kbk

So, some stuff has happened - not a great deal, but some, still, and anyway.

I signed up to do a craft fair, and then it got postponed to last weekend because of a fire at the venue, and hardly any customers came, and I sold one keyring, which doesn't even cover my bus fare, and I tweaked my knee carrying all my shit home again. But I am giving them another chance and doing their next fair in about a month and if that is crap then I will stop throwing good money after bad.

My bank account is looking a bit unhappy as I have been spending more money than usual lately - with the craft fair, getting in a bunch of stuff to work on, and a few random bits and pieces, and also with yarn, of course. My stash is increasing because whenever I want something for a specific pattern I seem to wind up buying other stuff as well. I have been knitting a variety of baby stuff - oh, hey! reading back I see that I have not actually posted about that.

My sister is pregnant, due in a little over two months. It is the first spawn of the next generation, so it is all rather exciting and as I say, I have been knitting a bunch of stuff. She was down for work last weekend and has quite the bump, and I have just about got past calling it a parasite.

Also I had one of those moments where you think of the perfect retort ten minutes too late, because she made a comment about me going grey - I have a visible sprinkling, which I find quite amusing, especially being the youngest, and with the whole thing about Katie Holmes going grey when she is like five years older than me and not as 'bad' - and what I should have said is that she'll obviously catch up once she has the kid.

Eh. Stuff.

Oh, and Key - where I go to do the furniture stuff - has lost its NHS funding, which is what pays for me and most of the other clients to go there. So that stops at the end of the year, and since there will only be a few folk still going unless they get a training contract or something, there's a decent chance the whole place will close down. Which sucks, because I like it and it's been really good for me, and... yeah.

Also I have a lump on my finger where I scratched it the other day, except I didn't think I broke the skin so I don't know why it has gone lumpy. Hopefully it will go away by itself but if it gets worse I am totally going to the doctor because it would suck if my finger fell off. Not that that's likely, but, well. Better safe than sorry.

So, Christmas has been and gone. I have been online a fair amount but not talky. Stuff. Sleep patterns non-existent, being around people, etc.

Day was nice; am at sister's house, were five of us (two sisters plus husbands) now other sister and hubby have returned to Aberdeen; I am going home tomorrow. Dad visited unexpectedly on Christmas day, which was good because I sent most of my presents home with him, including the ironing board.

Have taught both sisters basic crochet, and cramped up my hand doing crochet all day, because I'm not that used to it, but I do seem to have developed a smooth motion, and now I have made a hat.

I just started looking at job stuff again ten minutes ago and already I feel like shit. "But what do you really want to do?" asked the woman at the job centre, and I looked at her blankly. What do you mean, 'want'? What do you mean, 'enjoy'?

I would talk to my psychiatrist about it but I now haven't seen him in five weeks, only two of which were my fault. I don't know if I'm supposed to go this week but I'm going to assume not. And he'd just ask how it made me feel, anyway.

:(

I am at the house, came over yesterday, am totally leaving tomorrow because with every day I spend in the flat - even failing to feed myself properly, lacking internet, having insufficient curtains and street noise and etc and more - even with all that, I am so much more relaxed and contented there than I am here. Even with internet. Not that I don't miss you all when I'm gone, but there are a couple of places in town with free wi-fi if I ever get really twitchy, and I am going to organise it for my flat very soon.

I own so much crap. I mean, so, so much stuff that I don't need, that I don't touch from one year to the next, but I don't throw it out because it might be useful, or, whatever. Ugh. Argh. Etc.

If they say they will be gone until Saturday, they should damn well STAY GONE until Saturday.

Parentals said Saturday, maybe Friday. Today is Thursday, and they are back, and I am ANNOYED. Partly this is because I have a load of laundry in the tumble dryer which I am not supposed to use and may or may not be able to sneak it out before She notices (though I really hope I do because I am so not up for a bitch-match right now).

Partly this is because I Have Plans, dammit. I was going to wash the pans tonight or tomorrow, I'm going to do stuff at the flat tomorrow, I... agh.

Partly it is because dammit, I was having a Good Day. OK, I stalled about leaving the house, but I went to B&Q and I went and did stuff at the flat and I went to IKEA and only got one more thing than I intended (and also some food but that doesn't count) and... and then I come home and the red car's sitting in the driveway and my good mood goes POOF.

Dammitall anyway.

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.

Parentals are returned. They apparently have a hundred pictures of cherry blossom. I have managed to avoid these so far. I was quite sociable last night. Go me.

Stained glass class is not happening because nobody else signed up. Boo.

Today a man came to the door to ask about one of the cats. See, we have two, Brock and Cruikshanks. Brock is bigger and sometimes bullies his brother. Cruikshanks goes off for days at a time. Now we have found out where. Apparently Cruikshanks has been living at their house a fair amount of the time. They call him Tiger and thought he was a girl cat (well, he has been snipped). I now feel less guilty about going away and leaving him here. Hah.

Going to flat with paternal tomorrow. Hopefully will also do shopping, get stuff to finish bathroom. May just paper walls, though. Dammit I am impatient!

I just waved off sister and brother-in-law - other sister left a little earlier. They came yesterday and today we did a bunch of stuff at the flat. Including using the horrible chemicals other sister bought for me earlier. So, much progress has been made, and it was quite clean at one point, though after that the melted paint got stripped. Goo.

The cork tiles are no more! I have triumphed!

And I have been fed better than I would have fed myself.

Annnnnnd I sneezed and the tissue was manky from all the dust I'd been breathing in.

And last night we watched Dr Who and I thought it was quite good and watchable.

And I was thinking about washing but I think I will just sleep instead. Sleep good.

ETA, 6 a.m., post-sleepage: Amazon Rank. Blah. I've seen the statement about it being a 'glitch' - seems like a mighty convenient glitch to me.

I have just about recovered from the weekend, and my sister is now Mrs H. Basically, ate too much, drank too much, read a poem without falling over, played too much Rock Band (seriously, instead of dancing there were games consoles), and drank some more.

( blah blah blah about wedding and entire weekend )

Really ought to sleep soon - things to do today. Mm. Finish reading current fic, pack bag for tomorrow, and sleep. Plan.

Saturday was my sister's hen night. We had a meal at a nice little restaurant (I had a Peking pizza - roast duck and plum sauce - yum) that doesn't have a liquor licence, so you bring your own. G brought twelve bottles of wine for tasting, to pick which ones to serve at the wedding. Most of us got rather drunk. I woke up with mysterious bruises, a twisted ankle, and a re-pulled arm muscle. It was an excellent night.

I wore my halter top (see icon), fabulous shoes and an excellent skirt that I bought on Thursday for more money than I planned on spending. I went into M&S for jeans and tights, and came out with jeans, tights, and two skirts (the other one of which I later discovered I was charged for twice, so I intend to go see about that soon).

On Monday I got up, looked outside, said, "oh, it's snowing," and went back to bed. Yesterday was much the same, with, "oh, snow's gone, it's all wet,"; in the evening there was choir, and we started out upstairs (which is colder) because of a meeting, so I was very glad of my four layers of clothing. Today I went to the shop and bought a big pile of sugary crap. And I made paternal go to B&Q to get the last kitchen cabinet, and I asked him about getting a sander (because last week we were sanding by hand, and it was not fun) and he said we already have one. So I pouted at him and we're going to try it once we can do stuff again. Currently there are men doing things to the flat. Things that involve pulling up floors. And putting in steel braces because otherwise there isn't enough support for any of the bathroom fixtures. And stuff.

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.