it is really nice to be able to wander as I wish instead of following dad around (he always spends ages in the wrong aisles, dammit). And I bought green paint for the broken doorframe that has been like an advertisement that the front door was once kicked in. And I picked up a bunch of the sample cards to look at colours for the walls. I'm still considering. Oh, but I definitely need white gloss for the woodwork which is nasty and yellowed. La-la-la... I should dig out the rug to check colours. Yes.

Still lots of cleaning to do, a bit more stripping, some papering, then a bunch of painting. Then furnishing. Ah, hell, the hard shit's done.

That makes five days I haven't managed to go to the shop despite meaning to. Though I did go to other shops and keep myself somewhat supplied with caffeine. Sigh.

I have, however, been to two choir rehearsals and a metal class. And next week I will do the same and I'm going to learn to weld!

And I took Laa out and we signed up for a jewellery making class. And then I also signed up for stained glass making, and was the first one on the list - hopefully there will be enough people by the time it starts. We had to sign up for jewellery now, though, because it is one of the popular ones, with two classes and one was already full.

And I have spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at tiles on the internet. First it was pricing (bottom end, which is the idea, is £5-15 per sqm; but some people apparently pay over £100 per sq m, which would mean my not-large bathroom costing a couple of thousand, which is insane, and these people probably have much larger rooms and pay somebody else to tile them. Though I admit the Live Glass ones are pretty - they're kind of like those ridged cards with changing pictures that you used to get, with stripes of glass that change colour depending on the angle you're at. But I still gawp at the price.) but then I got involved in thinking about my kitchen - which is just, like, sink, fridge, cooker, two metres wide, with wall cabinets as well, and I was going... oh, these ones come in half-metre-squared packs, I could use a few different shades of blue... or ooh, those red ones are awesome, and those black ones, I could just buy a few and use them as accents in plain white... or oh, I do like those mosaic-y ones even though they're a bit expensive, and it's not like I'd need many of them... Essentially doing what I did when I was shoe-shopping. Not good, self, not good. (ETA: sweet jebus, some of the mosaic ones are over £200. wait, no. £300 per sq m. My gast is flabbered.)(ETAA: brushed-effect metal mosaic, actually quite pretty, nearly £40 per sheet... 11 sheets per square metre. My jaw, it is dropped.)

Speaking of shoe-shopping, there was a magazine I picked up waiting somewhere, and it had people who organise people's wardrobes, and one of said organising people said, "The average girl has 50-100 pairs of shoes and 40 pairs of trousers." I got rid of about half my shoes because I thought twenty pairs was far too many. And I may have ten pairs of trousers but I doubt more than half of them are actually wearable. So. Y'know. I'm amused. I forget that people think I'm strange.

mmm... brains... knitted brains... I've been contemplating a brain-splodey hat, but I would get all perfectionist about it. Blah.

I put doors on the kitchen cabinets, then realised you're supposed to drill through behind the hinge to join neighbouring cabinets. It doesn't apply to all of mine, because of positions and sizes and things, but I still went d'oh.

Had a grump earlier - part low blood-sugar (comparatively, anyway), part paternal's complete... agh. He told me - at dinner, mind - that he's taken the next two days off and we're going to work on the flat. Usually, this wouldn't be a problem. It's not like I have any life at all, really. But this weekend is G's hen-do, and I was planning on going into town tomorrow and hitting the vintage shops for accessories. And I could have gone today, if I'd known tomorrow was taken. So I grumped. So we went over this evening and I am graciously allowed to go shopping tomorrow afternoon. It's not even a big deal, I'm just annoyed.

Also I have no clean knickers. Sigh.

Bleeding sucks and I am sick of it. I am totally going to ask the doctor about the pill where you only bleed four times a year.

We have bought things for the bathroom at the flat - fittings and such. Stuff is happening! And apparently parental wants me 'moved in' by the end of March for council tax reasons, which I'm pretty damn excited about - it's going to take a while after that to get vaguely how I want it, but still, still, it is Not Here. And there's no point whatsoever in feeling guilty about any of it.

Tomorrow I'm going to go into Glasgow and see about a class, and also do some shopping if I can be arsed (can has christmas money, yays). And also make phonecalls.

So I aten't sleepin, nosiree.

Argh. Bit of a hell-week, and all my own fault, as per usual. Started out failing to go to shops, get prescription, or do laundry - damn, am out of clean knickers. Gah. Anyway.

Wednesday was worst - I had an appointment with the psychiatrist, and it was goddamn cold so I didn't want to go out, and was running a bit late. At the bottom of the drive I slipped on ice and fell on my arse (to the left.) Then waited at the bus-stop for a good fifteen minutes before realising that, due to roadworks, the bus was not running along that road. Started down to the main road, and called dad, because he was off to do flat-stuff, and luckily he was in the house, so I went back so he could give me a lift, and carefully walked to the wall at the bottom of the drive, and at the very last icy step, SPLAT on my arse (to the right.) Then half-an-hour early at Dykebar, so wandered a bit - looked at boarded-up old buildings, and saw lots of birds, including a robin, and also a squirrel, which was cool. Then talked to man. Ugh. At one point he asked a seemingly innocuous question which left me crying uncontrollably. Then, of course, I got a lift back from dad and concentrated on doing up the bathroom instead of, I dunno, actually talking to him about anything.

Anyway, Thursday was recovery, but that's when I ran out of drugs, so Friday I was shivering in bed until five o'clock when I realised 'oh shit still have to go get prescription and they won't be open tomorrow' so I went down for tea and babbled a bit, and dad went and picked it up for me, for which I was of course grateful, but, but, argh. And this morning I was ready, I wanted to go, so of course he was looking for things, and stopping off at B&Q, and finally we got to the flat and the chemist on the ground floor and I got my drugs and that was good.

And I put filler in the holes in the walls and then I took the tiles off the top of the fireplace with hammer and chisel which was loud and lots of hitting things and that was good. Though I did hit myself a few times, and also slice a knuckle.

When I turned on 'nando he was not happy with me and wanted to do lots of terribly slow scanning things. The one good thing about the intermittent bollocksing of mine 'puter is that it lets me pick up a book once in a while. My birthday present from G (which I only got a few weeks ago, which is why it's still at the top of the pile) was Doctor Who: The Writer's Tale and she said her friend liked it despite not liking Rusty, and I'm finding the same thing, really. Interesting, to say the least; seeing the development of the Kylie episode, for example.

Also I have learned the alphabet in Braille. Optically, of course. Maybe I should try making dents in paper. Was it Jefferson or one of the other presidents who could read Braille? He could sit in a darkened theater and read. And his hands would stay warm under the blanket.