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Jeepers, while it's nice to know that Groucho and his many offspring are on the job hoovering up the ants and such, having a baby centipede using my desk for a jungle-gym is more than a little unnerving. It ran along the wire edge of the shelf above Formerly's head, as I scrambled to get a good enough look at it to see how upset I was going to have to get, and then proceeded down the hanging CD rack, off a long dangly earring that's hung at the base of same and onto Formerly's speakers, and along the wires of Formerly's support shelf, upside down, in the general direction of my USB hub, where I lost interest in following it. Nimble little bastards, centipedes.
The continued Octoberish weather has had me locked in a shrieking-at-the-walls kind of mood, looking towards actual calendar October with unalloyed dread. I'm overreacting to everything, at this point; for example, I got insulted on KoL tonight, and it sent me into that old familiar tailspin of who are you trying to kid, you know you have no right to exist for most of the hour it took to convince my limbic system that they were just some random internet assclown. (You do have to wonder how we've become a society that takes its games so deadly seriously; I have a vague notion that it has more than a little to do with the general uselessness we all feel in a world with fewer and fewer meaningful slots for a larger and larger population, and we're all trying to inflate our own importance with whatever slight degree of difference we can claw out to set us apart from the rest of the herd, even if it's "I have more Imaginary Units than you".) Still, people can be damn rude, and I haven't been in any sort of frame of mind lately where I can deal with that well. Need to get the synopsis rewritten so I can get back on track with the agent search, at least that's something of real consequence to be depressed over...
EDIT: Oh, yes, I had meant to pose a question: I've heard women's accounts of feeling like imposters all the time and it's only a matter of time until they're found out, but does anyone else get that feeling that their essential fraud is existing in the first place? I suspect that these are degrees of the same underlying issue, but I'd be curious to hear whether it generally stops with the "I'm not really [specific function]" for other people and I'm just really messed-up...
The continued Octoberish weather has had me locked in a shrieking-at-the-walls kind of mood, looking towards actual calendar October with unalloyed dread. I'm overreacting to everything, at this point; for example, I got insulted on KoL tonight, and it sent me into that old familiar tailspin of who are you trying to kid, you know you have no right to exist for most of the hour it took to convince my limbic system that they were just some random internet assclown. (You do have to wonder how we've become a society that takes its games so deadly seriously; I have a vague notion that it has more than a little to do with the general uselessness we all feel in a world with fewer and fewer meaningful slots for a larger and larger population, and we're all trying to inflate our own importance with whatever slight degree of difference we can claw out to set us apart from the rest of the herd, even if it's "I have more Imaginary Units than you".) Still, people can be damn rude, and I haven't been in any sort of frame of mind lately where I can deal with that well. Need to get the synopsis rewritten so I can get back on track with the agent search, at least that's something of real consequence to be depressed over...
EDIT: Oh, yes, I had meant to pose a question: I've heard women's accounts of feeling like imposters all the time and it's only a matter of time until they're found out, but does anyone else get that feeling that their essential fraud is existing in the first place? I suspect that these are degrees of the same underlying issue, but I'd be curious to hear whether it generally stops with the "I'm not really [specific function]" for other people and I'm just really messed-up...
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