An old Vermont graveyard, March 2006.
Well, my weekend supervisor says not to worry about coming in today, as it's the last day of a sales campaign, and there's not many calls being made, from the dregs of the list and all that...the good news is, (sort of), that I won't be laid off for two or three days, without pay, as planned--but will be switched to nights for Monday and Tues day--still means a 7 day work week, Mon-Sun. (I was getting Monday's off, before.) But night shift (5 or 6 pm to 10 pm) is better than no work at all. If I spend less than 40 dollars of this week's pay, and do the same next week--I may make the internet and rent...dunno'. May have to lose my internet--my only lifeline to the outside world and only real entertainment--soon. I'd hate that. I get to watch old Dr Who movies, on that...saw Curse of Fenric--brilliant! And David Tennant and Catherine Tate's CR sketch a zillion times--makes me laugh every single time..and don't I need the laughs right now?
So, I lost another two or three hours pay--I don't get sick pay, and have not much in the way of hospital insurance and prescription coverage--the ER visit yesterday is going to leave me in a hole, financially--and I'm already in a financial hole--only now it's more like a deep dark pit of dispair. The govt. is going to take my pay checks soon, and then I...I don't know. I pray that the mental health advocate can help me, and soon. My food budget has just gone into the crapper, as well--back to Ramen noodles, hot dogs and beans on toast next week, I guess. I was hoping never to have to be in that place, again.
Trying to cook is hell. I almost fell into the hot cooker, this morning, as I'm not too steady on my crutches, and the old vinyl floors in the kitchen are rather slick walking--even dry. But, I've not much of an appetite, at the moment, anyhow. Eh, I need to lose a few pounds, anyway.
The pain in my foot last night--on a scale of 1 to 10 was about a 9. I was in tears a few times. But today, it's mostly just a big burning ache...which is tolerable. Hurts like hell getting up and down, tho'....this is really where I miss having someone around. My sister says, "oh that's too bad." But has no intention of driving up here from her mountaintop home in southern Vermont, to assist me, in any way. Too busy, she says...but she doesn't work, and her partner's 15 year old daughter is away for the weekend...so I'm not sure what that's all about. Ah well, it's about what I expect. My sister and I are virtually strangers...in fact sis hasn't rung me up since New Year's day--and then only to tell me her partner's mother had passed on.
And...I am stuck at home, to boot. No tele, no one to talk to, just me, the cats and the internet. I may go to the store, later--I used the last tin of cat food, and I'm running out of Motrin for my pain. Had to take three last night--the bottle says take only one, but my prescription says I can take 600mg, and so, it's basically the same dose.
The blasted basset hound in the next apartment is being encouraged to bark by his drunken owner, again--all morning long. He was at it around 1am last night, as well. He's not a bad guy, just a few fries short of a Happy Meal, that's all.
So, here I am, bored and in pain and lonely--what to do? I pull out my half-finished naff old Doctor Who stories and play about with them--only, I got side-tracked by an idea, and went off and started a whole new story...not very good--I like writing dialog, but I totally suck at writing plots--all those writing classes, and I never once studied how to write a fiction story...and I'm afraid it shows, quite frankly. Anyway, I started this story...may finish it, I dunno'. Wrote a handful of short paragraphs this morning:
Martha looked over at the Doctor, standing beside the console. His face, in the green glow of the column, seemed creased with worry. “What is it, Doctor?” She asked. He looked up at her, and for an instant, she caught a glimpse of the fear in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that boyish grin she was coming to know so well.
“What’s What?” He asked innocently--too innocently. “Oh come on,” she chided, “there’s something wrong, and you don’t want me to know about it, is that it? I’m a big girl, Doctor. If I can face the Judoon on the moon, alien Elizabethan witches and Daleks during the depression, what more is there to be afraid of?”
For just a moment, the Doctor simply looked at her. In the space of his heartbeats, the Doctor’s eyes became suddenly filled with a seemingly infinite emptiness…then, it was gone. “Right, then!” He shouted. Let’s see just how scary, scary can be, eh?” He looked at Martha, and she almost shivered--his look for once, seemed alien and…almost insane. “You aren’t scared of being scared, are you, Martha? You humans love being scared: horror movies, roller coasters, bungee jumping, the deep South, Edgar Allen Poe--now there was a genius-- the Spice Girls…”
Throwing off his melancholy like he would toss aside his long coat, the Doctor began playing his hands over the console switches with a flourish, muttering to himself in some language Martha had never heard before--it sounded almost like he was swearing under his breath--and enjoying it.
Suddenly, the Tardis gave a great lurch, throwing Martha against the control room’s metal railing. The Doctor merely griped the edge of the console with one hand, and aimed the sonic screwdriver at some part, with his other hand. With a sonic buzzing, the screwdriver served to help the Tardis right herself.
“Doctor!” Martha exclaimed, “Did you ever have to pass some kind of a driving test for this thing, or do you just make it up as you go along?” The Doctor was staring at his view screen intently and didn’t answer.
