lather, rinse, repeat

Today: pain. Muscular and… stomachular again? Hey, that ain’t right! When I said, I generally end up bleeding after every fight, that is not what I meant! Goddamn cyborg implant – I may have to find an alternative. Also, I still have Germs, still, which sets me up for a rather craptacular day at work, does it not? What with the grading coming up and progress on the Sums having become mired in the bog of Malaise, I decided it is finally time to Take Medicine. Due to my cunning plan of never taking medicine ever unless things have gotten beyond the point where it would do any good*, I have loads of medicine! It all came to work with me today. With the Sums. And the fightclub kit. The Acerbic one from Records hailed me on my way in with the words, Moving house?

Still, I do have a rather spectacular bruise on my forearm – like a big, black fairy ring, so it is. I think it might be the same size and shape as that guy from Saturday’s elbow. I showed it to everyone when I got into the office. Some people will never stop being ten, I guess.

*(You gotta laugh at how things pan out. When I was a kid, Never Taking Medicine was my Chestnut-haired Old Mother’s medicine-chest stalwart – many is the week I sat with a limb or appendage thrice the size of the other one, while various remedies such as, nothing, were applied; until such time as it was decided that, for instance, I was faking nearly a month of having a massively-swollen foot from treading on a bee, and the Cinderella method was then applied. (“The shoe will fit! Heave!”) When common-sense had finally reasserted itself, I swore blind that once I was an autonomous unit, this sort of nonsense would not be foisted upon me. And it isn’t – Taking No Medicine is now my own personal choice. Dammit, I need therapy or something).

Anyway, the lemsips were very tasty indeed until my Cellmate decided I was overdosing and took them away. Dammit, I was feeling great! Well, feverish. Beats the hell out of ‘terminally anxious’, at least.

Today, my renewed efforts to upload this damn photo failed again. Paroxysms of futile rage ahoy! My Cellmate and I got a photo taken, this time – which is roughly ALL the percent further than I’ve got with this by-our-lady registration process before – but efforts to extract it from the phone, by wire, by internet, by sodding telekinesis, all failed again. Sigh. Tonight, the struggle beings anew. And I wouldn’t mind but I know damn well this should be straightforward and take two minutes, and hey – at the start of the year, did I not download and use unfamiliar video-editing and photo-editing software to good effect, all in under an hour? And yet, here I am, Thwarted. And ready to chew through something.

in a fit of pique, I bought more of the Malazan Book of the Fallen. Which is in itself a kind of self-inflicted Thwart – the original book arrived, looking innocent enough, away back when Keighley library were having a sale – all the books you can fit in a carrier bag for a quid. Bargain! To make it even more bargainsome, the staff insisted I cram the bags fuller after I tried to rein in my naked greed.  Most of these books were dreck, of course, and I gave them away in turn, but this particular one I really enjoyed (if by ‘enjoyed’ I mean, ‘I got attached to all the characters and then they all died in heartbreaking ways and I cried’, which I do).

Characteristically for a library, it proved to be book two in a series of five they didn’t have any more of. It lay, like a landmine, on my bookshelf for a full seven years before suddenly going off in my hands last week, when I discovered this is one series that is actually getting finished (not falling for that one twice, Robert Jordan, and thank god I bailed before the inevitable. If you didn’t pad it out to the tune of ten pages a throw about how all the women think everyone else but them is shit, you’da finished it, huh?) This finished series runs to ten volumes, now. Thus I am forced – forced, I tell you – to purchase the rest of the series. The irony is superb. At an original price of around seven pence, book two is now one of the worst bargains I ever bought. Also, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The Sums are stagnant, the grading’s coming up, and I am BROKE.

Also, I’m struggling with the philosophical implications of a lifestyle devoted to walking, working, fighting and Sums, and even more with the philosophical implications of not being very good at maintaining a lifestyle devoted to walking, working, fighting and Sums. Am I trying too much? Am I slacking off? Why in the name of god am I wasting even more time by telling the internet stories of the mundanity of it all? Am I trying to prove one day of my life is not exactly like the next? Am I shutting myself off from wonderful experiences? Am I justified in spending any money at all, and how can I possibly afford any wonderful experiences until this drudgery is over? (I blew a fiver on cheese tonight, things are looking grim.)

To escape the unending questions, I threw the Sums across the room and had a cheap-arse Wonderful Experience. No, not like that; I finished book three. Basically because finally I have taken a photo for this sodding uni registration (why I need one, I do not know, I am not entitled to a matric card). While cropping it to size, I could not help but notice that, goddamn, under flash lighting do I ever land heavily on the wrong side of ‘plain’. Which was obvious already or I’da had a little flock of admirers fawning round my feet the way I’ve seen em fawn around the feet of those on the other side of the coin (yeuch, say I, you can keep it. I’m not a heartbreaker by inclination), but tonight I discovered that my nose is squint. Oh mirrors, you lie to me so kindly, but flash photography, you are not my huckleberry. Now, I’ve had all my life to get used to the ‘plain’ part, but the nose? Methinks, a break from a society where straight teeth in your mouth are more important the words that come out of it, into another fiction; where even the plain – if true of heart and incredibly fucking badass – are hot.

(Which ups the ante for next week’s fightclub grading, eh).

And it was sodding awesome (if by ‘awesome’ I mean, ‘I got attached to all the characters and then they all died in heartbreaking ways and I cried’, which I do).

So, on the minus side – I am no further on at all. With anything. On the plus side, wow, I feel totally alive. Go figure.



About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in all the small things, cheese with that?, inadvertent loonytunes admission. Bookmark the permalink.

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