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Posts archive for: January, 2007
  • Morning Headlines: Are they really worth it?

    Just a quick one, before I leave for work:

    At 9 am, it's clear and sunny in Glens Falls, NY. The outside temp is 1 degree F, minus 17 C.

    Was reading a few headlines online.

    Oh gee, the USA (read: George W. Bush and company) has botched training the Iraqui military...what a suprise...yeah, that's about as much news as the the fact that it snows in Greenland in wintertime.

    A sherriff's wife was gunned down in her own driveway, along with a deputy..the man across the street's account: "...it was quite a bit of excitement. There were about 20 police cars and everything!" This is my culture, a man's neighbours wife gets murdered in her own driveway, and the man is all giddy with excitement...and one wonders why I don't want to live in my own country, anymore...yeah, I love modern American culture...I've said it before, I'll say it again...if many Americans were a pond, the fish would suffocate.

  • Well Here I am Again

    I did finally get a bit of sleep--less than four hours worth, sadly. Means it's really going to be a hard day. Think when I come home for lunch break at 3pm, I'll just wolf down a couple of hot dogs and take a 30 or 45 minute power nap--providing I can sleep and that the kids across the way aren't booming their stereo.

    Sent my 40 dollar student loan payment in--and now I've got an "you are about to default on your loan" statement...guess they didn't get my payment...geez--what next? Hope I don't have to make 2 payments now...sent a money order--if I'd sent a checque, it'd be okay--if they hadn't cashed the cheque, the money'd still be in the bank--now, I've apparently got this money order floating around out there, and may actually wind up having to pay 80 dollars for Jan/Feb! Damn, that's gonna' hurt.

    I already am in default for my 300 dollar plus student loans with Citibank, and am looking at having my pay cheques garnished and heaven knows what all...now this. I knew things were going too smoothly. And this was the one loan I could actually afford to pay! Now, if my payment's been lost--I don't know, maybe I can get a one-time tempoary reduced payment--but that's not good, as there may come a time in the future when I really do need reduced payments...have I mentioned that I really hate my life?

    Well, trying to force myself to eat something--it's a long time till I get home and eat lunch, something like a good 6 hours, really, inbetween--not good for us diabetics--and your'e pretty much limited to what you can eat at your computer station...gawd, this is going to be a long and miserable day--but, I did volunteer to pull these hours, no one made me...well, okay, the fear of the return of abject poverty made me--trying to eat on the equivilent of less then 10 pounds a week---but still, I wish now, that I hadn't.

    Ah well, if wishes were Dr Who collectables, I'd have wall-to-wall Dr Who in my house, ey?




  • Gobsmacked in Glens Falls

    Whoa!

    I was cruising the wwww. and found this site:
    "http://www.visit-newyork-online.com/saratoga_springs.htm

    Guess who's very first online "practice" article is featured on the front page?

    Moi's!!!

    :)

    I was totally and absolutely gobsmacked! I had no clue whatsoever that anyone had picked up my article. Early last summer, I did a "practice" submission to a free online e-zine website, writing a semi-mock tourism feature. (I mean semi-mock, because, tho' the facts are accurate, and I was writing seriously,I wasn't writing for an actual publication, but merely to keep in practice--hence my utter shock). I can't believe it!

    I'm just so...gobsmacked, flabberghasted, stunned. I'd no idea. And...

    Other sites have picked me up as well--not a lot, but enough to make me think maybe when I get out of my blue funk that I'm presently in, I should seriously start thinking up some feature article ideas and start doing some research and maybe even some interviews.

    I had no clue--no indication on the original website---that other websites would pick me up--and give me credit--no monetary compensation, mind--but hey--they gave me credit! Cool!
    Beats the limited circulation of the college newspaper, hands down.

    Now, I've been bombarded by reality enough in the last two years, to realize that this may lead to nought--and I certainly don't expect to get rich or anything naive like that...but, I love to write, and, well, any port in a storm, ey?

    I may not be talented--and that's fine, I've long since learned to be okay with that--, but I do feel that I'm a pretty good average writer--good enough for a few feature articles and essays maybe, at any rate.

    But wow--the homepage of a major NY tourism website? Whoa--I really needed bit of a lift, and well, this is something nice to find out about, isn't it?

    Other sites have picked it up: Saratgasuckers, Leisure and Sport Review, Article Rose.

    Another site picked up a long ago piece I wrote on removing moldy build up from old saddles...fancy that? That one was written in 2000!

    And something on Yahoo!, called Citymanual, picked up my other "practice" article on Adirondack adventures. Who knew?

    Well, I'm still in a bad way, emotionally, tonight--and physically not feeling great, either. Cabin fever? Winter blahs? Depression? Physical illness? Not a clue, I'm afraid. Just wish it would go away already.

    ADDENDUM:

    As if depression or whatever wasn't bad enough--now moi has insomnia--and I have to start my 10 hour shift in seven hours, which means, at best, I have all of 5 hours sleep left to me--assumming I ever actually do get to sleep, that is. Damn. That's all..just, Damn.

  • Puh-lease! Tell Me There's a Cure for DavidTennant-Itis


    Ohhh-no! My young fan friend is back! Another long e-mail. Seems she read a post I'd made tonight on the DW Online site, regarding my preference of Derek Jacobi over Tennant, as acting goes. Well, gosh, didn't moi get an earful?

    You'd think I'd said he was rubbish and he couldn't be the backend of a cow in a panto.

    I mean, Jacobi I've been watching for years--I hadn't even heard of DT until April of last year! At all! I think it's pretty much a compliment, when I put him next to DJ, considering I'd never even seen him act until I watched Christmas Invasion in late July of 2006.

    But, sadly, my young fan friend didn't see it that way. So, yours truly has been dutifully chastastized by a 15 or 16 year old. (Huge sigh.) Okay, so I have to PUBLICALLY APOLOGIZE to David Tennant. Yes, that's what she says I should do. Oh brother. :roll:

    Okay, so I apologize to David Tennant for him being second to Derek Jacobi. Okay? The things you do for teenagers.

    Ah well, I was young once myself...I think. Not sure I can remember back that far.

    I may be only 46 chronologically--but inside my head, I'm definately turning 90, ha-ha.

    Just ask the cats...nearly forgot to feed them their canned food, this morning...and boy did they ever remind me!

    And, she wants me to write a fan letter. Yuck. No. Not gonna' happen.

    Riiiight. Like a huge, filthy rich, super popular, ultra-busy star like David Tennant is going to give a flying fig what someone like me thinks? Ha!

    I'm manic-depressive, but I'm not delusional--at least, not yet anyway. Why waste 85 cents on a stamp, and a dollar or two on a card, for some secretary (albeit, I'm sure a very nice secretary) in some office (likely a very posh office, mind) that won't even read it, anyway?

    Nope. Life's too short to waste (okay, well, I've the time, haven't I?) on writing letters that will not only be meaningless to the recipient, but won't even be read in the first place?

    So what'd I tell my David Tennant fan girl..."Maybe." Stupid me. She'll probably take that as a "yes," if I know teenagers. (Insert another huge sigh here.) Whatare'ya gonna' do, ey? How do I let myself get roped into these things?

    And people wonder why I'm becoming a crotchey old maid?

    Well, tommorrow's my "long" day--two five hour shifts with that two hour lunch break at three p.m. Kind of rough on the stomach, working 10 to 3--I eat breakfast around 8:30, shower around 9---have to try and sleep later on long days--only a half hour--because, quite frankly, I need it. One's voice takes a bit of a beating on those 10 hour days--even if you are working two different sales programmes--two slightly different scrips--you're still eseentially saying the same thing over and over all day long--and trying to sound perky and polite and enthuiastic in the process of getting your arse verbally kicked every hour on the hour.

    It's nearly as tiring as some of the physical jobs I've had this year--but yes, easier on the feet and back, at any rate--but the throat and stomach and head tend to suffer instead.

    I did have a nice moment today, though--didn't make the sale, but I did tell this reitred teacher how lovely her profession was and how much teacher and professors have meant to me. She cried. I was speechless--hadn't expected that reaction--it seems she was feeling down and she told me my little totally offhand remark, had made her day, and made her feel better. Wow. The power of words, ey? That's why I love writing so much...and theater, as well--the power of words, of speech--a wonderful thing, ey?

  • When Wishes Mean Nothing and Dreams Turn to Dust

    It's hard, you know? Sitting here, night after night, Sundays, mornings..alone. No telling how many times I've gone over to the big front windows, the one's looking out onto Glen Street (the city's main street) and just stared out the window--at other people's windows, at people walking the streets, cars passing by, the moon, the snowfalling, the rain and frost the sunset, the branches of the trees swaying in the wind...sometimes, at nothing at all. Sometimes, my mind wanders to happier times, but that's only breifly.

    I realizie now, that I'm in a bad depression...a very bad one. The kind where you literally have to force yourself to do anything--write, watch a DVD, listen to music, read, do the wasshing up, even feed yourself. It's hard...and it's even worse in an empty room. You've no idea how bad it really is...unless you've been alone and depressed yourself, that is.

    I mean, I shouldn't be feeling this way, should I? God knows things have been a lot worse, gawd yes, so much, much worse. So what am I so sad about? Couldn't begin to tell you.

    What happens to us, the day when we grow up and realize that our personal wishes mean absolutely nothing, that one's dreams have withered and turned to dust? I'm tired. I don't know why, but I am.

    I should be happy, shouldn't I? I mean, in the moment, now? Bad things most certainly haven't stopped happening to me--no one will ever convince me of that...I'm not going to meet Prince Charming, or win the big lottery or be "discovered." I have a sort of decent job, at least, telemarketing beats cleaning toilets, or washing hundreds of pounds of dirty towels every day, hands down, ey? So why am I feeling so sad and empty for? I wish I knew.

    I wish I had a purpose in life. I wish I'd been able to finish college--have a real career. I wish I at least had a job where I could either be sort of creative, or help people...but wishes are worthless for someone like me. They no longer hold any meaning.

    Why? Because, I realize now, that I'm in that place that I've tried 40 year to avoid being in: a dead-end life, a dead-end job, dead dreams, dead in all but name.

    But, there's still some spark of life in me--one of the plus's of being a nutter, we can bounce back like a rubber ball. Maybe soon I'll "bounce" and get myself out of this funk I'm in. But it's rather sobering, to wake up one day, and find yourself in the place you never wanted to be.

    There's always tommorrow--maybe something good will happen. I am not totally ungrateful. I do appreciate my friends--and anyone who takes the time to think of me, to remember me, to talk or write to me--that's such a gift, you know? It's something to be grateful for, something I didn't have much of, for a while, last year.

    So...I'm stuck with a nothing life at the mo', but...I'm also stuck with that "maybe" nagging at me, that makes me take that one more step into tommorrow, to want to wake up just one more morning--with the promise that maybe "things will get better."

    You know? Maybe I'm just crazy enough to start believing that, soon...

  • How My Life is Like a Dr Who Villian and an Open Road

    Well, I must admit, sometimes I really wish I were someplace else. Not here. Not this. Okay, I am learning to accept this, finally. The months of my innerself screaming "NOooooo!," like a Doctor Who villan who's been foiled yet again by that trusty old sonic screwdriver, have more or less passed. I'm moving on, albeit, somewhat reluctantly.

    I must admit, it was beginning to seem as if my life had gone from this (mostly) innocent and naive existance, to this evil alter-ego. I mean, I had known heartache and hard times in the past before, certainly. But not all at once like this--and most definately not all piled up, one after another like one of those old train wrecks you see, with the wooden cars all telescoping into one another, until the lives inside--and everything else, are all crushed to bits into nothing.

    My life, in the last month, has--again, sort of---returned to normal. And it's hard for me to just stop the constant proverbial looking over my shoulder, in fear that my whole life will be once again swept away from me, that I will yet again, be left with nothing. Become nothing.

    How do you stop feeling that? I don't know. I'm trying to ignore that pesky little fear, scratching away at the base of my brain...but..I don't know.

    Maybe that's the thing, ey? Maybe it's the uncertainty, the unknwoing, that strikes its icy cold hand of terror into the heart of my quaking soul.

    But life is a journey, isn't it? Full of detours and dead-ends, yes. But you know, the one thing I always liked when on a path or driving down a new road--is, you never know what's waiting 'round that bend, do you?

    Sure, in my case, it's often been a deep dark pit of despair to fall into (again), but, there've been times, in the past year or so, when I've also had some lovely surprises. I've made new friends, for one thing. The most wonderful surprise of them all.

    Yes, I miss the ability to just get in the car and go for a drive over the hills and valleys of northeastern New York and western New England. I loved the living tapestry of the landscape, the mini-adventure of what I might see around that next bend...but, here I am, stuck at home, day in and day out, in the city--where I'd never thought I'd ever live, not me, the dedicated small town girl---but, alas, here I'm stuck. Maybe forever, maybe not. Guess I'll just have to see what's around that next bend, ey?

    So here I am, tonight, nearly half-past five in the evening, nothing much to do, and no one to do it with. Got a big ol' cat asleep on my shoulders, purring away in my ear. Was listening to part four of the Doctor Who concert--until the video decided it couldn't find me part 5. Ah well. I did find out that my number one favourtie actor, Derek Jacobi (sorry David Tennant fans--DT is #2 on my list, I'm afraid) is playing a part called The Professor on Doctor Who this year. Fantastic! Don't know what or whom this "Professor" is...a Time Lord, the Master, the Doctor, The Doctor's son, just some character in a lab coat, or the guy from Gilligan's Island...who knows. Well, I suppose "Who" does know, actually...but, you know what I mean. The Whovian rumour mills are flying with this little revelation, let me tell you...

  • Murry's Gold and a Cat with a Hair Fetish

    Well, it's another day, isn't it? Seconds passing into minutes, minutes passing into hours....gosh, isn't that the lyrics to one of those chesnuts my late mum used to play on her stereo in the kitchen? :DD The Ray Coniff Singers or some such or other...

    Anyhow, have been slugging my way through, trying to give an ear (and eye) to all 12 parts of the Doctor Who concert in Cardiff. Brilliant! What a wonderful idea--and for a really worthy cause, as well--or so I've been told, anyhow. Murry Gold's a genius. Guess I'll have to save my nickels and dimes (need the quarters for the laundromat and bus fare--when the busses are actually running, that is) and get the soundtrack album when it's available here in the states---really lovely stuff. Pure genius.

    So, here I sit, with my freshly washed hair. I actually have to have my behind in the seat in 20 min. so I must dash off now--get Flame's snoot out of my hair--she loves freshly washed hair! The wee little thing can't seem to get enough of newly shampooed hair, no clue why. Maybe it's because she can't see well? He nose just loves perfumey things. Can't sit here with wet hair without a nose and paw rummaging through it. Bit painful, sometimes, when she forgets I don't have fur to protect me from her claws.

    Well, off to another day of the same old boring scripts being read over an d over and over and over, and mean nasty people cursing my very existance--ah well, I did say I wanted this job, didn't I, he-he?

  • It Ain't Wagner on the Accordian--But it Works!!!

    So here I am, stuck here in the night with nothing but a headache (another minor concussion--but my hard head saved me) and a yowling cat in heat for company. Finally little Miss "I'm in HEAT! YOWLLL!" falls asleep on the old blanket in front of the radiator, and I think, "Ahhhh--peace and quiet." HA! Not on your life.

    Yes, the kids on the other side of the building are partying away again--and my ear plugs have seen better days (or rather, nights.) Here it is, 9:30 at night--and here, if I had a car, no prob, just go to the 24 hour K-Mart or WalMart and get another set, right? Problem. No car--in this case, I would have to spend around 8 dollars round trip car fare, plus 4 or 5 dollars for plugs, and wait about 20 to 30 minutes each way--in the cold night--in the bargain. Not gonna' happen.

    So what to do? OPERA! That's right, I turn on my Media Player and try to find the best--or rather, worst--opera station on the net. Turn the speakers to the wall facing the offending apartment, turn them up full volume and...voila! Works every time, like a charm. Seriously. Kids today loathe and destest opera, even more than I loathe and destest heavy metal.

    Believe me, they do most definately get the hint. They nearly always either turn it down, or turn it off, altogher. Love it! Bless opera.

    In my case, it truly ain't over 'till the fat lady (or fat Nancy, I should say) sings! And that would be my next course of action, actually. Get a Mr. Microphone and belt out some show tunes--but I wouldn't do that, not really. Wouldn't want to start a panic in the building, now would I?

  • This is What This is

    Well, Monday's here. Oh joy, oh rapture, oh...brother. Ah well, made it though the long dull weekend.

    The question is, when did my life change so much, that the most important thing in my life all weekend, was new curtains? Man, I really am getting old, aren't I?

    It's a bit strange, as well.

    I mean, going from a world of continual crisis, pain and upheaval--to nothing.

    I suppose it's a bit like a lone holidaymaker, coming home from the most fabulous and exciting holiday he or she has ever had--and then being grounded by a blizzard or fog or whatever, at the airport for days on end. Or, like the time I was a stablehand--loved my job--couldn't wait to get there in the morning, always hung around after work...then, one day, I got hurt, and the owner also had a massive coronary and died instantly. And then, the stable closed, and it was back to unemployemnt and flat on my back with--thankfully minor--nerve damage for months on end.

    You get in this groove--either negative or positive---and then..everything just stops. And where are you, then? It feels kind of funky, let me tell you.

    Someone asked me the other day why I refused to date--why I didn't have a guy in my life--or much of anyone else, I should amend.

    Simple. Easy-peasy. I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me. It's that basic. I am far too aware of how hard it can be, sometimes, to live with me. Heck, I can be hard to live with myself, sometimes, ha-ha.

    But seriously, I simply don't see how anyone would even want to live around me. Can't even picture that in my mind. Really, it's inconceiveable to me that anyone would go out of his way--or her way, even--to want to be around me on an intimate basis. It hasn't happened in 46 years, and I don't forsee it ever happening. It's not easy being manic depressive, and...well, I'm a bit of an idiot, sometimes. And my social skills are a bit backwards, probably. Oh, I can manage at a party or in a group okay, but can't say that anyone's ever flocked to me, to hear what I've to say. Not gonna' happen. And, truthfully, I'm too aware that I'm a bottom-feeder, career-wise. I'm never going to amount to much, I'm always likely to be poor, and I'm just plain nothing special--a very unglamourous, low-income chav--nobody, that's me--but then, lots of people are like that, and there's worse things, I suppose. I'm not feeling sorry for myself when I say this. I'm perfectly, soberly, serious. Despite youthful dreams, this is where life's chucked me, and..that's that. This is what there is, this is all there is.

  • A Wintry Sunday with bored cats and David Tennant

    Here's pretty much what the weather's like, out there today. 'Course, I live in the city now, so it doesn't look quite like this, except outside of town, in the southern Adirondack and western Vermont foothills--where this photo was taken.

    So, I just puttered today. Feel listless, tired, and well, grossly bored. Wish I had some mates to hang with, but...oh heck, even the cat's are boring today. They just want to curl up on the cushy quilt I've placed on the floor in front of the radiator, and snooze.

    Made a quick trip to the store, and when I got home, "hung" my new "curtains." The quote marks are used because, in this case, "hung" means hammered in place with push pins, and "curtains" because really, its just roughly four yards of material that I purchased from the department store fabric department, on sale. I cut one to fit, but then on the second one, my scissors dulled it wasn't happening, so I put that on the window behind my dresser, as hopefully it won't be so noticable. But my old curtains were rubbish--frayed, stained, far too small--they were purchased in 2001 and were for a totally different size window, in 1995 moblie home (caravan), so there was a gap at the top of the curtains, and a big gap at the bottoms of the curtains, and the colour--slate blue--was rubbish against the paint job on my current bedroom walls...totally clashed--and they made the room seem smaller--not a good thing, as the room's already pretty small. And, as things are, one has to pass straight from the kitchen, through my budoir, to get to the living room--well, new curtains really were in order. These are only marginally better, but at least decoratively, they work much better, and are more pleasing to the eye to look at, and do make the room seem slightly larger than it did with the old ones...and no more orange street lights shining in, at night! A big plus, as far as I'm concerned--hate those ornage street lights, find them obnoxious, for some reason. Feel like I'm living on Mars or something...

    Listened to Stone Rose, read by the incompparable David Tennant, today. A highly pleasant diversion. It was great! And I think Mr. Tennant did a bang up job on this one, even better than Feast of the Drowned. Made for a real treat, on what otherwise was a mind-numbingly lonely and boring, and mostly pointless, day. (Not complaining, boring can be nice, ey?)

  • Bored? A Post for People Who Have Way Too Much Time on Their Hands

    Was surfing the net out of boredom, the other day, found some things that would appeal to the bored--especially if one is just a wee bit michevious (yes, I know I've likely misspelled that, I'm comfy in my rocker, and not going to chase over to my room for a dictionary, so sue me.)

    Here's a thread for those folks who have way, way too much time on their hands:

    Things to do at your local McDonald's drive-thru:

    1. Stand close to the speaker and yell your order, using colorful expletives in ways which would embarrass the patrons inside.

    2. Drive through backwards.

    3. Belch your order.

    4. After ordering, cover the speaker and mic with transparent tape. Watch as customers and order-takers are unable to hear each other and, thus, each raises his/her volume.

    5. Barter. Offer a Whopper for a Big Mac.

    6. Walk through.

    7. Speak a foreign language (make one up if you have to). When the manager comes to the mic, speak English and inquire as to why the order taker had such difficulty understanding you.

    8. Repeat everything the order taker says.

    9. Attempt to take the order-takers order ("Hi, may I take your order?") before they get a chance to take yours.

    10. Order confusing items, i.e., "Hi, I'll have a large orange Coke and a small medium fries, please".

    11. In a crowded drive-thru line, place a HUGE order, then slip out of line and watch the fun as the person behind you is handed 40 bags of food.

    12. When you arrive at the window to pick up your food, hand them several bags of garbage & ask if they'll dispose of it for you. Make sure it smells.

    13. Drive through with a carload of naked people.

    14. Speak in such a garbled fashion that the order-taker will think there is a problem with the speaker and ask you to order at the window. When you arrive at the window, speak in the same garbled, incomprehensible fashion.

    15. Drive through with someone on the hood to accept the food.

    16. Bring along a Mr. Microphone. When the order-taker speaks, aim the mic at their speaker but do so while aiming the Mr. Microphone speaker at the mic to produce excruciating feedback of their own voice.

    17. One word: Flatulence!

    18. Have a friend hide in the trunk. When you approach the window to pickup your order, have him start yelling and banging his fists on the trunk.

    19. If you are a male, have a female friend place the order by speaking VERY seductively and suggestively into the speaker. When she finishes, have her hide and pull up to accept your order. See how many of the order-takers fellow employees have been called over to the window to "check out the babe".

    20. Change a flat tire in the drive-thru lane.

  • Back to Reality: bad vibes and bad dreams

    I know, at least for a little while, that my life has improved quite considerably. I have plenty to eat--and can even purchase some food items (mainly things like small inexpensive steaks, my favourite brand of spaghetti and spaghetti sauce, my favourite brand of frozen ready made mashed sweet potatoes, etc.) And, I've been able (thanks in large part to those wonderful 40 to 75 percent off January sales) to get some new clothes that I needed (I've lost nearly 50 pounds since I last went seriously clothes shopping and have dropped down a size to a size and a half, and much of my clothing--while still seriviceable--looked all baggy and the pants can't be worn now with out a very tight belt) so I bought a new dress and a couple of pairs of jeans and a new pair of trousers and some blouses..all very cheap. Thankfully, I live in a huge resort area, and there's tons of fashion outlet stores that sell the same top name brand stuff you see in the better department stores and boutiques, for less then what you pay for the low budget chav fashions at WalMart. Last time I went, I got two 28 dollar (14 pounds) blouses for only 6 dollars.

    But I'm hardly going on a spending spree. I did treat myself to two Dr Who books and a Queer Eye video, and a miniature model horse (half price)...but mostly I've been putting what I can by, for the hard times I live in constant fear of.

    Yes, even though things have been going smoothly and my life, for the first time in well over a year, is finally bearing some semblance of normalcy again, I have this continual, sobering fear in the back of my mind. Lurking like a stranger in the gloom of a shadowy alleyway.

    I really work hard to forget it...but, I can't. I'm scared. I'm always scared. I've nearly been homeless twice in the last year. I've lost most of my close family members, I did lose my home, I lost some of my beloved pets, I've lost some long-treasured family heirlooms and other possessions, I've gone hungry, I've been totally alone, I've lived in sub-zero farenheight (think of -15 to -40 below C) tempertures in one room, with only a small space heater to keep me warm--and no hot water whatsoever to bathe with. Only a small electric skillet and toaster oven to cook with, lost my car, lost jobs twice--before I even found a job, I went two months unemployed, lost my college education one year shy of graduating...it hasn't let up, much.

    I've been bombarded and bombarded with so many bad things, that my inner soul just can't bring itself--no matter how hard I try to ignore the feelings---my inner self just can't believe that the bad things have stopped. I just can't stop worrying about what bad thing is going to befall me next. I just can't seem to convince myself that the bad times are over. Of course, I've so many debts hanging over me--and no money to file for bankruptcy--and my huge student debts don't have any legal protections--unless, of course, I go totally blind or die.

    What does it feel like? It's a sick, sobering feeling, nagging at you continually. It's a sack full of cannon balls, weighing down your soul. It's a crawly little fear that climbs up your back where you can't reach it. It's...well, It's just plain terrible.

    To make matters worse, I've been having disturbing dreams, of late. It started with the tornado dream--have had two now, a week apart. I've also dreamed about dead pets--both recent and my dog Shamrock, who died in '83. I've dreamed of both my parent--most especially my dad--who I've NEVER dreamed about before! I even dreamed of a dead uncle--one whom I'd never even met--because he died before I was born--I never even think about him! I also dreamed about the bakery my late mum used to take me to when I was a child--and again, hadn't thought of it in years. Some of the dreams are genuinely frightening, and I often have to turn the light on, and lie awake on my bed, reading or petting the cats--or mostly, just staring at my ugly nicotine-stained ceiling. Some are just...weird. But all of them leave me a bit disturbed, as while I have, at times, dreamed about my childhood home/street, my pets, my mum and tornados..I've not dreamed about Shamrock in years and years...and never dad or any member of his highly distant and disfunctional family.

    I just don't know what to make of it. Mum would have probalby rolled her eyes and told me they were just dreams and to go back to bed--still, to me they are beginning to feel more like bad omens--the buildup of clouds before the storm.

  • Out of the Mouths of Babes: Maybe I should buy my cemetery plot now?

    So, our local weekly paper, the Glens Falls Chronicle, had a snippet where they asked 2 to 4th grade children where they envisioned themselves 30 years from now. Here's some of my favourite responses:

    "Thirty years from now, I will be in a wheelchair. I will be in a wheelchair, because I will be old and cranky. I will also be mean and wrinkly. That is what I will be thirty years from now." KT Grade 4.

    In 30 years I will be old and I will be eating hard candy. My skin will have wrinkles. I will have a walker and a motorized scooter. I will have no teeth. I will be doing crossword puzzles. I don't want to be 37." DM Grade 3

    "In 30 years I will be napping because I will be old and tired. I will work at a snowboard shop because I love snowboarding." KL Grade 1

    HERE'S SOME MORE OF MY FAVOURTIES:

    "I will be driving a convertable with the wind blowing in my hair, being a mom and working as a teacher.I will take my kids to McDonalds in my convertible and will will all eat Happy Meals!!" ML Grade 2

    "In 30 years I will have a job, and I will be a saleswoman or a ballerina. I think I would rather be a saleswoman instead of a ballerina. I would be a saleswoman because my dad used to be a salesman a long time ago. He was 38 I think. I would like to have kids and get married. I will live in a castle with my husband and my cat. I will make raviloi's every night. Maybe we will be rich! We could get anything we want. I would be like a queen!." GZ Grade 2

    "Thirty years from now I will be 39 years old. I see myself being married to a wonderful husband with two great kids. We will have a big beautiful house with a front porch and a pool in the backyard. I will have two dogs. One is a Yorkshire Terrier, and her name will be Shelly, and the other dog will be a Pomeranian, and his name will be Petey. My job is to be mayor of South Glens Falls so I can go to all the parades and the parks and have a good seat so I can see." EJ Grade 4

    "In 30 years I will be a mom and have a husband. I will have a house that is pink. I will be a nurse. My husband will be a doctor. My life will be happy." C-L W Grade 1

    "In 30 years I will be a comedy show host. I will be 39. I will look like a comedian with a suit and tie. I will be thin with brown long hair and money in my pocket. The show will be in Boston. The show will be called Comedy Man, with D____R__. It will be in a glass building in front of Fenway Park." (The stadium home of the Boston Red Sox pro baseball team.) "The floor will be blue marble with black seats, a stage with green curtains, and the stage will be ten yards long. The stage is there if I get a band to play. The show broadcasts every week. The time when it broadcasts is 7:30 p.m. to 9 p.m. The day it will broadcast is Saturuday. I will have a great life in 30 years." DR Grade 4

    AND SOME MORE FAVOURITES:

    "In 30 years, I will be a farmer. When I am a farmer I am going to chase cows in the barn. You have to chase cows in to milk them. I will also make food for the cows. You have to have special machinery to make the cows' foods. Another chore I will do is spread the poop on the fields. The poop makes the crops grow, and they they cut the grass again. I would love to be a farmer." WT Grade 3. (Same dream I had at that age, oddly enough).

    "Thirty years from now, I will be 38 years old. I will be a famous scientist. I love science! It's my favorite subject. My new name will be Albert Einstein. It's a real name. That's how I got my name. My mom named me." AP Grade 3

    "Thirty years from now I will be spying and inventing new gadgets, because I like sneaking around and making new stuff. I also want to be a spy because of all the spy books I read, and I also want to be a person that invents new gadgets, because I want it to be not as hard to spy for the CIA." KS Grade 3

    This photo brings back a nice memory. I used to love it when Harry, the Episocpal Bishops gardener, used to give us rides on his big ol' red Massey Ferguson tractor...what fun!

  • A Whovian writer's reaction: OMG! Somebody's actually reading this stuff?

    I haven't checked my chapter stats on the fan fiction website recently, and got a bit of a shock. I've been getting over 450 reads for my first chapter! Of course, less than 25 for the most recent chapter, added Sunday, still...hmmm--people are reading this rubbish? I am a bit surprised--delighted actually, but mostly a bit gobsmacked.

    Why? Because this isn't one of my better stories. I mean, I've written rubbish before, mind. But this is just stuff that I'm making up as I go, and not taking seriously at all. I guess I'd better do a writing session tommorrow, ey? Write another short chapter, maybe two, if I'm really feeling ambitious. Guess I'll have to start seriously considering an acutal plot, ey? I really am...astounded. Last time I looked, sure some people had read Chapter One, but hardly any of the other chapters were getting any serious reading...odd. Just overnight, people are reading it. Which is a bit daunting now, as when I thought no one was bothering with it, quality and plot weren't really an issue--I was just having fun with it, and letting the story go wherever it may...now...gosh, gotta start making notes and stuff. Geez...love getting read--but when I know I'm getting read (unlike my blog--which I honesty don't care about, when it comes to perfect writing, as it's just my journal and not a formal work of creativity or anything remotely like that)--when I know that people are taking the time to read one of my creative works-- a story, poem or play...that's serious stuff, and I have to write accordingly.

    Of course, when writing journalistic articles, essays and the like, I always fuss over perfect writing. Creative writing--eh, not so much. I didn't take hardly any creative writing in college, so I haven't learned to be quite as paranoid about perfect copy as I have with the non-fiction.

    I nearly fell tonight, coming up the stairs of my apartment building. My retinitis pigmentosa sometimes trips me up--can see better in the dark than the dim light...sometimes, if the light's really dim, I literally can see hardly anything at all. It's getting slightly worse, my periphial vision's pretty much toast..but I don't have tunnel vision or anything like that, yet, which is good. What little blindness I've got so far, is pretty much limited to one small corner of my right eye. My left eye's pretty good, it's mostly my right that bothers me.

    I was always hitting kerbs with my car tires, because I couldn't make the adjustmet with my eye..but not a problem anymore--don't have a car. But I do need to remember to stop and let my eyes adjust, when I do enter a low light situation...such as coming in from a sunny place, a low wattage bulb, deep shadows and late dusk situations.

  • Radom Notes from an Old Maid

    Have to be at work in an hour, running through the same old script, hearing the same old cranky people give the same old snarky responses--and, maybe, if I'm very lucky, actually have contact with someone especially nice to talk to, or make someone feel better about his or her situation--still an awful lot of jobless people out there, despite with the ignorant people in America "think."

    Had one yesterday. A "lady" from Oklahoma--calling OK is almost as bad as ringing up Kentuckians, trust me--Anyway this little old southern lady, kept yammering at me about how her daddy worked for Texico and how she grew up on the oil fields, how she used to be a big executive with the state government, how she's 81 years old and runs a big ranch with 55 head of cattle, blah-blah-blah...and then, this person--whom I'm willing to be probably never was never poor--or at least, never wasn't able to feed herself or her kids---started yammering on about welfare people whining that they weren't getting enough food stamps and that the pay was too low and that they couldn't find a decent place to live. (this is the part where I gritted my teeth and politely said (in other words, I lied) "oh I know, dear."

    When the woman ironically said that she "wished these people would stop complianing and whining." I merely visioned this woman in my mind when I truthfully answered, "Ummm-hmmm." It's so very easy for these conservatives and others to put down the poor--because they've NEVER been poor, don't have a clue, don't want to have a clue. Because caring takes courage and thinking takes effort and...well..these people may be nice in some ways, but they're just so...shallow. If they were a pond, the fish would suffocate. Heck, I was working full-time back in July, and at one point, didn't have enough money left over from the bills for food. I went a good part of the week, with nothing to eat but--literally--peanut butter on a spoon and some tinned peaches. And I had only myself to feed--what do people on low wages do, who have kids? It's hard, and what makes it harder in this country, are these ignoarant self-serving uptight "my way or the highway" conservatives thinking that they know what's best for everybody---when they aren't really thinking at all.

    Someone was going around the office, asking people to a party. I knew she wouldn't ask me. No one ever does. People seldom talk with me. It's just me, I guess. I'm just not someone people want to include in things. I rarely have ever been asked to join in. And that's okay. That's who I am. I often think that if my penfriends ever met me face to face, without knowing who I was, very likely they wouldn't want me around, either. I'm just that sort of person. Some people attract people--I make them stay away...not on purpose--it's just my looks, my personality...it's...me. And I've grown used to it. I've never been in anyone's clique..never had a circle of friends, to speak of. Sometimes it's hard, but mostly, I just accept it. After more than 45 years, I don't think that's ever going to change.

    It's quiet here, I like the quiet. I don't always like being alone, but it's okay. Thre's a world of worse things than being alone, trust me.

  • Cemetery Stories: proof that fact can be stranger than fiction


    SIGN LOCATED AT THE EASTERN ENTRANCE AT THE END OF CEMETERY AVENUE, OFF BROADWAY (NY ROUTE 32), IN MENANDS. MUM HAD A SUPRISE, WHEN SHE FOUND DRUING HER GENEALOGICAL RESEARCH, THAT HER FATHER, WHO WAS FROM HUDSON, NY, NEARLY FIFTY MILES SOUTH OF ALBANY, HAD BEEN BORN ON CEMETERY AVE...ALMOST IN SIGHT OF THE STREET MY MUM AND DAD BUILT THIER HOUSE ON, OVER FIFTY YEARS LATER.

    Well, seeing as I've mentioned some stuff about the Albany Rural Cemetery, I thought I'd share some of the very true stories I'd encountered during my research, so many years ago. While I no longer have most of my notes, most stories are so well ingrained in my mind, I really don't need them, anymore. But first, a little background--just some facts off the top of my head.

    In the early 18th century, the city of Albany, NY was overun with little cemeteries. Often these were really horrible places: exposed graves, dead animals, rats, starving dogs--you get the picture. Not good. So, a mess of the prominent citizenry got together, chose some ground and called it a cemetery...367 acres worth. Many graves were moved there--and in the 1860's, I believe, a huge burial plot, known as the State Street Burial Ground--consisting of a bunch of churchyard cemeteries all thrown together, dating from the late 1600's (some stones removed to ARC still bore Dutch inscriptions)...and a place was set aside for this cemetery (near where my late mum, grandfather and great aunt are buried). Anyway, there was this big parade and a grand opening and tra-la! A grand cemetery was born--which in the height of the Victorian era, would be considered one of the most beautiful in the world.

    But enough history...I could go on, but it can get a bit boring, I suppose--let's plunge right into the more interesting stuff.

    Tragic (and sometimes bizzare) stories:

    These are stories I either was told about, read about, or simply stumbled across on my own.

    One day, while photographing a monument near the cemetery pond, I noticed at the base, that the two little headstones were of little children who'd died close together. While walking around to the back, I found that there was an inscription on the back of each stone: They were each child's last words, just before each one died.

    In the northern section, there's the graves of a man and wife, from the 1900's. They died on the same day. The story: The husband and his wife were walking to a movie house one Saturday. As they walked over the railroad tracks, one of the heels on her old-fashioned high buttoned shoes got caught. The train was coming. He couldn't pry her loose, no matter how hard he tried. So, when the train came upon her, her husband gathered her in his arms and they died together. Their daughter, when later asked by a local historian/journalist about it, wasn't nearly so romantic about it. She never forgave her father.

    Near this same section, just a little to the east, a young Victorian girl was with her family paying their repects to the family grave plot. She decdided to wait for her family in the carriage. Just as she got in, something spoooked the horses and they took off--upsetting the carrige. She was thrown out, and was flung into a headstone, dying instantly....the headstone was in the family plot---right next to where she would soon be buried.

    In the 1900's, a young chemist was accused of murdering his new wife, but putting poison into her medicine. He was tried and found guilty. To the end, he vehemently protested his innocence. He was the first man ever to be executed by the electric chair, in the state of New York. He was buried on the hill near the eastern entrace of the cemetery. As his coffin was lowered into the ground, it was noted that a brass plate on the outside of it bore the inscription, They would not if they had known." There is no formal marker marking where the young man is buried.

    "Unique" monuments:

    The cemetery also contains some very unique monuments, as well.

    Probably one of the most unusual monument, is a mable pylon, encirled by a series of bronze umbrellas going up the sides. The umbrellas at one time, had little silver bells attached to each "rib," but these were later stolen.

    On the same hill where the alleged wife murderer is laid to rest, there stands two small children's monuments, a boy and a girl. The girl's monument depects a very detailed sculpture of her high-button shoes and little straw hat.

    Further on, up the hill a ways, stands the outline of the foundation of what once was a good sized brick crypt. It was torn down. Why? Because word got out the that the eccentric old lady who was buried in there, had ordered that after burial, that the lock be filled with lead, and the key thrown into the nearby Hudson River. Well, word got out, as it will do, and people tried to break in to the vault...didn't succeed, but the vault was damaged so badly it had to be torn down. If any "treasures" were ever found in there, nobody talked about it.

    Nearby is a granite pyramid. No design, just a pyramid, with a small, approx. 1 inch square inprinted on one side, for no apparent reason. There's also some gigantic balls (no jokes please) made of various materials in the cemetery, as well as several life size and smaller broken off "trees," one of brownstone, most of marble. And huge Celtic crosses are quite popular in some areas.

    Even further along is a stone depicting a young boy in his knickers (the short trousers, not the undershorts), holding his schoolbooks in one hand, his other hand outstretched with one finger pointing. At one time--before mention was made of the stone in local papers and it was vandalized---the outstretched finger had a bee sitting on it. "Howie" was killed by an alergic reaction to a bee sting on his way home from school. How's that for a bizzare but touching memorial?

    Near the cemetery pond, there's a simple modern stone, that tells of the heroism of a ship's captain, who, in the 1950's, saved passengers on a sinking ship. The back of his monument bears part of a famous nautical poem.."I want to go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and sky..."

    In another section, the 19 ton monument of one Lyman Root, was, when it was installed at the time, accidentally set to the exact points of the compass.

    A monument on the far eastern hill, facing the old Delaware and Hudson railroad tracks, sits a simply plinth...surmounted by a finely detailed fireman's helmet on a padded cushion, all done in marble. It's dedicated to firemen who died in a horrific hotel fire in Albany in the late 19th century. The plinth also depicts a fireman's speaking trumpet on the side, and, if I recall correctly--but my memory's a bit fuzzy--I think some of those ball-type fire extinguishers they used to use.

    There's some empty chair monuments, as well. One is a tiny marble chair, all padded and tufted, just like the real thing, on a child's grave.

    There's an oriental stone as well--of course, I can't read the inscription--oriental stones are tall and narrow, it seems.But, I can't say for sure, as it's the only one I've ever seen.

    Some of the more elaborate Civil War soldier's graves contain, Republic sheilds, draped flags, swords/buckles, crossed cannon and cannon balls, eagles, medals, kepie caps (hats), and other accourtements.


    THE WESTERN ENTRANCE OFF OF STATE ROUTE 378 (just four drives above my own street that I grew up on). THIS IS WHERE THE LOCAL PRESBYTERIAN CHRUCH HELD ITS SUNRISE SERVICE ON EASTER MORNING. ONE TIME, WHEN I WAS IN MY EARLY TEENS, THE "MR PIBB" SOFT DRINK HOT AIR BALLOON, HAD TO MAKE AN EMERGENCY LANDING HERE...AND US KIDS GOT TO HELP THEM TAKE IT APART AND ROLL UP THE BALLOON--THAT WAS REALLY FAR-OUT.

    There's a bell tower in the cemetery, that used to be rung for funerals. It's still there, located behind the main office. However, they had to stop using is as the cemetery grew, as it got so the bell was ringing almost constantly, and the neighbours started to complain.

    Some of the more famous people buried there, include President Chester A. Arthur (a service is held at his graveside every year), President Martain Van Buren's son, most of the early prominent politicans of New York state, a famous 19th century American actor named Joseph "Fritz" Emmett, is also buried here, as well as the promenant Albany sculptor, Erastus Dow Palmer, who's memorial works include some large monuments, as well as some bronze medallion portraits. He also has some regular sculptures on dispaly in a local museum.

    General Stephen Van Rennselaer--last of the old Dutch patroons (lords)--he founded RPI college (the famous American engineering school, Rennselaer Polytechnic Institute( in Troy, NY. He also a state senator, leutenant govenor, state assemblyman, a US congressman, and fought in the War of 1812. He was a key factor in the anti-rent wars---tenant farmers protesting unfair rents, dressed as indians in calico, and blowing tin horns--rebelled against the Van Rennslaers (who, at one time, owned most of the Albany, NY area--many square miles of it-- and these tenants broke the patroon system once and for all in the early 1800's. One of my direct anscestor particpated.

    Unitl I was in high school, about the time I was 17 or so, Albany's evening paper was--and had always been since the mid-1800's--the "Knickerbocker." My granddad worked on the Knickerbocker for a while, as a pressman, after he left the Daily News in New York City. I used to help my friend Tommy, deliver that paper when I was around 14 or so. Anyway the founder of that paper, which lasted over 100 years, is buried in the cemetery. He founded this grand old paper---on a total capital of: $7. (That's just a bit over 3 pounds, ey?) Qutie a man, was ol' Hugh J. Hastings.

    Another historical figure is that of Samuel Stringer. He was an officer in the British medical department, and was present at Lord Howe's side, when he fell at Fort Ticonderoga. He was later appointed by the Contentntal Congreess as Director-General of Hospital for the Northern Department.

    There was Thomas Spencer Llyod, who was a famous American hymn composer in the 19th century. His stone at one time bore his autograph, but acid rain and the harsh northeastern winters have made it difficult to read.

    Another historical NY state figure, is Govenor William L. Marcy (for which our tallest state mountain--located here in the Adirondacks, at over 5000 feet--is named) besides govenor, he was also supreme court justice, US senator, Secretary of War under President Polk, Secretary of State under Govenor Pierce. It's wrtitten that his funeral procession to the cemetery was two miles in length, and contained 27 military companies and 17 fire companies. Additionally, his monument--by Erastus Dow Palmer--was the very first granite monument to be placed in the cemetery--until then, stones were strictly marble or brownstone.

    Yes, there are several slaves buried in Albamy rural as well. And a Souix indian girl.

    The black graves were kept seperate from the white graves, when they were moved from the State Street Burial Grounds in Albany to make room for what is now Washington Park. The black graves are in roughly four mass graves, located off into the woods, all alone. No effort has ever been made to rectify the situation (and yes, I did notify people, but was totally ignored.)

    Of the infamous sorts, there is a Mr. Morrisy, a famous 19th century boxer, who was involved in the famous New York City Tamminy Hall scandal, and also help establish the now world famous Saratoga Race Course.

    Several early 20th century gangsters are reportedly buried here--but I never got around to confirming that.

  • Playing with catsup---whoops! I Mean, Playing Catch-up

    So I've been striving to catch up to all of my e-mails that were backed up from the month I was without internet service. Think I've finally managed to wade through most of them. Hey! Guess what? I've won the euro-lotter, the internet lottery, the UK National lottery, and the Netherlands lottery, 297 times, at last count! Forget about dreaming of traveling to England--I can BUY England!

    But seriously, does anyone actually buy into these scams? Guess someone must, or they wouldn't bother trying it so much...man, dumb isn't the word. But I do feel sorry for someone who does believe it. I myself was almost ripped off for 3000 dollars once--had to go through hell to retreive my funds, once I'd realized I'd been had, but I most certainly did learn my lesson. The shame of it is, it had run through my mind that it might be a scam, but I was just so gobsmacked at the offer (I was selling a collectable saddle, that was actually worth thousands--well, it was anyway, before the bottom fell out of the western collectables market two years ago.) Anyhow, I was stupid and naive, and I throroughly learned my lesson, trust me on that score. But I do get tired of three of four "you've won!" e-mails in each of my e-mail boxes every single blessed day.

    I did hear from my cousin, the antiques dealer, and was pleased to hear that all was well with him. He's a really cool guy--I always liked him, when I was a kid. He's about 10 years or so, older than me...and like me, he always made his own path to follow, didn't fit into life's little pidgeon hole--much to his dad's anger and utter dismay. I was blessed with my mum--she always supported me, no matter what I wanted to do with my life--unless it was something she worried about---she talked me out of those free downhill skiing lessons, which in hindsight, was probably a good thing. Needless to say, last time I was on a ski slope--think it was Willard Mountain--I walked down.

    And (she groans good-naturedly), I heard from my young David Tennant fan. Oh gosh, more piccys of David Tennant. Gee, I was just thinking, I really could use more pics of David Tennant--not. Don't get me wrong, actually, I do have so pics of him as Dr Who on my screensaver...but that's as far as fandom goes with me. Love him as an actor--think he's utterly brillant, actually--but, don't have any bedroom dreams or anything even remotely like that--don't kiss his picture goodnight, or spend all my spare time on the David Tennant website...just enjoy his work, and that's that. But, my young teen friend--well, she gets a bit carried away, doesn't she? She's that age, ya'know. I was just like that, as a young teen. David Cassidy, Randolf Mantooth (from an American TV show called "Emergency"), John Denver, Parker STevenson. Sure, I had my little crushes too, I remember. So I humor the girl, and she's just so happy to have an adult who takes her seriously...how could I say "no" to her, ey? But, really, if you must know, yours truly could care less what David's wearing, what music he listens to, what his brother does for a living (he has a brother? Didn't know that) who he dates and even what kind of blinking car he drives! I want so badly to tell her that I don't care about his probably disgustingly expensive car, but I just haven't the heart, you know? But this time she just sent me reams and reams of totally useless trivia about this actor...talk about David Tennant overload. My gosh, that e-mail went on--and on--and on...I'm beginning to thing that this girl knows more about DT than his own mother knows! Was I ever this bad--probably. I used to collect every book, every picture, every newspaper and magazine article about John Denver...posters all over my wall, his music playing constantly..yeah, I guess I was, or nearly so. Thing is tho', I'm not even all that attracted to David Tennant--I mean, I'd love to see his work live, someday, and yes, he's a nice looking young man, and seems like a really witty and charming person...but...I dunno', he just doesn't make my heart skip a beat, ya'know?


  • The Old Maid's Eye for the Yuppie Guy Show

    So, I've deleted my last post--too depressing. Well, that, and I just was rung up by my supervisor a bit ago, and told she can put me on nights and Sauturdays for the interm, until day work resumes.

    And in light of that--and, to lighten the mood a bit, I thought I'd do something...well---different.

    I adore the American version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. So, thought I'd do my own version. Old Maid's Eye for the Yuppie Guy.

    Assuming some yuppie is stupid enough to move to a small blue collar ("Chav" if you're Briti