I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Again, last night, more dreams of my past. I don't want to dream of my past. It's gone.

Oh, it's nice to remember. But that's the problem. Lately, I've been spending too much time, "remembering." I don't want to do that.

The odd thing is, is that the memories I have now, are so completely different than anything I'd ever had before--and, stranger still, much more mundane. When things were better, when my parents were still alive, when I still had a "proper" home, a hometown, a solid place in this life, my memories were of special moments, happier times. I didn't dwell overly much on the miserable times--the fights, the silences, the humiliations.

Now, when I think back on my past, I remember the little things--totally insignificant, in some respects: shopping at woolworth's, mowing the lawn, lying on my bed reading a book or playing with my toy cowboys, waiting on a foggy morning for the school bus, mum making dinner in the kitchen, dad sitting in his chair reading the paper, sis and that daft stuffed cat she won at the church fair--and how it reeked of the perfume she doused its head with. totally random, meaningless stuff--helping mum at the library, walking home from a trip down to the village, walking along the rail tracks, the sound of the school bus as it came grinding up the long hill, before stopping at our street, the look and smell of the bright, bright green grass in springtime, in the field next door to our house. Totally, utterly insignificant.

And it's more than just memories, now--much more. It's feelings, as well--deep seated stirrings of emotion--I can also remember how each moment felt, if not exactly what I was thinking--it's almost like traveling back in time to the exact second the moment happened...it's, sometimes nice, but more often than not, for some reason, uncomfortable. Because I've never had this before.

I don't want to dwell on the past too much--it's over, it's gone, it's dead. So why am I, now--even in my dreams at night? I don't know. I just don't.

I grew up adoring westerns--TV westerns, old western films, didn't matter. I played cowboys, dreamed cowboys, even dressed cowboy--and have a few pics to prove it.

I really wish Hollywood would do some classic westerns again. Modern westerns have become a bit dry--more into showing off how macho the young stars are, and how "realistic" the setting is, rather than focusing on traditional western plots--you know, the one's that worked so well, Hollywood was churning them out on a regular basis from the mid-1900's to the mid-1970's.

But now, Hollywood is remaking a classic western film: Indians, cowboys, a lone stagecoach in the dessert, the 7th Cavalry, the whole works, sadly tho', it's a little "low" budget...

Just saw this podcast on YouTube, and oh--darn! I missed this!

There I was, in Lake George, probably stuck in my little laundry room at the Travelodge, (if it was after late July)--if it was before then, I was either still working at the Saratoga Racino, tossin' rubbish bags and stuff, or out looking for a new job.) But, if it was after late July, I was, most likely, in the back lot of the motel, folding towels like an auton--and there they were, the Doctor Who team--James Strong, Phil Collinson, et al, less then 200 miles south of me. (Smacks forehead) I'm telling you--it kills me, knowing that--I would have loved watching these guys filming. Darn (kicks the dirt with her naff old shoe) darn.

So Flame has gotten back most of her fur, now, and to keep it looking nice, I comb her.

I use a special cat brush with fine metal teeth. At first, she whined (oh yes, she whines EXACTLY like a human child would--seriously, she does.) It was, "Noo-! I don' wanna' mummy!" Now, she begs for it.

She sits up in my lap, and I gently comb the top of her head, and she tilts her head back, relaxes her ears, shuts her eyes tightly closed--even her mouth drops open a bit, and she's just in a state of utter bliss.

And now, she's got this new thing, where, when I'm done, she want to play with the comb--or rather the comb's handle. I've no clue what about the handle/comb fascinates her, but it does. She bats it around and chews one the rubber grip of the handle. Guess I do waste my money sometimes, on cat toys, ey? But then, Flame will play with my socks, my shoes, mum's old comforter that's made of some slippery synthetic material, my Ace bandage after I've removed it--she'll drag that around the living room--last night, she grabbed some popcorn out of the bowl by my chair--ate two, and played with the other one. Unlike my two bhoys, Flame will play with just about anything. But then, girls are smarter, yes?

"Waugh! 900 years of time travel, and I never knew Daleks could fart!"

The Bodysnatchers

Chapter 10: Sound Bite

The Doctor looked proudly at his screwdriver. He grinned impishly at Martha. “What is this chapel made of?” Martha shrugged. “I don’t know…limestone?” “Riiight!” The Doctor exclaimed. “And the thing I love about limestone is, is that it resonates beautifully. It’s made of up stone quartz crystals. Resonate these crystals just right, and the whole structure falls down on us--which we don’t want to have happen, do we? So---“ he paced around the walls, “---what else can we do with this knowledge, eh?” Martha frowned in thought and said, “I don't know. Change the resonance?”

The Doctor jumped up and strode over to the mysterious alcove. “That doesn’t explain what he’s doing here, why they’re using poison marsh gas from Draxil , why they’re killing innocent humans and snatching dead bodies or what his so-called master is up to--and there’s only one way to find out the answers to all these questions.” So saying, the Doctor pulled aside the curtain.

Oh, don't get yer knicker's in a twist--I'm not picking on Mr Davies...

I had just read something about him, and I felt the need to do a blog post about my thoughts, as I was reading. Mind you, I didn't want to be reading..or doing much else, for that matter, no help for it, I'm afraid.

Tho' I wanted dearly just to dive back into bed and wallow in the misery of my sickdom, I had to stay up, because some meathead at the office forgot to turn the answering machine on, so I could just call in sick and be done with it. I had to wait until half past one (the office doesn't open 'till 1.30pm, on Sundays). Then I ring up the supervisor--mine must be out sick, as it's the Saturday supervisor that's there...I tell her I'll come in on Friday to make up my hours--only to be told that I'm already scheduled to work Friday night (Friday is one of my "new" days off on my most recent schedule)---okay, WHEN were they planning on cluing me in on my most recent scheduling change--next week? As it stood on Thursday, my most recent schedule was Sun through Thurs--days. Now, I'm back on nights??? And no one bothers to tell me this??? Oh yeah, this is marvelous. Now I have to wait 'till my own supervisor gets back to work, to find out what the hell hours I'm working this week! I work for a "communications" company--that doesn't blinking communicate! I don't mind a changeable schedule, I mean, it's not like I have a life, anymore... But, I wish the office would wake up and smell the coffee and realize, at least as far as I know, that we are are not physic!

Think I'm not sick? Ha! I just went in the kitchen a while ago, to to put the kettle on for tea--and made coffee instead! This, by the way, involves me getting out my blue metal enamel "butch" Adirondack coffee pot, putting the water in, dumping in the grounds, placing the big heavy thing on the cooker, etc...and I didn't even notice, till I got back into the living room! Yeah, think calling in sick was a very good idea, today.

Anyway, getting back to the subject of this post...

Anyway, someone e-mail me a few links to Doctor Who-related interviews. I needed to kill some time, so I checked one out. A Russell T. Davies interview.

Anyway, the interviewer was on about the fact that the man had not had a holiday in three years, like it was this awful thing. Yeah, right. He makes millions, is doing a job he loves...poor man.

I've not had a holiday--of any shape or kind--since January of 2004--it was one helluva holiday, I will say--two weeks in Egypt with my college group--but I came home--with a bad case of traveler's sickness two weeks on (lost 20 pounds in 2 weeks), and also to my dad's dying and frozen solid--and broken-- water pipes, my mum in hospital, and the cat's not having been fed or watered in 3 days, and the fact that someone had stolen 3000 out of the 3500 dollars I had in my savings account, at the time!

Someone just try and tell me there's no such thing as Egyptian curses.

And, not going to have any holidays, very likely, for years to come, if ever again. Not complaining--I've had four good holidays in my 46 years, and that's more than a lot of people can say, as well I know.

So, forgive me if I don't feel terribly sorry for Mr. Davies not having a holiday. Personally, I think he's one of the luckiest men on the planet, myself.

Home from work today. Seems I waited too long to cook up the leftover Polish Sausage from a while back. Ah well. Means I have to work Friday, to make up the hours--only 1 day off for the next 14 days, but no hope for it.

I really don't get the so-called "logic" of the BBC. They pay big bucks to put their content on YouTube, only to completely shut out all viewers outside the UK. Which is, really beginning to make non-UK viewers quite incensed. I had someone write me the other day, to say she's stopped watching BBC America, because she's tired of the games they keep playing with programming, but also on YouTube--like me, she could watch BBC content on YouTube--UNTIL she signed up to "subscribe" to the BBC on YouTube--now she's BANNED. Stupid. There's no delicate way to put it, it's just plain daft.

And please, no long comments on how the BBC works--I know, I know, I know already.

And YouTube, is getting angry responses as well, I'm told, by allowing media giants to ban content from some viewers, but allowing it with others. YouTube--now owned by the almighty Google, used to allow all people to see its videos, but now it's prostituting itself to big business, and banning many viewers from the very videos that first brought them to the website to begin with. Capitalism totally sucks, sometimes, don't it tho'? Yeah, YouTube is daft, as well.

But then, so, for that matter, are the viewers who allow this to happen, who are angry about it and, then do and say nothing and just accept it. We DO NOT have to accept this. I'm doing my bit, here, and have made my views known to both parties--including unsubscribing to BBC and YouTube, and refusing to visit the BBC's Dr Who website--because of banned content there, as well.

The BBC wants international viewership--by their own admission--they want us Yanks to buy their books, videos and gift items, they want us to shell out big bucks for the premium channels to get BBC America--but then, they spit on us and treat us like rubbish--no apologies, no reasons--just the old two-finger salute and an "oh, well, tough cheese old bean."

There's a game on a certain website: "What's in Yer Sporan, David Tennant?"

There's been some...uh...interesting, answers.

I rather like, "A little Rose doll, because I like to keep her close to my...erm..."

And, "My pipes--fancy a blow?" And, "Freema's lacy red knickers..oh wait, I'm wearin' those."

Although one person chimed in and said his sporan wss "too low." Hmmm--David "Teninch" indeed, ey? Tho' I'm told, that the true Scots with the "big bhoys" wear their sporans to the side--umm--TMI--too much information!

Ah, the local drive-in movie theater opened for the season, this weekend. I adore drive-in movies! I grew up going to them. There used to be, in the 60's and up to the mid-70's, thousands and thousands of drive-in movie theaters, all across the country.

Many of them are gone now. But, they are making a small come back--they've even built a new one, in virtually the middle of nowhere in nearby Fulton county, and they did quite a good business, last year.

We had a drive-in in my village, right up until the late 1980's. Tri-City Twin Drive in. It was great! They had a playground and a fantastic snack bar--tho' dad was usually too cheap to spring for more than a small bucket of hot buttered popcorn--that he usually gobbled most of--we kids were lucky if we got more than a handful or two.

The playground was nice. There was a creek--I think it was the Krommekill, that ran right smackdab in the middle of the drive-in complex, and the playground was built alongside it, sandwiched between The lot for the Screen 1 side, and the lot for the screen 2 side. And didn't it half stink! Pee-eww! Polluted? Oh yeah. But then, the lots, which were gravel over oiled dirt--well, now we know that oil was filled with nasty carcenogens--PCB's, mostly. But, hey, what's a little pollution, ey? We were having fun!

Other "fun" we used to have, was with discared pop top tabs from soda and beer cans (see last photo above). The ground was just littered with them. And sis and I used to make "necklaces" out of them--amazingly, we never cut ourselves, either.

The nice thing about going to the drive-in's--especially now, with today's huge prices at the snack bar--is that you can, indeed, bring your own refreshments. When I had a car, here, I used to (when I had the money) pop some microwave popcorn (movie theater butter flavour, of course), fill the cooler with ice and Cokes, and stop along the way and pick up a pizza or even some Chinese takeaway (there's a Chinese buffet across from the Glen Drive-in here), or maybe McDonald's or even sandwiches I'd made at home, if the budget was short. The snack bars of today, are nothing compared to what you had in the 60's. In the 60's, everything was made fresh: Pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers--all nice and fresh. Now, everything is pre-made and put in the steamer to keep warm--and most of it's pre-packaged frozen that's just been heated through--and way overpriced, in the bargain.

The thing is, those hokey intermission films? They've not changed in 30 or 40 years--I mean literally! Same intermission films--with that male voice over that sounded eerily like the same guy who used to do the voice-overs in those health films you had to watch at school. The stiff upstanding white guy trying to sound perky as he pitched the product: "And pop-corn! Piping hot popcorn!" And his contradictory announcements: "There's plenty of time to get a snack before the movie!" Followed by, a few minutes later, "5 minutes to go before show time." And what about that naff canned music that played, while pictures of flowers and the sun moving through a cloud, ran across the screen? Ugh! They still show that!

I used to be fascinated by the projector--you can see the projector lights, streaming through the night, all blue and white--with moths flutter about the opening in the second story of the snack bar--which is where the projector usually is situated.

But, drive-in's do have their drawbacks: The first time I watched Star Wars, it didn't do much for me (I later saw it again, in the winter indoors, and fell in love with it)--but my initial dislike of the movie, might have had something to do with that fact, that mum and I were trying to watch it in the middle of a thunderstorm. Yeah, rain can be a bit of a drag, at the movies--as well as cold weather--or hot, steamy muggy weather, as well.

That, and the mosquitoes. Oh yeah. Never--I mean, never, ever ever--go to a drive-in movie without your mosquito repellent. There's nothing on God's earth that's worse than being trapped in your car on a hot steamy summer night--with a great big ol' mosquito whining about your head, looking to suck some blood and make you itch like blazes. And the moths--ugh! I shudder to remember the time this huge moth got trapped in my car--doesn't happen often, mind, hardly ever, actually--but this one time the moth kept flying about my hair--arggh! I hate moths!

Usually, if the night's not to hot, I just hang the speaker by the wire and roll up the window--letting the window keep the wire in place. On hot nights, that's not so possible. Some drive-in's have eliminated speakers--or, use both systems--they use a radio frequency--FM, and you can listen to the movie on your car radio. This eliminates the expense of the drive-in people, of having to replace a speaker, because some dunce forgot to remove it from his/her winder before he or she drove off after the show.

Oh, and there are idiots at the drive-in...usually the inexperienced, or, really, the just plain dolts. There's people who party too loud, don't turn their headlight's off, or honk their horns repeatedly, when there's a glitch with the movie. There's the pot smokers (I personally find the smell of marajuna quite sickening), the loud talkers, the drunks, the kids running around. But, mostly..well, usually, it's a good crowd.

The thing about the drive-in's is, that sometimes you can interchange movies--if you don't like the second feature at you movie, you can switch to the one on the other screen, by just driving 'round--done that myself a few times. Second feature's are a bit of a crap shoot at the drive-in. One of the big draws, these days, is that you can see two movies at the drive-in, for less than the price of one movie at an indoor cinema. But--big "but" here--the second features may be good--or, they may be total rubbish. I remember once, I went to a drive-in movie. Don't remember the first feature, but the second feature--"Adventures in Babysitting," had me in stitches! You just never know. And that's all part of the fun, really.

It's great tho', because you can go and hang out with your friends--sit in the back of a pick up truck, or set out in lawn chairs, and pass the time before and between shows. Or, if alone, you can listen to the drive-in's DJ, or your car radio, and sit and read or whatever, eat you dinner, relax before the movie.

Movies I remember as a kid: The Horse in the Gray Flannel suit--that's the first movie I remember. The Love Bug movies, The War Wagon, with John Wayne--loved that, All the President's Men, Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry movies, Most of the James Bond films from the 60's to late 70's. Loved Live and Let Die, it was really a cool movie. You can tell dad preferred to take us to movies HE liked...but usually, I liked them too--except for this one John Wayne movie--I remember it was like Chinese water torture having to sit through that, it was called McQ--and I can safely tell you, that to a 13-year old, it pretty much McSucked.

Of course, nearly all of the drive-in's I went to as a kid, are gone now: The Mowhawk, the Latham, Tri-City, Scotia-Glen, Hollywood, Tommahawk, so many others--all gone. But there's still one in Malta (Saratoga, NY) and Hoosick, NY and a few other places..still, it's sad to see so many fall by the wayside.

Now, all that's left of many of these places, is the old snackbar in an empty field, or maybe the remnants of a giant movie screen...more's the pity.

The Bodysnatchers

CHAPTER 9: Enter the Tall Man

At first the Doctor had held his breath. Now, mentally crossing his fingers, he let it out. He took a good sniff. Then, several good sniffs. He coughed and slapped his lungs. Then he sneezed. "Phew! Musty in here!" The air was clean again. He turned and called back, “Sorry about that. Thought it'd be better for you to stay out there...you know..just in case I passed out from the gas, didn’t want to risk falling on you…” Despite her mild anger, she found herself grinning--was the Doctor's playfulness rubbing off on her? The Doctor looked around the chapel's dim interior. "All clear. There's no one in here, either...at least, no one living." Martha sensed a movement behind her and looked up. She gasped with fear. The tall man was standing not thirty meters from her. He was just standing there with this unspeakable grin on his face. Unable to take her eyes from the evil-looking man, she cried, “Doctor!”

Holding the screwdriver aloft, he said to Martha, “You might want to cover your ears. This shouldn’t be harmful to humans--but, you never know.” Martha looked a trifle disconcerted. “You mean you don’t know.” The Doctor smiled reassuringly. “Never tried this around humans before, but I think it’s safe.” He scratched his head, adding hopefully, “I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s safe. Yeah. well..probably is.” Martha pointed towards the outside, in the direction of the tall man. “Isn’t he human?” The Doctor looked at her. “No. Humanoid, yes, but not human--at least, not in your sense.” Looking around at the unfeeling grey stone walls of the chapel, Martha rubbed her arms and asked, “So, what are you going to do, Doctor?”

Well, I'm off in about an hour, to do the laundry--that I didn't do yesterday.

I'd rather be out for a drive in the chill, gray but oh-so-glorious-to-see greening countryside--but alas, didn't win the lottery again (okay, didn't actually play it...) so no car to drive about in--so, I'll settle for what greenery (precious little) I can see out the taxi window on the way to the Broad St laundromat. Hopefully my foot will be up a bit better today...I've about four or five loads, this time, I think. Not going to be a fun day--I truly miss my washing machine and clothesline, I do.

Anyway, 'nuff about me--found a couple of videos to leave you with--I just wanna' have fun, but since I can't I'll do it vicariously. (PS: She's still so lovely, isn't she?)

WOT'S WRONG???? HE'S FLIPPING BONKERS!!!

(I've met the guy--Brian Allen--in the maroon and blue racing silks)

I had a dream last night--well, had a lot of dreams, really. Never eat pizza before bedtime, ey? Oh yeah, dreamed I was working at the harness race track, shoveling manure--while all my "friends"--dream friends, not real one's, no clue who these people in my dream actually were), anyway, I'm shoveling manure--in a harness race stable--while my dream "friends" are coming in with their horses--and all of them are bragging, because they'd just one big ribbons and championships at some hunter-jumper horse show--oh, I was happy for them, and they were all nice to me, but--what the heck were hunter-jumpers doing in a harness racing barn?

Oh, I don't mind the demotion to manure mover--best job I ever had was as a stablehand--manure, who cares? Very low pay, no benefits, no hospitalization, and sometimes considerable pain? So what? I loved it, anyway. I got to be outside all day, all on my own (mostly), with horses (and a cat and two dogs), and fresh air and no time clocks/cards, loads of excercise (lost 50 pounds in 6 months just lifting and working) And, except for the times when I fell in the manure spreader, got knocked out cold getting hit in the head by a weaver (a horse that swings its head back and forth out of boredom), run over by a horse, bitten in the arse by a Shetland pony, nipped in the arm daily by a thick-headed quarter horse, nearly had my face frostbitten, and had to lay on my back in a foot of snow, using my shoulder to lift a 300 pound sliding barn door back on its track--otherwise, it was fantastic--adored my job, most days. So, I suppose it was a good dream, if a bit odd.

I had another dream, that we kids on the street I grew up on were playing by the Delaware and Hudson tracks, down the hill, when a big train came by--it leaped the tracks and chased us! Under the highway overpass and straight into the village park's baseball diamond! Then, abruptly, we were all playing softball together, nice sunny summer day, and everything was fine.

We used to have little "myths" we'd make up, to scare each other. Most freight engines that went through the village, were the familiar gray/blue/yellow D & H engines--but some were black, as well--old engines, I was told, from the former New York Central line. Someone made up the "myth" or game, where, if the engine was black, you had to get your feet off of the ground, because if your feet touched the ground when a black engine was passing, it would drag you into hell. Nice, ey?

There was a similar myth, that if you walked on a fresh grave in the Catholic cemetery adjoining our street--you would go to hell when you die.

Yet another variation--we lived with the remains of a lovely old Victorian-era estate in our backyard--loads of gardens, moss-covered paths--and a somewhat high wooden footbridge. There was a myth, that if you walked over the bridge and the sun went behind a cloud--if you didn't get off the bridge right away, the bridge would collapse next time you used it.

Likewise, in the 1930's-era teahouse in the estate's Japanese garden, there was a notion that if you went in there at night, there was a ghost in the cupboards, and it would come out and eat you.

Oh yeah, who needs video games--I think we managed to have a good scare and adventure, and we didn't have to spend a dime on games or equipment, to do it.

Yep. I'm addicted to Doctor Who, what can I say? Nothing for it but to go to DWA--Doctor Who Anonymous.

A friend of mine has outlined the 12 steps as thus:

The Twelve Steps of DWA ...

Other twelve-step groups have modified the twelve steps slightly from those of Doctor Who Anonymous to refer to problems other than Doctor Who Addiction.

But...do I really have to apologize to a Dalek?

The Bodysnatchers

CHAPTER 8: Escape to Danger

Martha tried to scream, but was silenced by a fierce “Shhhh---!” She gasped with relief. It was the Doctor. “Don’t move.” He whispered in her ear. They looked on, seeing that the tall man hesitated, as if hearing some voice inside his head. “Yes master,” he hissed, “it shall be as you command.” Martha felt the Doctor’s hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. The tall man looked directly at the trees where the two were hiding, and smiled hideously. The peculiar green cloud began to form again. The Doctor whispered one more word in Martha’s ear: “Run!” she thought, “Make up your mind, Doctor!” Just before she lit out after him, as he sprinted back towards the chapel.

The Doctor sniffed the air again and turned to her. “You wouldn’t. It’s origin is from a small planet on the far side of the universe, called Draxil. As for the cloud…not sure." Martha frowned. "Not sure? What does that mean?" Without answering, the Doctor stepped inside the doorway, just out of sight, his voice echoing back to her. “Martha, you'd better stay back, just in case.” She looked in his direction worriedly, “Just in case of what?” She was greeted by silence. “Doctor?” No answer. “Doctor? Are you alright?” But no sound came through the open doorway, but the rising wind coming through the broken window, moaning through the rafters.

Sorry about that last post--I'm afraid I don't handle feeling stupid, very well--and computers and math equally make me feel stupid! I had to juggle the cheque book balance today--then tonight tried to download the script writing programme--not that I'm thinking of writing a sit-com or drama or anything, just wanted to stay in practice..for what, I'm not sure--but, I spent so many hours/months/years learning to write this stuff, I guess I just don't like to see it go to a total waste. Still stings that I can't finished my writing education, but..what can I do? I'm stuck. Just gotta' adjust and deal with it. One day at a time--just like an old turtle.

So, tonight moi had a bit of a public temper-tantrum. A side of me I probably shouldn't let out in public, I suppose. But, it helped, actually, to get it out, instead of letting it fester.

Didn't get to the laundromat. I can't believe how tired I get! A little shopping--maybe 30 minutes--and It's like I just ran the Boston Marathon! And, geez, the foot hurts--well, the part that isn't numb and tingly, that is. My back is sore as well. My landlord was here--fixing the light. Did he offer to help me get my six, mostly heavy bags of groceries up the two flights of stairs? No. In fact, he made me wait outside, in the blinking rain, while he set up the ladder to change the lightbulb--which was the wrong kind. He did, before he left, leave his torch on, propped up against the bottom step--but left the extension ladder in the hall, which I banged by bad foot against--but managed, I'm pleased to say, to keep my "choice words" in my head, and not blurt them out loud.

Today was the first time in three weeks that I've been able to get a whole week's worth of groceries at once--it's the first time I felt well enough to take that many bags upstairs. I've mostly either been doing without, or getting things a few days at a time, mostly from the little store, down the street...which has been an added expense as well, as things cost more in the smaller stores.

It's a bit past 11, here. Watched some Doctor Who, lost against the computer some more, on the online cribbage game, cuddled with Flame and Boots, Had two slices of the store brand's frozen pizza (pepperoni and sausage, not bad for a $2.50 pizza) and some diet rootbeer, fiddled with the computer (let's not go there again) surfed a Dr Who website, blogged, listened to The Proclaimers, The Dr Who soundtrack, The Monkees live tour CD, messed about with a play I've been toying with for the last 8 months--and getting not very far--only on page 2 in 8 months, not good --I've trashed this play so many times, only to try it again and again. I love the idea of the play, but I just can't seem to make it work--exposition is hard, for me. Well, so's plot too, for that matter--dialog on the other hand, is a cakewalk. But a play is rubbish without good exposition and a solid plotline, so all the dialog in the world won't help, if you haven't got those other two things nailed down solid.

So, I going to try and go to bed--I am tired, but the pain's rather bad--took 400mg of Ibueprofin, but it's likely going to take a while for it to kick in. Anyway, Flame's nagging me to go to bed--she used to do that to my late mum, a lot--mum didn't sleep well, last few years--and Flame likes to go to bed at a certain time. Gets genuinely upset if I stay up too late. Shell "talk" to me, paw at me, sit and stare at me--until bedtime--and..being a cat...naturally she wakes up and wants to play.

WARNING: I'm about to seriously whine and cry and moan and just totally "vent."

Okay, I'm a complete moron when it comes to anything with computers. I'm just plain totally stupid. 'Nuff said?

I'm trying to install this script programme--and I CAN'T find the flippin' "drop down box" shown on the page in my MS Word!

The directions say to "right click the link"

But the jerks who gave us these instructions totally forgot to tell us where the hell the flippin' "link" is!!!!!!!!!

The so-called "link" has stuff like "open" and "Save target as" I DON'T HAVE THAT!!! Where the hell on my blinking Word toolbar is a flippin' link that says flippin' "Save Target As?????????????"

I can't find my computer book from college, and even if I could, I don't have a clue. I so goshdarned totally flippin' stupid! I hate this! Why do I have to be so stupid that I can even download a simple frickin' programme by myself?

I've taken no less than 5 computer classes and I'm so f'ing stupid I can't learn jack! Comptuers and math! I hate them. I hate being feeling like this! I can't say how lousy trying and wanting to learn something--and my lousy low I.Q won't let me! Yes, I really do have a low I.Q., I've been tested twice or three times. And believe me, when it comes to maths or computers or science--it really, seriously shows. I don't want to be stupid. It makes me mad! My sister's a borderline genius and she doesn't care about learning--she doesn't like learning, much--comes too easy to her, mum said. It never comes easy with me--and I've got a serious memory problem on top of all that--I'm just...stupid. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't care about learning, if I was so damn curious about stuff--but that makes it hurt twice as bad--when I want to learn something, but my stinking mind won't let me. It hurts and it makes me feel like total rubbish inside, and no one on the planet who's "normal" can even begin to know how bad this feels.

Well the old drudge (namely me) is off in a few minutes. I've done the washing up, cleaned the counters in the kitchen, as well as the stove, polished the wood cabinets, and swept and mopped the kitchen floor, as well as swept the apartment's vestibule as well as emptied the trash in the bathroom and swept (sort of) the bathroom floor--oh, and taken the rubbish to the dumpster in the car park out back.

Now all I have to do is:

1. Get a cab to the office to pick up my cheque.

2. Go to Price Chopper on Cooper St, cash said cheque, get groceries and pet food.

3. Get cab back to the apartment.

4. pick up the dirtys and take said cab to Broad St laundromat.

5. Go buy myself a blinking 1/2 Polish sausage 1/2 sliced Italian sausage pizza from Talk of the Town Tavern nearby.

6. Go home and totally collapse. Isn't that a fun day off, ey? Everyone come to my place for an exciting holday!

ADDENDUM:

Damn! I have to wait a while for the taxi! I HATE Glens Fall's taxi's!!! Oh well, I'll just listen to some more of that wonderful Doctor Who soundtrack, some more, whilst I wait...and wait.

The rain in Glens Falls drips softly from this old building's eaves. It's a gray and gloomy day--going to stay that way for the better part of the week, with temps under 60 degrees F...hovering between 12 and 18 C for highs for the next four or five days, with rain off and on. So much for the nice 70 and 80 F weather, ey?

Still, snow's 98 percent gone, except on the ski slopes outside the city here, and shadowed places in the surrounding mountains, where it got piled up deep in gullies, and also on the ground, in the dark corners of steep roofed buildings.

So, soon as I'm done with my kitchen chores, it's off to pick up my pay, to the bank, then the store--and if I'm really feeling ambitious (LOL), to Broad street to the Laundromat there, get as much done today as possible, so I'll have most of tomorrow to myself--or do I want that?

Lately, seems like my day is a white space--that blank page every writer dreads. It's as if, lately, I'm having living writer's block--just don't know what the hell to do, anymore. Just don't. I feel like a living automaton. I hate this! I'm going to emphasize again that I'm NOT suicidal, but gah! I wish I wasn't...well, sometimes...I wish I just wasn't here, anymore. I feel like I'm dying a slow and lingering death. I keep trying to tell myself to stop feeling this way--God only knows there's people out there--millions--worse off than me. But I can't help it. It's like standing on the tracks staring at an oncoming freight train and being unable to move.

Still, I have my writing--tho' to be quite honest, I don't even feel much like doing that, any longer. The life is going out of me, leaking like a sieve, and I can't seem to patch the holes inside me, no matter how hard I try.

I haven't read much lately, either--which for a book-a-holic like me, is seriously saying something is wrong. Even if I could afford to pay off those fines, I couldn't get to the library right now, anyway.

Even my appetite is way off, especially since the accident. I think the accident hurt me as much, emotionally, as physically. I mean I have full realization as to my situation, as far as being alone. But the accident made me realize just how vulnerable I truly am. For two or three days, I barely ate, could hardly get to the loo--and if I'd broken my leg--what then? How would I have managed, then? I wouldn't have been able to even get up my own stairs, unassisted. Sure, the terrible pain took its toll, but the realization of my own helplessness--that scared the hell out of me.

But, I carry on. Another month or two, and I'll (mostly) be my old self again--at least physically--I hope.

I'm thinking tho' lately, about my failed attempt at an education. I tried to register for a cheap (under $20) class--but it was filled. I miss college a lot. I really miss the interaction, the discussion, the learning and growing. I even miss the writing assignments! Sure, I would have loved writing for a living. Heck, I would have even liked being a librarian or a PR person or something like that--but realistically, not going to happen. Ever. I'm a chav. Not only that, but I'm a mentally ill chav. And, I'm alone--no knights in shining armor live in Glens Falls, no magic genies, and no one here has ever won the big lotto drawing.

I'm not only never going to be a writer, I'll probably never get a better job than I've got, right now. Tho', things can change in a heartbeat, as well I know, and I'm not being self-defeating, so much as bluntly realistic. Only I can change my life--and for once, I don't have the guts to try anymore. I hope that changes, I truly do. Right now, I'm just trying to survive from one day to another. That's all. No more.

My dreams are long dead. Never thought that'd happen. I live knowing I tried. And, I had some wonderful times, in between the horrors that live has placed in my path. And, I can still write--even if it is in this daft old blog. But my dreams of being a playwright or a wrter--nah. It was a pipe dream, something "normal" people do. No one will ever hear my plays, nor will I ever be published--at least not by real publisher.

Still, I don't think any Doctor Who publishers are going to be knocking down my door, but I do enjoy writing the DW stories--even if I do get seriously stuck, sometimes, and don't always have the drive to finish one (I've two or three left undone). But, I've four whole readers and a "fan,"--what more could I ask for?

The Bodysnatchers

CHAPTER 7: Death Trap

The Doctor rummaged with his free hand through his suit pockets, frantically looking for his for the sonic screwdriver. If he hadn’t been holding the tie to his mouth, he might have slapped his forehead. His trusty screwdriver was still safely tucked away in his coat pocket--which he’d left with Martha. The Doctor was worried. Even a Time Lord could only hold his breath just so long. He looked wildly around the chapel. That’s when he noticed a sturdy wrought iron chandelier. It hung down low from the ceiling, just several feet over the wooden benches. His lungs were starting to ache. Holding his breath, he made a decision. Calculating the distance, the Doctor backed up against the wall. He took a running start, jumped up onto the bench, grabbed onto the chandelier and pushed off in a mighty swing.

Without thinking, she continued backing away. The tall man growled deep in his throat and began swiftly stalking towards her. Remembering her previous encounter, Martha’s only thought was to run. Immediately she backed into something solid. A hand was clasped over her mouth and she was held fast from behind.