Not dead as of yet, just feeling very very meh about what passes for my life, but that isn't News. But this is News, so I shall post it: my raspberry bushes, which are apparently fall-bearing varieties, finally produced more than a couple of berries at one go. (We put them on sugar-cookies with a lime glaze. They were delicious.)
It struck me that a bit in the most recent installment of "Trevor & Jason" had a potentially problematic reading. So I gave it some thought, and came up with a revision that I think/hope gets to the same place that the narrative needs to go, without the detour into "um, wait, or did they mean..." of the initial version. So. Live, learn, rinse, repeat.

(And it does trouble me, on the meta-level, that I do have the power to go in and alter the available text like this, which is why I mention it; it's probably not an accident that the Sekrit Project is a high-tech dystopia where they wouldn't even be aware that they had memory-holes things could drop into... and there's a certain irony in the fact that I think I lost a high-tech physical-backup of that at a free movie in a park the other night. :/ )
Still picking away at the worldbuilding on Sekrit Project, and I think I've got a handle on the Suicide By Cop -- now all I need to work out is why the kindergarten teacher has the gun in the first place...

And now, a treat for the Readers: since this story was written with a very specific market in mind, and since today is its sell-by date in certain respects vis-a-vis finding it another home in a timely fashion, I'm just going to put this out here for my own amusement and y'all's. Enjoy?

Passion )
"Captivity enters year two. Gay line-dancing is Ren's only solace."

Now the water-heater broke. I'm beginning to sympathise with Ren's plight.
robling_t: (Default)
( Jun. 13th, 2016 08:00 pm)
Poll about dystopias over on LJ: what do you, the Reader-or-Viewer, find the most satisfying sort of ending? Possibilities, for the non-polly, are:

  • Protagonist is crushed by Society
  • Protagonist remakes Society
  • Protagonist allies with oppressing faction
  • Protagonist allies with oppressed faction
  • Protagonist evades Society from within it
  • Rocks fall, everyone dies
  • Protagonist's fate is ambiguous
  • I have no idea what I just watched/read or what it meant to Protagonist
I appear to have thrown myself wholeheartedly into worldbuilding for New Sekrit Project. Have to balance that with not neglecting Previous Sekrit Project, assuming anyone's still following that...

What I'm hung up at right now is the part where Muse, in-her-infinite-wisdom, seems to have mentally cast the Bernard Marx-y role in her Brave New World homage as Idris Elba. I suspect that it's Relevant, bordering on plot-Relevant, that he's both A, an Englishman, and B, not a white Englishman, but it would be nice for once to be able to dredge up some of the stuff that goes on at the level of subconscious intuition to where I can interrogate the crap out of it before I'm elbows deep in things and have to work back to see how I can reinforce ideas I'd half(-assedly) worked out here and there already. Because compared to that, I suspect that genderswapping most of the rest of the cast is fairly small potatoes, relatively speaking...

(Have also learned that Shaw's original ending for Pygmalion was basically going to be "Eliza punches Henry in the face and goes off to work for universal suffrage" -- I may have interpreted it in my own unique idiom. Feeling rather vindicated in my displeasure at Billy Elliot right about now.)
Spent a few more days on the treadmill of negative self-talk, to the point where I got physically shaky with the rage/upset a couple of times, and then I guess I must have worn it out like the Excessive Machine in Barbarella because all of a sudden it seems to have ground to a halt. For now. Cautiously optimistic that the Brainweasels have been bought off for a while by:

  • A, the resolution to try to sort out the semilooming healthcare-status situation as soon as I can block out the time, probably Monday at this point, and

  • B, the story idea that walloped me over the back of the head on the way out to knitting last night, which turned out to be another one of those walking-into-things-muttering-for-two-hours doozies that I think I need to either be talked out of, or into, I can't quite tell yet.

(Anybody out there think that there's a potential market for an updating of a zeerusty inter-war dystopia to reflect that we now know exactly how much worse it could get? I need somebody to hold my feet to the fire to get me to do this, if so, because the treadmill could start up again at any moment with the 'everything sucks and nothing's worth doing' Brainweasels' Gentlemans'-Auxiliary Chorus...)
Shoe #I-forget-what: the sump-pump died. Not that I can blame it, it came with the unit and our Alleged Guy was kind of impressed that it lived as long as it had, but dammit, we were going to use the rest of the tax refund to catch up with fixing the last total disaster...
robling_t: (Default)
( May. 10th, 2016 02:54 pm)
Going to go Do A Thing, that is not any of the Things that desperately need doing, to distract myself from my continued inability to knuckle down to doing any of the Things-that-desperately-need-doing.

If spring would ever frickin' come, maybe I could break out of this...
Dangerously unmotivated. It's not for lack of things that I desperately need to take care of; more the generalised lack of faith that taking care of them will amount to anything, either in the short or the heat-death-of-the-universe timescales.

(At least half of that has to be the fallout from the lingering suspicion that I am not the one who screwed up regarding the change-of-address notice And Yet. It's not as if I had much ability to suspend disbelief about the probability of people actually doing their jobs before.)

Not sure what to do. I need therapy; theoretically I'm now in a position where I could obtain something resembling therapy; obtaining said therapy would involve finding the motivation to sort out at least one of the things I can't find the motivation to sort out. And that's setting aside previously-mentioned hangups about having any underlying sense of self-worth regarding the probability of receiving therapy. It's the usual Brainweasel pickle, IOW...
It isn't every day you find out which crack your life slipped down twenty years ago.

A change-of-address form. Which either didn't get sent, or wasn't noticed if it did, who knows at this remove. But it turns out that that was why my college never contacted me to explain What Happens Now after I took some time off to regroup; no exit interview, no here's where you could go from here, and no by the way this is the paperwork for a $500 loan you may not have been told that you actually received that you'll have to settle at this point Because The Reasons.

You may be getting an inkling of where this story is going.

Contact was reestablished at least one intervening move later, by which point said forgotten loan was in collection and we wrote to ask College why we were getting letters about that when neither of us could recall seeing paperwork to the effect it had actually gone through in the first place. Oh, College said, we can't lay hands on your file, it might have been for this? (But I never did the this.)

We went into the office. College still couldn't find the file to sort out whether this was even my loan. So the question sort of... got left there, Eh, well, paperwork, what can you do. And there matters stood for a couple more moves, and twenty-two years, and $1200 in penalties-and-interest, until I finally got annoyed enough at having to explain this in response to the periodic collection letters that I went all the way into Mum's files and combed through the actual College paperwork such as we had myself.

And found the loan. Or at least something resembling it in the right amount on one obscure printout. And we went into College's office again, and they produced my file at long last, and in the file was the original unopened undelivered this is due now please letter that anyone could have shown us at any time since we started asking about this in 1994.

Some days it just does not pay to chew through the straps.

I'm not sure where this goes from here; we're talking to College about how to resolve this, starting with why didn't (several-finance-officers-ago) actually explain HOW to clear this as a disability case, which is where I'm currently hung up trying to figure out who my medical chain-of-command to prove any of that even is. (To sum up: Plan dropped $DOCTOR, I dropped Plan, New Plan said 'sure, have $DOCTOR', and then assigned me someone who's not $DOCTOR. Cue phone-tag hell...) I'd just go ahead and pay it off if I was remotely in any position to; College does seem willing enough to shoulder some blame for the part of the fees that have accrued since we originally tried to resolve this 20-odd years ago (the most recent offer from Collection is in the neighbourhood of $1200 instead of $1800 -- do other people's lives get so wrecked over amounts a CEO wouldn't even wipe their arse with? Or is that a stupid question these days?). But right now I'm at a spoonless ebb just trying to think about which thread of this to start unpicking first...
(Two installments in less than two weeks, who'd have thunk it??!? Note to Self, do not let Muse suggest any more #@$$%'ing road trips...)

Trevor and Jason, Vignette #58: It's a relief to be back to work... )
Um, well, yes, at least eight months is better than nine, I guess? And I do swear that a certain reference has been in this section or thereabouts since Muse decided to take this @!##$ing road-trip in the first place lo these couple of years ago now, and not marking recent events as it may now appear. (There was originally another one in a sequence cut from the outset of the trip, which may give one some indication of how much bloody rewriting this stretch has undergone throughout and just why it's been taking so long to get these segments released.) Anyway, for the couple of you who haven't died of old age waiting yet:

Trevor and Jason, Vignette #57: I know why Jason has looked at every... )
The car is home. Final damages to the Other Guy's insurance: about $4500, and another grand for the rental. Not to mention that I have my fingers crossed that it's really going to be as nice out this weekend as has been promised, since apparently they washed it inside as well as out and it stinks so bad that Mum had to roll the windows down from it. But, the car is home, and that's a thing.
robling_t: No, seriously, bollocks (bollocks)
( Jan. 29th, 2016 03:13 pm)
...More than $5k damage estimated to the car, not to mention several days of work lost already because it's taking forever to sort a rental. As I've seen people saying, could somebody turn 2016 off and back on again to see if that would help...?
On today's episode of "Mum's Adventures In Driving", she parked the car, went inside to pick up the delivery-job, and came back out to find that a guy from the company she was picking up at had backed the sticky-out-bit of the back of the company's truck through her back window.

They are allegedly going to pay for this.

I think that if they don't SHE WILL FIND THEM, ifyouknowwhatImean. She's a bit stressed.
Still sewing up blanket -- edges done, now I have to experiment with ways to secure the strips to one another in the middles. This may well take another year...

I've been trying all week to wrap my head around the idea of a world without David Bowie in it. The depth of my own response has caught me by surprise: I think at least half of it's coming out of that old Brainweaselly "and here nobody even notices you when you're in the room, much less would your passing be the lead news around the world", which may be an impossibly high bar but tell that to Brainweasels; but the other half is that simple shock of having a rug that's always been there pulled out from under you, because I'm very nearly the same age as his fame and I've never known a world without his influence. A well-played life, indeed.

Did I mention that the yarn shop I hang out at as 2/3 of my Alleged Social Life is closing at the end of this month? Yeah, there may be some serious emotional displacement going on here.
And all that remains is the assembly; once I've got the pieces woven together and sewn at the edge, I shall have a blanket that's about... um, six foot square. Yeeeeah. Surprisingly, did not have to buy any additional yarn, though my worsted-weight stash is pretty well cleaned out and I'll have to nick one skein back from Mum for the edging.

Onward to other ongoing yearlong endeavours: 2016 marks year eleven of Media Consumption lists, with year ten coming in at 146 books, and 57 films, and ten years tilting at this bloody windmill at a grand total of 965 books and 491 films. Um. Yes. If anyone cares to check the math, go ahead, I'll just be lying here with a cold cloth over my eyes. On to the second ten years:

Media Consumption List, 2016 )
She wants to stay up to see if the wolf will bring the sun back.

A good wolf would, she insists. And it's not like I can argue with her there. It's lesson number one around here, no matter how weird her extended pack is. Never let anyone tell you that raised by wolves is an insult.

"Look, Pupcake, we can wake you up real early and it'll be almost the same, right? You don't have to try to stay up all night."

I don't know where she got that glare from. Maybe Sandra. I'll have to ask Mom. "They get to go out."

We're not quite at the developmental stage where I can even explain which part of that is the most ridiculous, when I did let her have some of Cecily's glitter for her hair when she asked. When Millennials parent, Max murmurs.

"All right for you, Grampula, maybe you noticed that I don't get to go out clubbing either."

Trev's pleading look says that he'd happily, happily stay home with her if he thought he could get away with it, or get the eyeliner off by himself either. "We'll wake you both when we get back in," he promises, with an expression to say that if he has anything to do with it that'll be in about an hour. There's more honking from down in the street, and a moment later Trev frowns and pulls out his phone; "-- She 'has her dancing feet on'," he reports, and gloomily lets himself be herded towards the door to the horrible fate of a night out of dinner, dancing, and dinner. I hope it goes okay, Cecily's looking a little eager.

Oh, well, there's always midnight mass and Chinese to look forward to, if nobody's on the run by then, and we can bring the Pup to that. I sigh and go to fetch her a bedtimey book: "Okay, so, which do you want, 'Goodnight Moon', or 'Go The Fuck To Sleep', huh? Please?"
robling_t: (Default)
( Dec. 16th, 2015 04:36 pm)
Decided to go on ahead and finish up the knitting on the blanket.

26 strips in total, which I now have to math into one big piece; going with the weaving idea, that means trying to get them all blocked into a size that's 1/13th as wide as it is long, so proooobably about 5'x4.5" -- I've pulled out the two longest and the two shortest to see how well they can be massaged into being the same dimensions. And then I have to find the space and the time-stroke-patience to pin them all out to dry in shifts, because as you can see it's quite the area they cover and this ain't gonna happen all in one go... More To Come.