I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Well, it's done. Again, sorry if there's any typos, and sorry if this story sucks. I am not crazy about this story, but am relieved that it's finally done and put to bed at last.
Didn't have time to edit, so if there's mistakes...ah well, that's life. Have to get ready to leave for work, and there's just no time to mess about with it. Anyway, last chapter, here we go:

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 14: Energy Hog

Rose had had enough of this bloke. In the dim light, she could just make out the box in his hand. Without a word, she leaped forward and charged into him like an angry footballer. The device clattered to the floor, and the Doctor ceased screaming. “Right!” Rose yelled, “I’ve had enough of you!” Jane ran up and grabbed Boswell from behind. Rose ran to the Doctor, who was kneeling on the floor, wincing and rubbing his temples.

He looked at her over his coffee mug, and then glanced at Rose. She nodded. “You could come with us, you know.” He suggested quietly. Jane returned the smile, but shook her head. “No, those days are done for me, Doctor. I’ve the farm now, and I’m quite content here, really. But I do thank you for the offer. And, likewise, if you ever get tired of traveling, you two will always have a home here with me, if you ever want it.” Rose grinned. “The Doctor and me down on the farm? Ha-ha, I’d like to see that.” The Doctor smiled sadly. “No, I’m afraid the Tardis is my home, now. But I do thank you for the offer.” He hesitated. “There is one thing you can do for me though.” Sitting on an armchair, Jane asked, “What’s that, Doctor?” Half-seriously he replied, “Don’t name any more pets after me, eh?” Rose and Jane burst out laughing, and the Doctor joined them.

Doctor Who is copyright of the BBC.

When I was told, in 2001, that I might be going blind, it came as a bit of a blow. Thankfully, after more than six months of tests, I found that my condition was not the one my eye doctor originally thought it was. Also, It was discovered that tho' I have lost a very marginal amount of vision, the condition is relatively dormant, and seems to be only effecting my right eye. So, outside of having to be more cautious in dim lighting conditions (for some reason, I see better in the dark than in low light), no worries.

My eyesight is very gradually failing, but by such a degree in will "probably" be another decade or two--if ever, before anything significant happens. Outside of me having to remove my glasses to read fine print more than I used to, and not being able to see this screen as well as I'd like (someday I'll get a proper desk and chair again), I really don't think much on it, any longer. But, just in case, I've made an appointment with my eye doctor. Haven't been in nearly a year and a half--and I'm supposed to go every six months...I'm a bad girl.

My great-grandmother, on mum's side, went blind, and she was okay with it, from what mum told me. She still managed to knit and even helped gran in the kitchen. My paternal grandmother was a deaf-mute who barely understood English, and yet raised dad and all his brothers and sisters alone, during the height of the depression. So, I'm in good company, I reckon.

I think I'd adjust okay, to being blind. As long as I still had my hearing. We depend on our sight so much, don't we? But sounds can tell us a lot, as well. Given time, any one of us would probably easily be able to tell the difference between the sound of two different types of coins, dropping on the floor.

Familiar sounds can comfort us.

There are so many sounds that I love to hear, I put them in a poem

Sounds that Comfort

A contented cat, purring in my ear.
A lawnmower on a Sunday afternoon.
The gentle trickle of a stream in summer.
Fast water racing through rocky streambed.
The regular lapping of waves on a shoreline.
The chuck-chuck sound of water against a boat.
A fish rising from the water and slapping down again.
A bullfrog echoing across still waters.
Canadian geese calling as they fly across stormy skies.
Kids laughing, playing in a pool.
The whoosh and sighing of leaves or pine boughs in the wind.
The skittering of autumn leaves across a sidewalk.
A single engine plane, humming through a distant blue sky.
The lazy clop-clop of hooves walking on pavement.
Popcorn popping.
The snap and crackle of a wood fire.
Sleet hissing on the windows when I'm in a warm place.
Rain falling on a metal roof.
Raindrops dripping from the leaves in the woods.
The soft melodies of the rain on a quiet afternoon.
The squeak of my footsteps on hard-packed snow at night.
My mother's laughter.
A friend's voice in quiet conversation.
The quiet--then joyous tune the church organ played at end of service.
The sound of a choir, singing in harmony.
The Doctor Who theme.
A good pipe band playing.
A waltz played on a fiddle.
An actor's voice, alone upon a stage.
Crickets at dawn.
A robin's contented chirping at sunset.

It's not fair!!!

I work as a telemarketer--nights at the mo', wanted to sleep in an extra hour this morning, and what wakes me up? The telephone! And it's not a friend, not my boss, not my doctor or lawyer or prospective employer...it's a blinking telemarketer...from INDIA! Whose accent is so blinking thick, I cannot understand a blinking word he's saying to me!

And, I have an UNLISTED number! Half past eight in the bloomin' morning! I'd set my alarm last night for half-past nine, as I wasn't able to sleep until after 1am. Bad enough these people are taking jobs from us--but now they have the nerve to call me on a blinking unlisted number at blinking half past eight in the morning. Life stinks.

Not big into music videos, never have been--that said, came across this one, rather liked it. No clue who sings it, but..it's different, not the usual blaring sappy love songs that seem to accompany all the fan vids of David Tennant, these days. Well, what do you think?

Scenes from the episode, "Gridlock."

Missing Mom

A poem

First we would sit in the car and discuss the possibilities.
Second we would argue about it.
Third we would drive around and mull it over some more.
Forth we would decide to compromise.
Fifth we would go pull up and park again.
Sixth we would go inside and discuss where to sit.
Seventh we would discuss our prime choices.
Eighth we would decide.
Ninth the waitress would come and we'd change our minds.
Tenth we'd sit and talk about our day and/or what we were to do that night.
Eleventh we'd sit and talk about how much we hate George W. Bush.
Twelfth We'd discuss the weather.
Thirteenth we'd talk about dad or my childhood.
Fourteenth we'd discuss what we saw or heard on TV or Radio.
Fifteenth we'd wonder where our food was.
Sixteenth We'd talk about my/her future plans.
Seventeenth we'd talk about what the people we knew were up to.
Eighteenth we'd wonder where our waitress was.
Nineteenth We'd order more tea and soda.
Twentieth the food would come and we'd shut up and eat.

Hruph! Yeah, I'm bloody invisible--even to my co-workers. I've a co-worker, sits two seats down from me--she works nights at our office and moonlights as a country singer. Well, she also lives in the big apartment complex in the former city high school, just two doors down from me.

Tho' she only lives 3 blocks away, she usually takes her car to work. But tonight, she walked...and asked if I would like to walk home with her. I said I would be happy to. Never have company when I'm walking, much, so I thought it would make a nice change.

So, 10 pm rolls around, quitting time--and I hang around an extra 5 minutes, waiting for my co-worker to get herself sorted. We walk to the elevator, and while waiting for the elevator, she hints to another co-worker that she "wished" she had a ride home. The co-worker offers to take her--and without so much as another word to me, she leaves with this other co-worker..not so much as a good-bye or a backwards glance at me.

Moral of my story: most (My friends excepted) human beings totally suck.

Where do cows go, when they go out at night? To the Moo-vies of course!

Why did the cow jump over the moon? Because the farmer had cold hands.

Why don't cows have money? Because the farmers milk them dry.

Why do cows wear bells? Because their horns don't work.

Why don't cows listen to you? Because it goes in one ear and out the udder.

What do you call a cow that plays a banjo? A moo-sican

What sound does an exploding cow make? "COW-BOOM!"

Why does a milking stool have only three legs? Because the cow's got the udder.

Why did the cow go to drama school? To become a moo-vie star.

What do you call a cow eating grass? A lawn moo-er.

What do you call a cow that can't give milk? An udder failure.

Well...day's shot again. I had just bagged the laundry this morning, bent over to pick it up, got dizzy and fell over...thankfully not far. Hurt my bad foot, slightly, but other than that, I seem to be okay--but, means another day of taking it easy...which I'm sick of doing! I had weeks of taking it easy with the blasted foot, now, I've got this mystery illness...I don't know. I broke down and made a doctor's appointment--three weeks I have to wait. And, then, don't know if I'll be able to keep the appointment, on account of the cost of cab fare--no buses go to that part of the city--and the cost of the co-pay, which has gone up again--and if I need medication--forget it. I'm still unsure about making the rent, and I can't pay the internet bill, for June, so I'm likely going to lose my phone and internet service, by the way. No more blogging for me. I will miss my friends. I dread this, because without the internet--I really am, very literally, completely alone--morning, noon and night, 24/7/365. Having been there for months and months, after mum's death, that was my situation...and it was a very dark place to be in...I don't want to go there again, but fear, unless a miracle happens--or just some unusual good luck--that's just what will happen.

Anyway, I found one last outfit to wear to work today--pays to rummage about one's closet, ey? So, laundry tomorrow. I am still a bit light-headed, but the dizziness is gone. I had breakfast, and in a bit will do the washing up--I'm being cautious moving about the kitchen, for obvious reasons. But, the laundry's mostly bagged and ready to go, bed is made, bath is half-cleaned. Just going to take things nice and easy.

Well, I'm getting--possibly, a one-year deferrment on my student loan--which will keep the wolves away from my door--and my pay cheque--for a while--however, the big catch is, if I make so much as 1 dollar over poverty level, I'm screwed, and have to pay several hundred dollars at once. It's the old damned if I do, and damned if I don't. America sucks. They don't like us to be poor--but when we try to better our lives, they put all these clamps on us, and bog us down right off the bat, and don't give us a chance for breathing room.

I'm relieved over the potential deferrment--but at the same time, worried. The situation is so utterly precarious...I mean, my life, it's like literally living in a house of cards, all the time, day in and day out, month after month. I hate this, I hate living like this so much. I would give anything--sell my soul to the devil--for just a little stability and financial security...but, that's a pipe dream. I may be a fool, but I'm not a blind one. I see things as they are, and it's not a happy future, I'm seeing.

Now, I don't know what to do! Do I apply for that job with Time-Warner--and risk being right back where I am now, by having this loan come down on my head right off? Or, do I stay where I'm at, and risk homelessnes? Or will I be homeless, no matter what I do? I've figured it out. In order to keep afloat in this life, I'd have to make at least 23 to 25 thousand dollars a year--I make less than 12,000 (6000 pounds)--and the Time-Warner job would (maybe) boost that to 15,000 or maybe, 16,000...maybe. But even then, I don't think that would be enough...I don't know. I'm scared. No, I will never be afraid of death again, not ever.

Got an e-mail message this morning, regarding my Doctor's parents post. Seems that Russell T. Davies beat me to the punch, in regards to John Smith's parent's names.

Just ruin it for me then, why don't you Russell? Geez---This Dr Who confidential is a very nice concept--but they don't leave much to the imagination! They show all the little tricks and inuendos, and leave nothing for us fans to speculate on, or wonder about--except for un-aired episodes, that is.

I'm not sure how I feel about Confidential, sometimes. In one way, I like seeing the actor's take on how they feel about the show, how it's made, how they approach the character(s)...and it's sometimes nice to see the special effects--but...

the show also sort of kills one' suspension of disbelief..and loses some of the fun, in spotting little things--like the name of the Doctor's parents. I remember, in the mid to late 80's, our local club (400 some-odd members) used to meet one Saturday a month--and one of the things we'd do--and love doing--is pointing out things we'd noticed in the show, and also, discussing and speculating on the back story of the show. Confidential sort of kills that, doesn't it? It doesn't leave room (for those who can watch it--we don't get it over here) for this sort of thing--everything is explained, like we're a bunch of idiots, and won't pick up on this ourselves...which I mildly resent, quite frankly. But then, maybe I am an idiot...after all, I am an American...

Oh, I don't think Mr. Davies, bless, does it deliberately--at least, I hope not--I think it's just that the guy is so hopelessly enthusiastic with the show, so in love with it, that he just wants to share everything with us fans. I mean, I would really like to think that's the reason for messing with our imaginations. But, who knows? He's a famous writer from Wales, I'm a poor nobody, no-talent schumuck from Glens Falls. What the heck do I know about anything?

SUNRISE, ON GRAND ISLE ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN, WHERE MY LATE MUM'S FAMILY ONCE HAD THEIR CAMP AT HERO, NY.

Well, it promises to be another nice day, high temp is 81 F (27 C) with clear skies. Since I'm up, reckon I'll get dressed and do the laundry early--that way I can always nap before work, when I get home, if I need to--and probably will. Night shift rots, but at least I have a job, ey?

Weather promises to be in the upper 70's to low 80's (F) all week, with, starting tomorrow, a 30 to 50 percent chance of storms. Ah well, maybe I won't need to water the flowers so much then. Kind of difficult--something I forgot to take into account when I put the flowers out on the balcony--have to cart the water from the kitchen, through the bedroom, into the living room, open the sliding window, and step through--2 1/2 feet off the ground--not easy with a bad foot and wonky knees--and bring the water out there. Bit of a drag, but the flowers--a hanging basket with a plethora of red petunias, flanked, one on either side of it, by a pot with a small orange gerainium growning in it--I was told by someone yesterday, that they looked nice out there.

Had some cold cereal for breakfast, and guess I'll go sort laundry, since I'm up. Going to be a long day.

Here it is, five in the morning, and I've not slept a wink all night. Not one bit of it. Too much tea and coffee yesterday? Some other reason? No clue. Felt restless and really funky all night, kind of..well, simply can't describe it...just...weird. Sort of like having an out-of-body experience, I suppose. Ah well, guess I can sleep in tomorrow, ey?

The sky is getting light, the first birds are chirping, no traffic on the street below yet, to speak of. I can see the dimly red reflection of the sun's first rays, on the tall spruce tree across the way.

I was thinking about last night. Apparently, I had accidentally saved a man's life. No joke. Several days ago, I'd bought a caramel, chocolate and peanut butter candy bar, and then realized that the sugar content was way over what I should consume, as a borderline diabetic, so I gave it to my night supervisor, instead. She tucked it away in her purse and forgot about it.

Monday night, she was lying in bed, when her husband reached over and grabbed her hand. He put her hand down on his chest--he was wringing wet. Apparently, her husband, a diabetic, had taken his insulin five hours after eating--not a safe thing to do--and his blood sugar levels had dropped so low, he was in very real danger of dying. My supervisor said that she gave him soda--no change. She gave him a couple of other sweets, nothing. His blood sugar was at a level where if it dropped any more, he'd be comatose. Then, she remembered candy bar. He ate it, and could taste it a little, and it worked. His levels became normal again, in minutes.

One diabetics loss was another's gain. Huh. Ain't life strange?

I was watching the Human Nature clip again--it's only 1 minute or so, the clip, but still--great acting.

In this clip, "John" says to his girl, that his parents were named Sidney and Verity.

Interestingly enough, the originator of Dr Who, was then head of BBC drama, Sidney Newman. And, one of the early producers (possibly the first) of Doctor Who was: Verity Lambert.

Nice little connection, ey? The Doc's parents are, in a way, the Doctor's parents. How cool is that?

Wonder how many of us Whovians have caught that?

"Aww-they were round and firm, couldn't help but want to squeeze them...I love a good melon, don't you?"

Well, that's a switch. Boots, who is normally a big baby and a genuine "scardy cat," is sitting in the window, watching the firemen and their noisy trucks, across the street. Apparently there's some sort of medical emergency, as the big "Rescue" truck and the paramedic car are down there. Boots is normally terrified of noise and activity--especially where men are involved. But for once, he's got his nose right up to the window screen, taking it all in, completely fascinated. I expect a full report from him later.

Came home, had my pot roast--mum's old recipe, that I'd made late this afternoon. Was starved, and ate it cold, beef, carrots, onions. Ohhh--so good! I used to ask her to make this for my birthdays, when we didn't go out for pizza--mum sure knew how to do a nice pot roast (braised beef). I'm eternally grateful to her, for having shared with me, the old family recipe.

Oh, look who's sauntered over to see me. Hi, Boots! He says he hasn't a clue what's going on, but hopes things will quiet down soon, so he can go back to sleep. He does love a good nap, my Bootsie.

Meanwhile, Flame is lying on her old blanket that she loves (besides sleeping on it, she also likes to play with it--slides around on the slippery material, and also wraps herself in it and kicks it with her feet)---right now she's in a very..erm..inelegant pose--is sitting upright like a person, hind feet spread wide apart, showing erm--well, it's not the attractive part of a cat I'm seeing right now.

I'm still slightly light-headed, have been all night, but feeling a bit better. Not sure what went on, last night. Might have been high blood pressure, diabetes, my heart, my woman thing...no clue. I've only fainted once in my entire life (over-heated in church when I was 15). I dunno'....just gotta' hope if it happens again, it doesn't happen when I'm alone, I guess.

I cracked up some people at work tonight. I had a War and Peace guy--one of those people who take ten minutes to grouse about something it would take most people 30 seconds to say--I mean, the guy wasn't coming up for air--"blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." So I put him on hold, put the mouthpiece in front of my face, and blew a loud raspberry into it. Everyone looked up, startled...and then burst out laughing, nodding their heads--they knew. Sometimes, you just have'ta, 'ya know what I mean?

To pass the time, I'm re-reading a Louis L'Amour book. I started reading some Shakespeare, but couldn't concentrate on it, for some reason. The Tempest. I started reading that, years and years ago, but have forgotten most of it by now. But I found myself, Monday afternoon, reading the same page three times, with little comprehension. So, I switched to something easy. Probably had something to do with my illness, I reckon--tho', of late, I'm finding I am making more and more mistakes in my writing, and that I suddenly can't seem to spell--words I never had trouble spelling before, are suddenly slipping from my grasp--it's a bit worrying, and that's no joke.

I think a lot of the typos may stem from the fact that I no longer have a desk, but must prop the screen away from me--on a small dresser top--and type with the keyboard in my lap--I can't seen the screen very well, on account of my poor eyesight, and that's a major hindrance sometimes, as well. Sometimes, I think faster than I type, and I wind up typing the wrong word or missing a word--which I hate doing. It saddens me, as I used to take great pains--and a small bit of pride--in trying to turn in perfect copy. Now: Ha! No more. It's gone.

I'm going to finish the night watching a Dr Who DVD. Can't wait to see Human Nature. This latest series of Dr Who is quite exciting...and all my innocent teasing of Mr Tennant aside--the man's really terrific. He's very energized in his performances, and seems to have both a good range, and a good use of subtlety--something I will never have--hence my very quick decision two weeks into acting class, never to be an actress. I'm trying, in my blog to do it more--but, truth to tell, I was never very good at opening my emotional Pandora's Box in public...not even in my writing--and certainly not on stage. I can't say how much I admire anyone who can do that, and Mr. Tennant seems really well set up for any theatrical challenge.

Hopefully tomorrow will see the final chapter of Run for Rose--and then I can finally put that story to bed. The chapter's half-done, I've just got to put the finishing touches on it. I don't really care for this story. It was more like work than, say, The Bodysnatchers--which was great fun to write, and also The Menagerie and some of the other stories. I've another in the re-write process, I may publish here, but not sure.

Well, I've had dinner, played with the cats, fed them, played with them some more, wrote in my blog and answered some e-mails. Time to watch some Who and then retire at 1am or so. Hope all my friends have a splendid day tomorrow.

"Playwrite27 said what about me??? I do not! I only put on ladies knickers when I visit a kebab house--kebabs really turn me on, ya' know."

Word is that the next series--Series 4, of the New Doctor Who, is to have it's budget pushed back, to what amounts to a 1974 budget.

But, producers are unsullied by this drastic change, and plans are already in the works for changes in the new series.

Here's some exclusive spoilers as to what the Doctor has in store for him:

The Christmas Special will be the first episode without any CGI effects. Instead, it is rumoured that the show will revert to models. Here we see an exclusive photo from the special, titled: "Hairball!" In this episode, the lone Dalek that escaped from Manhattan, returns to England, and attempts to take over a nuclear power station, enlisting the aid of a giant cat, named "Buster."

Another episode will evolve around the Doctor, in a fast-paced action packed episode, where he has only 42 minutes to save Martha from Mary Whitehouse, by trying desperately to peel an orange with the sonic screwdiver, while at the same time cleaning the snot out of the Face of Boe's nose.

Russell T. Davies said he's more proud than ever of the Doctor Who team, which now numbers 3 crew members, one wardrobe/makeup artist and a char woman from Swansea. When interviewed about the new series, David Tennant said, "Meh. It's a job."

If you had one wish--just for today, what would it be?

Initially, it was that there was someone to help me with the dirty laundry.

But, now I've another notice in the mail, regarding pending lawsuit--and my wish for today, is that someone else would open it, read the bad news, and take care of it for me. (I've yet to open it--I'm a little scared and anxious and depressed at the mo'.)

America is the greatest nation on earth--if that means great at being stupid, that is.

A few years back, this guy buys an expensive 40,000 dollar (20,000 pounds) SUV. So, that very weekend, Mr. Proud New Owner decides to celebrate his good fortune in obtaining expensive new auto, by taking his best friend and his hunting dog, duck shooting.

Now, it's early spring, and where they were living, there still was thick ice on the lake. So, Mr. Proud Owner takes his expensive new SUV, his friend and his dog, out on the ice to shoot ducks. One problem though. In order for them to shoot ducks, the ducks have to have a place to land. That means a hole in the ice. But there isn't any--and it would have to be a very large hole indeed--too large for a mere ice saw.

Problem solved. Mr. Proud New Owner goes into the back of the truck, and pulls out a stick of dynamite. But, he can't very well just light it and set it down, oh no. So, what does he do? Why light it and toss it as far away as possible. Oh yes, very smart--except for one thing: The dog is a Labador Retriever.

So, old Rex sees "dad" throw the red stick--ol' Rex just naturally--to his owner's horror, thinks it's a game of "fetch."

The dog grabs the dynamite and, tail wagging, trots back towards the expensive new SUV. The owner is yelling and waving his arms, he friend is yelling and waving his arms, and the dog is thinking this is a really fun game, and they want him to bring him the smoking stick, so he trots towards his owner a bit faster.

Then Mr. Proud New Owner gets an idea: shoot the dog. So, he does. One problem--it's bird shot, and all it does is stop the dog for a second. Confused and hurt, the dog decides to bravely carry on. Then, the friend shoots the dog. Really hurt and scared now, the dog does the first thing that comes natural to him: Run back to his owner as fast as he can, for protection--and hide under the brand new 40,000 dollar SUV.

Mr. Proud New Owner and his friend do the one thing left to them--run like hell.

So, The dog blew up, the SUV blew up, and both--what was left of them--promptly sank to the bottom of the lake.

Later, Mr. Proud New Owner, tried to collect from the insurance company, but was turned down. The reason: policy doesn't cover cars being destroyed by the illegal use of dynamite. And he still had to make a 450 dollar (225 pounds) a month car payment--which he hadn't even started doing yet.

I had a bad turn last night. Very bad.

It's true, yes, that the specter of homelessness positively terrifies me. And that the thought of growing old, and finding myself completely useless to society, also disturbs me somewhat. What also scares me, is being utterly alone. It came to a head when I fell in the kitchen back in early April.

It really was driven home, last night.

I almost passed out, last night, twice.

The first time really would have been embarrassing: I was, erm..on the loo, in the middle of..erm..well, you know. But, I ran a cold face cloth over my hot face and neck, and the extreme woozyness left me. Or, so I thought.

I went and sat down for a bit, felt a little better. Then slowly got up and went to the kitchen for a cold sweet tea.

Got to the middle of the kitchen floor--suddenly felt weak, then dizzy, and began to feel my face grow hot again, then, my vision literally started failing, and everything started going black--no, it's not something writer's make up, this really is what happens when you start to pass out, I guess.

So, I was going to go into the living room to ring up 911 for an ambulance--but never made it. The vertigo was so bad, I barely made it to my bed.

I laid on the bed, my feet elevated, trying to force myself to calm down, and to desperately remember what to do if you start to faint (from my high school first-aid class, roughly 30 years ago).

So, I elevated my legs, lay flat, breathed slowly, and tried to think of other things besides fainting--anything. Think I came up with the parts of a western saddle, the interior details of the New Dr Who's Tardis, what my room growing up looked like, the proper sequence of the Dewy Decibel System (library thing), and the names of all the different types of stage lighting--didn't work, all I could remember was "frenel,"--so I tried remember the names of stage directions and their proper positions..and then, I was calm again.

I picked up a book, read a bit--to calm myself some more, and eventually felt well enough to risk going to sleep.

I'm badly anemic, that I know, despite taking iron. If I take too much iron, it has a very negative effect on my already stressed out stomach, so I take the minimum dose. I have a woman's problem, and I have been putting it off for months, because, honestly, I just don't want to. What I have can only be 3 things, roughly, two relatively benign, that will eventually sort themselves out, as I grow a bit older (I'm at THAT age, you see, ladies). One isn't benign. And I don't want to know. If it's that--well, it's probably too far along by now, to do anything about. And, besides, it would mean the end of everything--not much different result than being homeless, just a bit more...permanent. I've no one to miss me here, but the cats, have I? My job is meaningless and I am not very good at it, and my bosses could replace me too easily I'm afraid.

But...yeah, the thought of me passed out or dead here---no one would know. No one would even think to check for days...I mean that. No one would know. Not a soul. It's like my dad's brother, Uncle Pauly, who died before I was born. He fell in his bathroom, and lay there for a few days, before anyone found him. Same with mum's dad, my grandfather William. He killed himself and no one knew for a whole day. And, back in the late 40's, my mum was out on a date, when her mum went.

There's a few things that really scare me. I'm not afraid of death, don't think I ever will be again. But, dying alone...I don't mind admitting, that just scares me a little, yeah.

Runs in the family

"There's something I want to ask you...have you ever played, 'find the sausage?'"

So, I see that David Tennant dances in this latest series. Rather nicely, if the photo is anything to go by. Certainly better than I. I was born with two left feet, you see..very hard to find shoes, in the stores, have to sneak in and take out a lefty from a pair of shoe boxes. Hopefully there's someone out there with two right feet...

Anyway, never really was much of a dancer. Just a rather shoddy box step (that mum taught me at age 17, in our kitchen), the Virginia Reel (learned in gym class) and disco (learned watching John Travolta).

When I went to emergency with my bad foot, last time, after the second round of X-Rays, I asked the nurse, "Will I ever dance again?" She said, in a cautionary voice, "Too soon to tell, but probably not." "Good," I said, "'cause I never could dance anyway."

America's toes are safe at last.

This isn't Russell T. Davies Dr Who--or, is it? Geez--he really does fart in the Tardis.

Doctor Who as we (hopefully) will never see it again:

Tommorow: back to work. 12 days of calling genuine rednecks, snarky yuppie wives, mean southern women, uptight golf guys (why do males think golfing makes them superior to everyone else on the planet? Did Hitler and Stalin play golf? If not, they missed their calling.) , screaming, hysterical people who can't simply say, "sorry wrong number," or, "Please don't call here."

But talking to the rednecks--the cliche that the guys are dumb and the women mean--ain't all that much off from the gosh-honest truth. Oh yeah. Very accurate, really. I HATE calling Texas women! Man, they must be fed on rattlesnake venom and sour lemon juice when they are children. Mean-natured doesn't begin to cover it. Oh, some other southern women are mean, too--but Texas women--yuck. Wish the Mexicans would take back Texas, the USA would be a lot better place, I swear.

REDNECKS ON PARADE:

Since doing the night shift, my poor old stomach's time-table is all confused. I've had today off, for the holiday, but my stomach's not buying it. So, as per when I am working nights, had lunch at 3pm, and am only now just making dinner, at nearly 10 at night.

I was going to do a pot roast, as I got a cheap thick and fatty chuck steak the other day, but am putting it off till tomorrow. I use mum's recipe to braise the meat: water, apple cider vinegar, sugar, cloves, bay leaf, sliced onions and carrots, and a dash Worcestershire sauce.

Instead, I'm keeping it simple tonight: a box of Zatarain's Jambalaya rice mix, some tinned corn and some sliced smoked sausage. Mix it all together, put it on the boil, and voila! Dinner. Not fancy, but rather tasty and no fussing about in the kitchen.

I was feeling a bit...bleh, today, not sure why. Had a headache (not helped by having marching bands, pipe bands and rock music blaring on the street this morning) since I woke up. Still have it. Not prone to headaches, so I guess I'm not complaining--there's folks I know who get migraines all the time, so I guess I can live with a headache for one day, ey?

I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. I have to finish my resume, deal with the lawsuit, write that letter to Social Security, Write a letter to my congresswoman, attempt to ring up Social Security, AND do the dreaded laundry!

I am all too well aware of the fact that there's folks worse off than me out there. But still, I don't know. My life seems so utterly useless. I wish someone would magically come along and say, "I need you," and mean it. But wishes are for children and the rich. Not for me. I am too, too aware of the fact, that no one is ever going to need me again.

I remember mum reading me this story--used to be one of my favourites, as a child. It was a book called, "Five O'Clock Charlie." It was about this old work horse. His owner decided he's useless as he's very old, so he puts Charlie out in this pasture full of weeds, and Charlie is bored out of his mind. I feel like that. Just like that. I'm in my mid-forties and that's how I feel: old and useless. And what's worse, I just am so out of steam, I can't seem to budge myself from this feeling. I'm so very tired, these days. I'm too young to feel this way, but..I just do.

Well, my computer has not been working right, since I installed Mozilla. Copy and paste is suddenly really iffy, and seems to have a mind of its own. Arggh! Going to try this again...not sure it's worth it, but, I need something to do, tonight.

"Waugh! What did you have for lunch, David? A haggis milkshake?"

"So, let me get this straight. I'm still the headmaster, but now you're the naughty housemaid?"

"Freema just called me 'David Teninch.' I love this job!"

"Why are you laughing, Freema? WHAT?!!? You thought 'teninch' was the size of my feet?"

There are times when I think on giving up blogging. But then, when I stop, even for a day, I feel--empty. I think it's not only the voicing of my pain and fear, worry and unhappiness--but also giving voice to happier memories and some of my more esoteric thoughts, that I normally cannot share with those around me. Blogging makes me feels more human, less isolated, and gives me a reason to get up in the morning.

It's knowing, as well, that I am not alone. To quote Shakespeare:

"When we our betters see bearing woes,
we scarcely think our miseries our foes,
who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind,
leaving free things and happy shows behind;
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip,
when grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship..."

Thank you to all my blog friends, not just for taking the time to read and to care--but also to share with us, your own cares and joys.

Question:

If you could go back and give yourself some advice at age 15, what would you tell your younger self?

Me: Stay away from creditors. Pay cash for everything!

Well, woke up this morning to a resounding racket outside---"what the heck???" I yelled, waking up all over. Well...today I can't say the parade passed me by....the racket was the Glens Falls High School marching band.

Followed by every kid in every local baseball team, every kid in every local scouting troop, veterans--lots of veterans, the junior band, antique cars, misc stuff, motorcycles, the two local pipe bands...and the fire departments--and then, I burst out crying, because suddenly, watching the volunteer firemen marching in their dress unimorms (God, how many volunteer fireman's parades did I sit through waiting for dad to march by?) And abruptly, without warning--for the first time since his funeral--I seriously missed my dad....I looked down from my balcony at the firemen marching seriously, in their white gloves and posh dress, and remembered my dad like that, and had to run inside (not easy to do, as the window to the balcony is 2 and a half feet off the ground) an bawl. Suddenly, in the midst of a pleasant sunny morning--my heart broke with sheer grief.

But...I'm mostly over it. I'm okay. It just took me by surprise, a little.

There was a local rock band, pounding out some 70's rock from a flatbed trailer being hauled behind a pick up truck--and I got back outside in time to see the last of the fire engines, and, always my favourite, the horses--bless them. Love the horses. I like to look and see which people in the group know how to ride, and which ones are going to need a good hot soak after the parade, ha-ha. There was a young Percheron drawing a four-wheeled surrey, a girl on a nice little pony, assorted adults on horseback, a cowboy, and a really beefy guy mounted on a Clydesdale gelding. And then there was a Glens Falls police car and...parade was over.

But wait, there's more....back down the street came the rock band, all alone on their trailer, still playing and singing their hearts out--well, this has been a different morning, at any rate.

Veteran's parading

American firemen in parade dress

Just saw a bit of a clip from the latest Dr Who episode, "Human Nature." Wow. I'm on tenter hooks waiting to see this! Oh, the sci-fi element seems to be there--but whoa, hold on, is that straight-up, proper acting I'm watching? Love it! Wow, these two can really act their hearts out! Bravo Mr. Tennant and Ms. Agyeman, bravo!

It is a question which has plagued humans for thousands of years, caused philosophers to spend hours, confined in dim and dusty spaces, in ceaseless mental labour. Some have turned to every new idea as the ultimate answer--and find themselves later, turning away, again--looking for the next new thing, like a bored child with a room full of toys that he or she no longer cares for. Some unfortunates, at the last, find the search too much effort, and end up turning to alcohol and/or drugs, in order to superficially bury their questing souls.

Through the course of time, people have scaled insurmountable mountains and and crossed trackless wastes, virtually driveing themselves mad, searching for the answer to one question: Who am I?

Some say that we were made in the image of God. Perhaps, but sometimes, when I think on the wars, and abuse and murders, the hateful things we say and do to each other--sometimes I think, that the image is flawed--perhaps even shattered, in some cases.

In the Film, Star Wars, there's a continual reference to "The Force." A life-essence that flows from all living things.

Now, I've no idea if there is--or ever was--such a thing. But, I do think there's more to life--to being alive, then we humans can possibly know. I do believe that we have a soul. And, to go against the bible slightly, I do believe that other things have at least something akin to a soul, as well. There are ghosts, yes. And there's something more, out there. All around us, there is life. There is an intangible energy--charged and flowing out from the life around us. Well, I don't actually know this for a fact--but, that said, I have felt...something, at times, while in the presence of nature...something that truly defies explanation. To risk sounding blasphemous again, that feeling is so centered and so positive--it's almost like being in the presence of God.

I once was walking down a city street--not a bit of lawn or garden in sight--and saw a little corn stalk, growing up through the sidewalk. Just recently, here in glens falls, I saw a tree seedling trying to take root in an eighth of an inch of soil, right on the very edge of a busy city thoroughfare. Life is an amazing thing. It's tenacious. Oh, the climate can change, and man can destroy, and some life has, and will continue to, disappear. But...still, the struggle to live, to grow, to be something more--a tall tree from a seedling, a caring and thinking person from an automaton going through the motions--life struggles, life breathes, life--lives. The earth is alive, a great symphony of life, and we are part of the chorus.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm afraid this chapter isn't that great. Since I never had finished this story, I'm just making this up as I go, no notes or anything, and, quite frankly, it's not that good. I wrote this chapter Saturday morning, before leaving for work. I haven't really edited it or anything, so I apologize for any typos that might be in there. And I'm sorry this chapter is crap, but it's all I could come up with.

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 13: Boswell

Rose didn’t know what to make of it--she’d been expecting some sort of repulsive, malicious villain. Yet, standing before her was…just a normal looking bloke, in what appeared to be his mid-forties. Short, slightly balding, a bit overweight, he looked remarkably like a man that had a little shop ‘round the corner from the Powell Estates, Roses home when she wasn’t in the Tardis. “Why, he doesn’t look evil at all! As a matter of fact, he looks almost like Mr. Black, the news agent!” She exclaimed, and cast a puzzled look at the Doctor. “Who is he?” But the Doctor was just standing there was his mouth gaping open in surprise. “Boswell!” The Doctor whispered hoarsely.

As he withdrew the robe, Rose gasped with horror. Even Jane turned away. The body before them was shriveled and blackened--more skeleton than human. “My accomplice on Galifrey’s knowledge of this device, was, I’m afraid, incomplete. My head and neck regenerated to a slightly earlier appearance--but there was a fault in the machine--it could not restore my entire body. I have learned to endure the continual torment, the horrific pain, only because I wish to make you suffer, Doctor. I have followed you through time, in this place, waiting for the right moment. And that moment is now, Doctor. And I will watch you suffer, trust me.” With that, he drew a small box out of his robe and pressed a button. Rose cried out, as the Doctor suddenly clutched his head and howled with agony.

"So, let me get this straight, I'm the headmaster and you're the naughty schoolgirl..."

"By the way, have I mentioned that I want to take you from behind?"

"What's that, nurse? Do I like playing Doctor? Well, as a matter of fact..."

Today wasn't a total loss. Despite having to work and getting screamed at by some woman because I didn't say "hello" fast enough to suit her (computer dialers have a delay, between someone picking up and the computer connecting to the agent--me)--to the point where my ear was actually ringing, the miserable old cow! And them, the boss yells at me for raising my voice, because I was trying to make myself heard over the rotten *.

Have I mentioned that I REALLY hate my job?

But, I got home, blogged a bit, chatted online with two friends, put on the Proclaimers, got a cold soda out of the fridge, went out on the balcony with a book, and chilled. Watched the sunset, the sparrows wheeling in the sky, saw a shiny new black London cab go by--twice. Which is good, 'cause I thought I was seeing things. It's not everyday one sees a London cab in an insignificant small city in Northeastern New York. It had some kind of colourful graphics on the side doors, but couldn't read what they said.

I drank my soda, put my feet up, watched the people go by, petted the cats, talked to the cat next door (a cute calico girl cat, just as sweet as can be)--who sat there below and looked at me as I talked to her, before wandering off. Then I came inside and...here I am.

A quiet night, and that's okay. Not fun, but..relaxing. We all need quiet times, sometimes, ey?

Latest nasty rumour from that rag the Sun: Freema's been sacked.

Now, why on earth? She's talented, she's got class and poise and is every inch a nice young lady--a good image for a show that sometimes tended to be a bit soap-operaish with Rose's character. (NOT finding fault!!! It's merely my take on it.)

I will believe that one when I see it. This nonsense about Woody allen--about him playing Einstein on Who. My take on that is, that they are confused. I read where some actress slated to be cast in Who, was involved in some Woody Allen production, and I also know that Tennant is playing Eddington for an upcoming movie on Einstein.

I mean, that's my take on it--I could be completely wrong and the Sun perfectly right.

But, I do hope the Sun's way off over Ms. Agyeman. She's fantastic--I love how she's interacting with Tennant!

What the????

Is that a gunshot?

Oh, no, I guess it's just somebody playing with fireworks...whoa. I used to live in the rural area, so I've heard gunshots outside more than once--hunters and farmers shooting coyotes, deer, turkeys, etc. We've not had any shootings in this city in a couple of years. Wouldn't want it to happen in my neighbourhood--well, who would, I suppose, ey?

I personally, don't like this stuff, usually, but I do like Normalguy, so I'm going to humour the old fart. Anything for a friend, ey?

Okay, here's the rules:

“Each person tagged gives 7 random facts about themselves. Those tagged need to write in their blogs the 7 facts, as well as the rules of the game. You need to tag seven others and list their names on your blog. You have to leave those you plan on tagging a note in their comments so they know that they have been tagged and to read your blog.”

SADLY, NERALY EVERYONE ON MY LIST HAS ALREADY BEEN TAGGED! Sorry, but the game stops here for me,--I just am too damn tired to hunt for 7 people who HAVEN'T been tagged! Don't mean to be a party pooper, but...I'm really am just too tired tonight. I feel bad, but gotta' break the chain, sorry.

Anyway, here's my random facts, I guess.

1. 1969: I was abused by a neighbour. No charges were ever filed.

2. 1988: Me and some of my fellow local Dr Who fan club officers were interviewed by the BBC for Breakfast, while touring the traveling Dr Who exhibit. I also got to have my photo taken in the Doctor's car, and got to touch a Tardis console from the show.

3. 2005: I alone had to sign the paper that told the doctor to stop my mum's life support.

4. 2004: I rode a solid white pure Arab mare, in the dunes behind the Spynx at Giza, at sunset and in the dark. Earlier in the day, we had entered--by special permission of Dr Wasserman, one the newly discovered Pyramid workers tombs at Giza, which was closed to the public.

5. 1997: I was voted "Lady of the Fair" in the floral department of the Saratoga County Fair, for designing a ladies hat with a floral motif. It involved a meet and greet at the fair's opening day, walking around wearing the hat, a posh dress and a special sash, and also riding in a convertible in a parade, doing the waving thing.

6. 1974: I wrote my village's official motto: Urban-Suburban Village, for the village's 50th Anniversary celebration. It's still in use today.

7. 1979: I petted a leopard, owned by a man who lived next door to my late mum's old library building--the leopard was laying down in the back seat of the man's convertible.

Adirondacker's are a breed all their own--independent, self-reliant, and laid back. They are open and friendly, especially if you ask them to teach you something.

Meet a gentleman who loves old-fashioned style, Adirondack Guide Boats. These boats first were built during the Victorian era, as, for the first time, an nation that was turning from farming to industrial, first began comtemplating holidays away from home. Wealthy indsustrialists, merchants and others, began flocking to the pristine forests of the Adirondacks--both the recreation, beauty and for their health. Woodsman who formally made their money by trapping and hunting--now found new employment as guides. Hence, the birth of the famous Adirondack Guide Boat.

The legacy of the guide boat builder lives on, even today:

Beautiful, aren't they? A working piece of art. I'd love to have one of these, and can't imagine anything more relaxing than a quiet row on a pristine Adirondack lake.

For another video on this type of boat, there's a clip from the Vermont television programme, Rural Free Delivery--a show featuring interesting people and places in the state of Vermont. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TmGwiocymM

Justin Vs. David: Why do women prefer David over Justin?

I'm surprised that people find Justin Lee Collins irritating. At least he's normal--well, he's not some adolescent arse, anyway. So, I'm reading an online newspaper during my very generous 10-minute break at work, and see an article about Justin Lee Collins, says that people write online, that they don't like him.

Gee, that's a shame. Well, I like that man. Mind you, I've only ever seen him in two things, and, also, truth-to-tell, in reality, he's not my type. Well, is anyone my type? I am an old maid who's not dated in 12 years and have never been snogged. Do I even have a "type?" Unlike some women (and men) I've known, where, if it has a pulse and the right..erm.."equipment," it's worth a snog.

Anyway, I don't know...I just like the dude. He...well, real. As we yanks say, he's the "genuine article." Or, at least that's the way he seems to me.

David Tennant seems very pleasant, very intelligent, very nice, and he's okay looking, but...I don't know...he seems so...inexcessable, to someone like me--too smart and..well, trendy, I guess, for the likes of me. Not that Collins and I would probably have much in common, either--I'm sure he's probably more my wild rock n' roll sister's type, really. But I think he's...well, just so human. I mean, Collins just seems so...normal. He'd absolutely blend in--Justin Lee Collins would definitely fit right in around here, whereas Tennant would be better suited somewhere like Saratoga Springs or Soho in New York City.

Oh, life is just so exciting here in Glens Falls, New York, yesirre-bob. Don't know if my heart can take it. Seems the big news story now: the Glens Falls Civic Center is getting new seats! Wow! How cool is that! The other "big" story: The Great Escape (Six Flags) amusement park is open for the season this weekend. Golly! First the new roundabout downtown, then new seats (@ $170 each), now the amusement park is open--oh, and someone spotted a moose in Lake Luzerne. My, isn't life exciting (YAWN) in Glens Falls, NY. No wonder the tourists pass us by.

It's a drop dead gorgeous day. A few years ago, I'd be Barbequing and swimming, and going 'round to garage and yard (boot) sales on a day like today--or, if I was unusually flush with cash, out horseback riding, or at the amusement park, or whitewater rafting. Well..regardless, I'd still be in a park or at home, grilling steaks or chicken, right now, consuming cold baked beans, deviled eggs and potato salad, enjoying the nice weather.

Now, I'm old. I get home from work, and when evening comes, sit out on the balcony and watch other people going out on the town. Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. I've earned it, just this once. Well..at least the toothache is better.

A girl in the office asked me today, why I don't go to the dentist--simple. He wants money, I don't have it.

Well, I have Boots and the other cats anyway. Boots is so very sweet--short attention span--but very cuddly and loveable, and...just..happy-go-lucky...but really, the poor thing, for all his size and boyishness, is really afraid of his own shadow--and scared to death of strangers, the big baby. Not Charlie--Charlie...he's just so fat and lazy, it's like he's permanently stoned. I'm serious! And Flame--she's little miss curious--I mean she's incredibly nosy. She's got her share of quirks, tho. Like for instance, she doesn't like to use the litterbox alone--she usually waits to go, until I go in there (in the loo, where I keep their box)...no clue why. She's suddenly also gone "play crazy"--she just wants to play and play all the time, and often has started bugging me, about it. She didn't play this much as a kitten--but it is getting to be a bit of a bother, as she often waits 'till I'm in the middle of typing something, then starts chattering and pawing at me, to play with her.

So here it is, gorgeous day, and I've naught to do but the washing up and sorting laundry..another holiday weekend in the rubbish.

Finally, I would like to dedicate this post, to the memory of my dad, who served in England (as an air force clerk) in WWII. He is buried in Saratoga National Cemetery.

To all veterans: Thank you for your service. You are remembered.

A SMALL TOWN MEMORIAL DAY PARADE, IN NORTHEASTERN NY

Our mum put up with a lot from my sister and myself, growing up. Fortunately, mum always had a soft spot for animals--which was a good thing, because we often wound up with quite a menagerie, especially during the summer holidays.

I think the first thing we brought in--and which went right back out again--was a garter snake. We had a nest of them under our front steps, and often we'd see one slithering through the grass. They were just little things, utterly harmless--one might bite you and it wouldn't hurt at all. I wasn't afraid of them, but I did prefer watching them to holding them, as I had a soft spot too, I suppose, and didn't like to see them scared. Mum just didn't like to see them.

One time, I was mowing our back yard, and uncovered a rabbits nest--complete with 4 babies. I didn't touch them--but sadly, mum never came back. We stayed up nights trying to bottle feed them--including dear old mum, getting up at 4 in the morning--but sadly, they only lived a few days, as they didn't take well to the bottle feeding. I felt bad for days and days, afterwards. I always did, when we lost a baby--rabbits, cats, etc.

BABY COTTONTAIL RABBIT

We got a cat, Tabby, well...he just showed up, one day, lost or abandoned. Tabby sauntered into our lives one Novemeber day, cold and hungry. He was a big fellow, gray tabby and white, ambidextrus--extra toes front and rear, and...that cat had attitude. For instance, dad hated Tabby and, oh yes, Tabby very much knew this. Whenever dad came home from work, Tabby would leave his usual chair, and hop right up on dad's favourite lounge chair--and refuse to budge. It drove dad bonkers! Even though Tabby was quite gentle, in reality, he had such a stubborn and arrogant attitude towards dad, that I think dad was a little taken aback, by him. Without so much as a growl or a laid-back ear, Tabby had dear old dad positively buffaloed. And it just cracked mum up. Every time dad left the room, mum would look at Tabby, whisper, "Good cat," and have to restrain herself from laughing.

And then there was "Happy." Happy was the first family dog. She was a black lab mix that really did follow us home...and stayed for over 10 years. She was very gentle, and a good dog mum--she was so gentle, her puppies were in great demand, tho' she was only a mutt. But Happy was a bit of a vixen, as well---she would get loose, and refuse to be caught--if fact, trying to be caught became a great game to her--to our utter frustration. Happy loved to ride in the car--in fact, once, when we were going somewhere, Happy raced behind the car, up the highway--and the car doing 30 mph, at one point. Sometimes, she'd go with us, and fall asleep in the back seat, and we'd forget she was there, and leave her--until one of us would think to say, "Where's Happy? Oh. Whoops." But happy never minded being left--she'd, every single blessed time, be still snoozing happily away in the back seat.

THIS ISN'T HAPPY--BUT IS HER SPITTING IMAGE--RIGHT DOWN TO THE COCKY EXPRESSION.

Has David Tennant found a...unique use, for the sonic screwdriver? Or, is that just what his girlfriend calls his little woo-hoo?

Was surfing for Dr Who gossip, found this:

Doctor Who' star David Tennant has confessed that he dresses up as the Time Lord for steamy sex sessions with his girlfriend.

Copyright Bang Showbiz 2007

TOO MUCH INFORMATION DAVID, DEAR!

Let's see...so far I've learned that Tennant:

Has said the words, "My face in your crotch" (re: Dr Who underpants) and "Hello, I'm David Tennant, and I'm taking you from behind." on national television, in front of millions of viewers.

Has publicly invited (during a morning radio programme) a female disc jockey from Virgin Radio to come over to his place and examine his dirty underpants.

Has admitted that he enjoys a good fart in the Tardis (and elsewhere)

Told us Billie's nickname for him, "David Teninch."

Dressed twice in drag (and seemed to enjoy it)

And admitted he liked watching (with his father) himself doing sex scenes from Casanova...

and yet, he was, apparently, embarrassed to fake an orgasim in front of the cameras.

Hmmmm---????

SOMEBODY APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN CONSUMING A FEW TOO MANY CHIPS AND BEER, EY? (AND I DON'T MEAN THE GIRLFRIEND.)

So, what would happen if Dr Who was a British Comedy instead of a kid's drama?

This: ENJOY!

Ugh! Tough night! Idiots R Us called my membership base, and every last stinkin' one of 'em bought a share. I'm too tired to go into it, but gah! Some of them were either so drunk or senile, I had to code them out as "language barrier." I had, at the end of the night, some snarky, snotty Brit (sorry to my UK friends), who got all sarcastic, "Fantastic! I'm so glad you called! Do you like disturbing us at dinner?" Arsehole. I put him in for a 9.0 am callback on Saturday morning. The moral: don't piss off a telemarketer with a toothache.

Oh yes, the toothache is back--or I should say, face ache--my neck and jaw feel like I've been in a prize-fight again, and very much lost. I'm so miserable and knackered, I'm even pondering skipping dinner, tonight, and just sitting here, listening to the Proclaimers, opening that last bottle of Seagram's cooler and just going comatose.

It's too hot to sleep yet. I have to work tomorrow, 10-3, and Sunday 2-5:30. Then, Tuesday through the next 12 days, and then only get 1 day off. Yeah--"fantastic" indeed.

I'm getting ready for work, and just discovered why my foot is bothering today--it's swollen. Now, you'd think I'd notice a thing like that, wouldn't you? Nope. Went to put on my loafers--and barely could get my right foot in the one shoe...not good. Too hot to wear hiking boots, and my black trainers would look ridiculous with this outfit, and my black dress shoes don't match, either--So, it's only four short blocks--well, four and a half, to my office tower down the way, so..no hope for it. I may not be a fashion bug--but I don't want to look like a geek, either! Be back online around 11pm, more or less. Cheers!

PROOF THAT EVEN A DICTIONARY CAN BE INACCURATE:

Old maid
n.

1. Offensive. A woman who has remained single beyond the conventional age for marrying.
2. Informal. A person regarded as being primly fastidious.

1. I'm NOT offended by being called an old maid--it's merely the truth! Talk about being politically over-correct, geez....

2. Acutally, sometimes I can be quite the slob...

I know, I know...more tourism videos--but, this'll give you an idea of what lots of folks'll be doin' 'round these parts, over the holiday weekend (not me, but some people) :

The New York State Adirondack Park is so big, that you can fit five other national parks inside it--including Yellowstone and Yosemite--and still have plenty of room left over! It's over 40 million acres, consisting of publicly and privately owned lands, and was one of the very first state parks in the entire nation.

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 12: Doc

Just then, a blur of ginger fur flew out from beneath the sofa. It landed with claws distended, on the black-robed arm, and let out an angry yowl. At the same time, Rose stamped down hard on her captor’s foot. With a roar of pain and anger, the robed figure dropped the weapon and shook the angry cat off of his arm. The Doctor reacted quickly, snatching Rose away and backing off.

“Hmmm---? Oh, you mean our mystery man.” He looked at Jane, “You really think I’m quirky?” Rose let out an exaggerated sigh. “Doctor!” Hands in pockets, the Doctor strolled over and stood in front of his unknown enemy. “Maybe it’s time for Cinderella here, to turn back into a kitchen maid, yeah?” With that, he reached up and threw back the cowl--revealing a perfectly ordinary looking man.

For the couple of people who were kind enough to express their concern, no worries. I'm back online. My computer/phone modem went down last night. Just came back on. Sorry if I've caused anyone any undue worry--this happens about once every other month, for some reason. And, because the computer/phone are on the same modem, it sometimes takes me awhile to get hold of the repair department.

So, here I am, a very hot and steamy spring day. Have to work tonight. Just came home from paying National Grid their due, and a little shopping (have to keep the cats happy, ey? And that means their favourite food) and some small odds and ends. Now, I'm sitting here trying to cool off.

Just found out one of the kitchen windows (figures, the one on the shady side) is painted shut. Lovely. Means I'll have to buy a second fan. Gawd, I'm gonna' miss that air conditioner! Had to leave my air conditioner at the other place, because I couldn't phsyically carry it downstairs. I hate hot weather. It's nearly 90 degrees out there! (55 C.) Even with the breeze, it's still quite tropical.

It was really boring, not having the internet, last night. Really, really boring. I read a little, played some card games on the computer, wrote a short Dr Who chapter, watched a DVD, sat and listened to some music.

With my pay packet today, we all got a 7 dollar (3 pounds 50) off voucher for the local Six Flags amusement park--whoopie! I worked there for two seasons--trust me, the thrill is--mostly--gone, although they do have some new water-type ride called the tornado. Still, think I'd rather have the 7 bucks, ha-ha. My pay check was 10 dollars more than expected--small commission bonus.

While I was on the phone with Time-Warner Cable, I got a job offer (to apply for a position), to work as a CSR...good benefits, and they pay a dollar more an hour! And, they have an office in Glens Falls. Guess I'd better beef up my resume this weekend.

Heard from my Social Security Attorney=--surprisingly, a very nice guy--wow, a nice lawyer, who'da thunk it? Anyway, he gave me some excellent advice.

On the downside, I am having a claim filed against me by my student loan creditors and they are being rather nasty--will deal with them some more on Tuesday (Mon. being a national holiday).

Anyway, speaking of boring, this is a boring post, so I will leave off here. Cheers! If you're American, have a great holiday weekend!

I borrowed this idea from two fellow bloggers--just a bit different question:

What's your idea of the perfect life?

For me--tough cal, but most definitely, it would be living somewhere where I'd never have to worry about losing my home again. Ideally, somewhere in the country, or in a small town somewhere, but...anywhere where I'd be finally able to lose the nightmare specter of homelessness, that'd be paradise, I reckon. The perfect life--have to have a pet (or two, or three) of course, and a job where, I'm not only actually wanted--but can use a bit of creativity, or, at the very least, be actually able to help, to be useful--really useful--to a person or people. I'd love to feel needed again. That would be nice. I'd like to have a set of wheels again--even if it's an old beat up pick up truck--so I can get around and see the sights. I'd like to have enough money to do a hobby-or two, buy a book or music or clothes once in a while, or see a movie or dine out, and maybe even enough visit other places, sometimes. I'd like to be able to visit my friends--or have them visit me, and be able to treat my nephew (that I only seem to ever see at funerals, nowadays) to a weekend of fun, someday. Of course, in the perfect life, I can always pay my bills and can buy any groceries I want.

But...that's all nonsense. I'm just being daft. It's good to be daft sometimes, ain't it tho'?

Sorry for the long pause between chapters, but as this story was unfinished, and I've been so tired, last few days, the past half-hour is really the first that I've felt well enough to do a bit of writing. Short chapter, not my best, but..best I could do in 20 minutes or so.

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 11: Abracadabra

Jane pulled Rose behind her, but the she surged forward again, trying to brush past Jane to get to the Doctor, yelling, “What are you doing? I need to get in there!” Jane turned to her, “Don’t be ridiculous, Rose! Do you think the Doctor went to all the trouble to find you, just so you could get blown up in some stupid accident? Do what he told you, stay back!”

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed with deep anger. “Never! If you think I’d let you use my Tardis to murder millions of innocent people, you’ve another think coming!” The Doctor’s enemy chuckled. “Very well, then, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. And watch the slaughter begin--starting with your Rose, here.” So saying, his finger tightened on the trigger. “No!” Cried the Doctor and Rose simultaneously.

Days like today, make one long for a lakeside cottage, or a swimming pool. I miss living in the country--especially in Lake Luzerne. You didn't have to wait for the beach to open, to go for a swim in the lake. And believe me, day like today--and most especially, tomorrow--I would be in there. Mind you, I don't really swim--more like just paddle around on my back, but...it's cool and relaxing--who cares if the water is 60 degrees (16 C)? Heck, that's no big deal, especially in a like, where's one can always paddle from a cold spot to a warm spot (spring fed lakes are like that).

I guess one of my dearest wishes, would be to live on one of the year-round camps. That would be just the greatest thing, I suppose. Lucky people. Mum and I lived in a very large caravan, a mile from the beach, in a less-than-desireable trailer park. But...still, I was in the country, so I never minded. (Except when the rednecks moved in with their dirt bikes--yuck!--besides the bad exhaust fumes, the noise was just...a nightmare. you couldn't go outside, for the dust, noise and pollution--they'd race through the dirt road out back, back and forth, for three or four hours, non-stop, come summer. Grrrrr!

LAKE LUZERNE VIEWS:

Lake Luzerne has two public beaches, one on the state highway, and one back off a side street. The one off the side street is nice, on July and August afternoons--at a certain time, as there's a music camp across from the public beach, and you can hear them practice-- live chamber music drifting across the waters, as you float about. It's really cool...I mean, if you're like me, and like that sort of thing. Very, very calming and relaxing.

There is a public beach as well, on the Hudson river--small and stony, but very private. Across the way from the Luzerne river beach, is the public beach for the small mill town of Corinth, which is nice--there's a small park, and the Fireman's Field (where the town's carnivals, festivals and volunteer fireman's field days are held) as well. There used to be an ice cream stand across from the Corinth beach, but now it's been turned into a Subway sandwich shop. Too bad--but, the ice cream stand's food was overpriced rubbish, so that was no huge loss, but it was nice going for an ice cream after a swim. Corinth has a beautiful park as well, with the unlikely name of Pagenstecker Park.

VIEW FROM THE PARK, OF PALMER FALLS DAM

The park was given to the village by International Paper (who's mill was the main employer for the area from the late 1800's until around 1999). Now the mill stands mostly empty, sadly. But the park remains--high on an escarpment of the Hudson River, overlooking the Palmer Falls dam..the park contains some of the very last "old-growth" pines in the entire southern Adirondack park. (The Adirondack state park is 40 million acres). I used to live next to the park, and when the dam was running--especially after a heavy rain, I could hear the roar of the falls at night, through the upstairs windows of my apartment. It was great. There's three dams on the Hudson in the Corinth area: Palmer Falls, I can't remember the middle one's name, and the huge Spier Falls dam, built by hand, at the turn of the 20th century, by mostly Italian, Polish and Irish laborers.

Here's a link showing a photo of the former mill superintendant's residence--it was across the street from my apartment building in Corinth--where I lived from '95 to 2001. The house has been a private home/business for years. First, it was a resturant, now it's a combination antique store and real estate agents.

http://www.grandmasrealty.net/images/corinth/house.JPG

THE HUDSON RIVER LOOKING NORTHWEST, TOWARDS LAKE LUZERNE, FROM THE CORINTH BRIDGE. THEY SHOOT FIREWORKS OFF THIS BRIDGE, FOR THE JULY INDEPENDENCE DAY CELEBRATION.

THE ABANDONED CORINTH RAIL STATION

This weekend unofficially kicks off the summer vacation (holiday) season, in my neck 'O the woods. Oh goody! Tourist season!

"Where's my shotgun, Mable? I'm gonna' bag me a big hairy Italian from Brooklyn this year! And them I'm gonna' get one'a them New Jersey freaks, when they're in the middle of some stupid pose with a gorilla statue."

Hmm--so now someone's given me an idea for a new post--David Tennant's fashion sense--or lack thereof.

Okay, here's his "Think I'll dress like a derelict in an alley" look:

I admit, I'm no fashion bug myself--but the huge gaping difference is, I'm POOR, as in on average, I can only afford to get a haircut about twice a year, and MAYBE shop for clothes once, if at all. I'm told Tennant makes the equivilent of 2 million dollars a year, for pity's sake! This is the best he can do?

Okay, moving on, the disco look. What's with that? Is the 1970's groovy polyester look back in over there? Wow, man. Keep it over there, ey?

And again, fangirls--this is a fun thread--I like Mr Tennant's acting, really I do, and I'm sure he's just a really swell guy--but, honestly...the man needs a fashion course...and a good hair comb.

So, for anyone who doesn't already know that my country is a morally uptight, narrow-minded, deliberately stupid, backward-moving nation, here's this news tidbit:

WASHINGTON - Gay men remain banned for life from donating blood, the government said Wednesday, leaving in place — for now — a 1983 prohibition meant to prevent the spread of
HIV through transfusions.

Critics of the exclusionary policy said it bars potential healthy donors, despite the increasing need for donated blood, and discriminates against gays. The FDA recognized the policy defers many healthy donors but rejected the suggestion it's discriminatory.

Well, my day is starting off wonderfully. Came out from the bedroom to the kitchen--and there's a little brown bat--presumably dead (I hope) lying in the middle of my kitchen floor, AND, I have a claim notice in my e-mail box from VSAC (my Vermont student loan company)--the bastards. I made three payments to them, NONE of which they EVER credited to my account, and now they are suing me?

And one wonders about that last post? Right. Ain't life swell?

Oh, and dead bats don't bother me, it's just that Flame had only just finished licking my face and hands--THAT bothers me! Of course, there's also the worry of if the dead bat was diseased, as well, and if it was, did the cats catch it? So, it's swept up and tossed out the open window, on to the side lawn--wasn't going to stick it in the rubbish, as it's smelly enough in there, without putrefying bat, thanks. No.

WARNING TO READERS: THIS IS NOT A "HAPPY" POST. SKIP THIS IF YOU NEED TO.

I've been trying to keep my head up, of late, treading the deep and murky waters of life...but sometimes, I'm sorry, but sometimes I ask myself: "Is it worth it?" Is it? I don't know. Sometimes it seems all my life is ever going to be, is just one bad after another bad after another--with only brief respites in between.

It really is like being lost and alone in a storm-tossed sea, trying to keep the saltwater out of your lungs, and the sharks from taking nibbles out of you. That's what living, being alive, really is like for me. And God, if you can hear me, I'm just so tired. I'm so very tired.

The person sitting here, writing this, is just a shell of the person she was. A lot of it is merely window dressing, for the masses--because, human nature being what it is, no one wants to hear about pain or sorrow. They don't want to read it or see it, either. They want happiness and light--which is normal. But I'm not happy--I'm scared. I am really, really scared. Because I'm not sure there is a future out there for me. I am old before my time--hair going gray, tired, careworn--and now, with this permanent injury to my foot--I very much even walk like an old, old woman. I no longer stride along, but just hobble along by inches...there is no stride, anymore. Even if I could go back to the country, my hiking days are pretty much done.

And then there's my shaky finances. I'm always going to live in poverty. I gave it a shot--kept trying and trying and trying. College, over 600 job applications--no use. I'm rubbish, no one wants me, no one ever will---well, yeah, for remedial labour, I am wanted. Just a living beast of burden, a minimum-wage slave, nothing more.

Thing is, there's just not a helluva lot of "try" left in me, any longer. Pretty much, if I die of a heart attack next week, or get run over by a truck tomorrow--so what? It'd be a blessing. Not that I'm going to walk in front of a truck, or go out and eat massive amounts of Big Mac's. But, to be honest, truly honest, I would love some peace, some rest from this life...even if I had to die to get it. That's how I REALLY feel, okay?

I live every single minute, in the knowledge that I will never have a secure (as in not lose it) home again, a family, a "normal" existence, a good job. I have to wake up to that knowledge, and go to bed with it--and sometimes, I just sit here in my chair at night, and quietly cry.

I went to church, a few weeks ago--sat on the bench, back of the sanctuary, and felt...nothing. I listened, I sang (sort of)...I felt, empty, lost. A stranger in God's house, that didn't quite belong there. Well, I've lost faith in myself, my future, in hope, a large chunk of humanity (sans my friends, of course)...now I realize, that I've lost much of my faith in God, as well. It makes me sad.

It reminds me of the very last time, I walked the woods and fields of my home. It was a dreary, soggy November day. Everything was packed on the truck, and I went out to my woods for that last walk...strolled through the fields, over the pine-needle covered road that lead through the little grove of white pine trees behind our home...and I felt--nothing. Nothing at all. It was the oddest sensation. And years later, I one day realized why that was: I'd never NOT felt something--in my heart and spirit and soul--when I was out there. I'd always, always, felt the stirrings of joy, of being centred out there.

But, that last walk--it's like when I left that place, something inside me, died. I walked that last time, and suddenly, my woods--were just...woods. Just trees and rain and gray sky, nothing more, totally without meaning. Is that my life, now? Just rain and gray sky and dripping, barren trees? Nothing more?

I transferred from my 2 year community college (the one that took me three years to get through), to a small four year college in Vermont. When I began commuting to the quaint small town of Castleton, little did I know about its very haunted past.

One of the houses in town, rented by students, has had frequent sightings--causing several of the more timid students to remove themselves.

There's a battlefield in nearby Hubbardton, dating, I believe, from the Revolutionary times, that's quite haunted--especially on certain nights of the year.

I had a co-worker once, tell me the chilling tale of how his dad--who'd been a marine who'd fought in Vietnam--entered an abandoned home dating from the early 1800's. The dad came out 10 minutes later, pale and shaking, stating unequivocally, that the home permeated pure evil (I've felt that sensation once before, myself, and to this day, the mere memory makes me shudder.

Here's a documentary of Vermont hauntings--and links to the rest of the episodes, if you want to pursue it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voHVRHEIGrY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cb0D3Z7dn7A

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pd5WQVtRk4M

The earth seems empty this morning.
An abandoned barn,
decayed and rotting, fading
paint and splintered wood, rusty
nails. Forgotten. My eyes
are open, like the vagabond
hills of November, dying brown
and fading reds, jaded
hills, existing in a vanishing
world. The maple leaves fall,
dancing down, down to the unforgiving
earth. Dancing thorough the angry
autumn winds. They flutter around me
as I dance with them, the step
of the damned.

Another day shot. Without meaning to, yours truly fell back to sleep this morning--and didn't wake 'till blooming half-past eleven! I NEVER sleep that late! What's up with that, I wonder? I hate sleeping late, dunno' why.

Anyway, the day's half-gone so at least some of my plans are shot down, before they even had a chance to take off. Ah well, there's always tomorrow, then.

I've the remainder--okay most of--the housework to finish, transplant my two pathetically small gerainiums and put them outside on the little balcony. I hear that Wale's entry for the Chelsea flower show is Doctor Who themed and features a Tardis as its centrepiece--how cool is that? The closest thing we have to Chelsea on my side of the Big Pond is the Boston Flower Show. I've had co-workers who've gone to that, and heard it's amazing. I've not been to Boston in nearly 20 years, the last time being a Dr Who convention at some big hotel there.

I used to have a job doing inventory for various drug (chemist) stores, all over New York and New England. A bunch of us--usually 5 or 6 people, would get in the boss's VW Rabbit and each day we'd be somewhere new: outside NY City, up here in the Adirondack mountains, Harrisburg Pennslyvania, Burlington Vermont, Boston Mass....just never knew from one day to the next, where the heck I'd be--tiring job, sometimes--and tedious, as we had this huge clunky calculators and very literally had to count EVERYTHING for sale in the store we were at. We might get in the car at 3 am, drive 3 or 4 hours, work 8 or 9 hours (sometimes we finished early if it was a small store) and drove home. But sometimes, we got to stay over--like when we went to Boston--which was cool, because we could hang out after, in the city if we wanted--we didn't. Our crew went to a cinema, and sacked out after, exhausted.

But, it was the trip to Boston, I'll never forget. My boss was in this tiny little car--and we were crammed in there, front and back, like sardines, for the 3 hour trip from Albany, NY, down the Mass Pike (Massachusetts Turnpike). We got outside Boston just at rush hour--and I imagine Boston is not much different than New York City or Los Angles in the morning rush.

Well, here we are, the six of us (and the boss), packed into the Rabbit, and the boss is weaving in and out of the extremely heavy rush hour traffic, doing--and I swear this is true--90 (144.8km) to 100 mph. I just sat there, squeezed into the back seat, pretending to be calm and cool and hip about it--with my eyes tight shut! In reality, I was scared out of my wits! That was worse than the roller coaster ride, let me tell you. That was worse than being chased by an angry moose. That was worse then having my school horse suddenly bucking all over the arena, in the middle of my western horsemanship final at college. Never again. I hated VW Rabbits.

So, that Tennant fan girl's e-mail She had a few other things she said (Why aren't they leaving comments, like everyone else?) She's like, "Oh you're so lucky living over there. .." I am? Okay, that's news to me--I just barely managed to avoid the old cardboard box in an alley, but, whatever...anyway, seems I'm "lucky" because David Tennent is going to be in L.A. this week, for some wedding--and he's going to sing. Oh? (Yawn), that's nice.

First off, L.A.---it may be in the same country, but...it's about the same distance from me as England. So....(she shrugs and raises an eyebrow)????????

I had no idea Tennant could sing, but whatever floats his boat. Fine. Sing away. Hope he can carry a tune better than me. These girls do get a bit overexcited, don't they? Was I ever like that? I hope to heck not. I'd shoot myself.

I noticed, now that the state campgrounds have opened for the season, that local stores are stocking bug repellent again--wonder if they have any fangirl repellant---spisssss---"get away from me!"

My job's really starting to get to me.

I mean, besides the fact that it's hopelessly boring. You see, whether you are selling or collecting, you have to pitch the script in a certain way. Used to be, that was no problem--I tend to tailor my approach to the situation--try to be as uniform as possible, but then ad-lib and adjust my voice/manner as the situation demands.

But lately...I'm suddenly lost. I've got a fairly new night supervisor--very, very nice lady, very helpful too, sometimes--sometimes. Lately? Beats me. First, I was told I was pitching too soft (too nice)...okay, change approach, be somewhat more hardline and to the point. Now, last night--was doing just as I was told--I'm pitching too hard. ARRRGHHH!!!

Gawd! I HATE MY JOB! I hate sales and I only marginally less hate collections. I...I just don't know what she wants. I've talked to her about it...I don't know. I guess I do suck at my job, of late. I need something fresh to do...I'm soooo bored. I mean, you say the same thing over and over and over all night long--and there's not a lot of room to tailor the script, as it's pretty straight-forward, basically it's a "you were sent this item it's past due, fork over please--said in the nicest possible way, of course.

I know I suck, because I'm one of the one's got dropped from day shift and switch to nights--only top people get day work consistently. That's why I got dropped from day work last Friday---my rates went down on Thursay, big time--never mind that I had a 103 fever and was in intense pain. Your health isn't factored into it--they just look at your daily/weekly results, and if you're not up there--you get tossed aside like yesterday's rubbish. It's very high, high pressure, to get those sales over the phone--you are expected to make half your sales right then and there, the other half to be re-billed. That's hard. A lot of people you talk to don't want to do business over the phone, or have no credit cards or even bank accounts--it's amazing how many Americans don't have bank accounts anymore.

Anyway, I've no idea how to pitch this script they way the boss wants it--so I'm just going to go with the flow, and just do the best I can. No hope for it. But it's upsetting. Used to be, just toss me a script and off I'd go, easy-peasy...now? I'm losing my confidence--and I haven't a clue why.

"Oh David's so fit. I love him so much, if I ever met him, I'd scream and wet myself."

OMG!!! Another e-mail at 7 am from a drooling David Tennant fan girl!

What in heaven's name did I ever do to deserve this? And how does the man stand it? Well...I suppose his male ego..and his less-than-ten-inch body part, probably adores it.

I am of the mind, the little kid's attention must be nice, but the teens and adults--wow. Must be like trippin' with the Doctor. Well, I suppose if I made a couple of mil a year and loved my job, I'd put up with it, too. I mean, I make less than 12,000 dollars (less than 6000 pounds) a year, and look at all the **** I have to put up with, and I HATE my job!

This one girl was referring to my David Tennant question post, of last night, I believe. As they used to say in the 80's: Gag me. Think I like him better as a broad, the big ham.

Oh, I still am in a cheeky mood today, aren't I? The city's public works department decided that they HAD to have a big bucket loader bang and clang and vrooom on the street, outside my bedroom window, at half-past six in the morning...oh, how I dearly love life in Glens Falls...so peaceful, so calm, so serene...

The new landlord's were really cool about my being a few days late with the rent, which is a relief. I hear the kids with the loud (as in louder than a lorry driving through your living room) stereo were evicted. Which explains the blessed (relatively speaking) peace and quiet, of late.

This is a very noisy building--and I can live with the thin walls (and floors and ceilings) thing, no probs--but that stereo, yikes! It actually vibrated my walls so badly at one point, that one of my pictures fell off! And they live on the opposite side of the building! You could even hear it outside, two doors down the street! And, they tended to play it to 3 or 4 in the morning. Well, it seems the former landlord got fed up with the complaints (and also, I guess there was a matter of possible drugs involved, tho' having no first-hand knowledge, I let that one slide)...anyway, out they went. I was wondering why, when I took out the bin bags to the dumpster the other day, there was all these clothes and bits of assorted furniture piled in it--looks like they left in a hurry. Maybe they didn't pay the rent, either, who knows?

Still haven't heard from the attorney. I have to try to ring up the student loan company tomorrow as well--I miss having someone to help me with stuff like this...but, I'm a big girl--hopefully I will get a human being at the other end--if not, well...still have a bottle of Seagram's Cooler in there.

And...I have to ring up social security tomorrow, report my income--again. Stupid idiots can't keep track of anything--they (fed govt.) spent loads on refurbishing the social security office, but the service and the people who work there--worse then ever!!! Those people there, total idiots--and they don't have a spark of personality. I mean--what is it with government workers????

I think the USA requires all employees to get a personality lombotomy before they begin their employment. Government workers get on this conveyor belt, get trundled into a machine that sucks all their personality--and their sense of humour, out of their arse, and then spits them out again, clean as a whistle.

And just to finish the job--so people won't mistake them for androids, they reinsert special little pills up said body part, just to make sure they still resemble real live human beings--but only just.

But, that's just my opinion.

To go into solitude, to ponder, to discover, to be more than a mere observer--to go beyond that, and become a part of all you see and hear, smell, feel. To make each day of your life, a part of that on-going learning experience called, living.

To see life's dance, in the dewy, misty fields of dawn, to soar inside your heart, even as you watch a red-tailed hawk circle tirelessly into the pale blue heavens.

To trip over the edge of mystic reality, to rejoice in the music of the morning--the cheerful birdsong and busy crickets, the sighing of the tall grass, as it bends to the will of the lifting wind, just you and the earth and the sky.

I dedicated an entire blog entry to my growing up--and into adulthood, I might add--going to the drive-in movies.

I talked about those awful hokey intermission adverts--well, here's two--you decide!

THEY STILL SHOW THIS ONE (The guy with the soldier) AT THE GLEN DRIVE-IN HERE!

Yup! I remember these! Each drive-in had it's own set of intermission adverts/films, and these are just two examples that I found, that I well-remember.

I was in high school (9th to 12th yr) when this one was shown--think it was a one of the drive-in's across the Hudson River from Albany, NY that had it. I even remember the movie: Love Bug Goes to Monte Carlo--and, I think (but not sure) they also played it at the Latham Drive-in, up the road from us (we had a LOT of drive-in's where I grew up) the first time I saw Star Wars on the big screen. I remember, because a disco-themed intermission film was a bit of a novelty, believe it or not. What can I say? We were easily amused, back then.

If I could ask Mr. Tennant a question, it might be...(because I've had a lousy night on collections calls, have a toothache again, am tired, and well...honestly, I am in a very cheeky mood tonight)

Dear Mr. Tennant:

"Do you practice your "sexy" pose in your spare time? How many 'positions' do you do?"

It's lovely spring days like we have, today, when I most feel homesick. When I was a teen, I couldn't wait to get home from school on spring afternoons, so I could change into my standard outdoor outfit: hiking boots, jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat. I'd take up my hiking pole, whistle up the two dogs, and stride off into the woods and fields.

Oh, it felt so free--just so...free. It was just me, the stillness of the woods and fields--the sights, sounds and smells that all rang of home to me--if nowhere else, out in the woods, I was secure. I could be myself, and not feel daft, or stupid. I could feel centered, alive, whole. No one judged me, out there--unless it was God, I suppose.

I loved the rhythm my booted feet made on the dirt roads, the rhythmic "thunk-thunk" of my sumac hiking pole, striking the ground, the way the boughs of the pine and spruce gracefully swayed in the wind--the sunlight dancing off each indivdual needle--glorious seems a poor choice of word--it was like beams of light, coming off of angel's wings. Added to that, were the maple and oak trees, their leaves transparently green in the sun, dancing and fluttering in the wind.

The sound of the wind--in the pines, a soft whoosh, a gentle wave upon natures soft shores...the oak and maple--a mighty continual sighing, waves beating upon the rocks.

Oh, there's so many people, who walk in the country, see nothing, hear nothing, feel...nothing. My heart breaks for them.

BOUGHS, EASTERN WHITE PINE

First, thanks very much to the friend who assisted me with updating/re-designing my blog, to make it easier for my readers to use. Very pleased with the results, thanks so much!

Thanks to Free for taking the time to assist me, when she has a very full plate of her own to deal with.

And, thank you to my distant cousin (whom I sometimes mention on my blog, whom I've not physically seen in something like 25 years). He sent me $25, on the stipulation that I buy myself a treat with it--as he felt I sounded down (he doesn't know about my financial/mental situation), and thought a treat would cheer me a little.

So, since I had to go to the store to buy more cat food--they are starting to reject the cheap stuff I bought on Saturday--I also bought myself a few flowering plants for 7 dollars, a cheap steak, an ear of corn, three potatoes (treating myself to a steak with corn on the cob and potato salad), and a 6-pack of lemon-flavored bottled water (the tap water here is just awful-tasting) to take to work with me--thirsty work, working with your voice for hours on end, especially in a hot stuffy office--I even had enough left over for a Hot Pocket microwave calzone for lunch--which is certainly more appetizing than the mystery meat sandwich I was planning on eating.

"Spiced luncheon loaf"--sounds good, doesn't taste too awfully bad--but, really not sure I want to know what's in it, know what I mean?

How often have we eaten something, and not actually thought about what was REALLY in it? Potted meat, meat paste, Deviled Ham, hot dogs, sausages, Big Macs...

It's that time of year again! Time for the north country's sappy tourism videos! Bleh!!!

It's nice if you can AFFORD to live here and do and see all these nice things...

"The region's public school systems are among the finest in the state..???" Lake Luzerne school district is one of the TEN WORST in the state!!! Breathe the fresh air?? We have serious pollution problems in Glens Falls and Fort Edward--one of the reason's we have a "state of the art"--as long as you're not poor--hospital: Cancer from chemical pollution--thanks to G.E. and the paper mill discharges--is a major problem here. You can smell the pollution, some nights, in Glens Falls--smells like the Jolly Green Giant farted.

"Full of successful businesses.." yeah, who mostly pay LOW WAGES! "People in the Adirondacks work hard..." Yeah, because we make for wages!!! We HAVE to work hard!!!

"Our commuity makes you feel welcome, every day..." As long as you don't use the crosswalks, shop in our stores or try to drive in traffic--then, you had better have your funeral planned.

Oh, it's a real living vacation (holiday) alright...for the rich..the rest of us schumucks, we are too busy trying to earn enough money for food and rent--we don't have time for "fun."

By the way, the Chapman Museum, pictured in one of the last shots, is across the street from my office building.

Lately, when I go to access this blog--and this is the ONLY website that's doing this--I get a "connection has been reset" message. What??? What the heck is that all about???

"Hmmm--that's interesting. My finger seems to be stuck to my ear..."

"Erm--ha-ha, you, erm..think I'm a hottie? That's nice. Erm---help."


Because David Tennant is far too polite, to give the Sun reporter a proper gesture.

Odd that; Lake George EMS and Bay Ridge EMS---both not located in Glens Falls, just went screaming past (I'm assuming they were at emergency down the road at GF hospital)--but to see them both go screaming past--something's up. Must be a very bad accident, maybe on the interstate? I hope not. Last time is was a bus crash. I'm thinking it's a highway crash, because Lake George is north, 8 miles from here, and Bay Ridge station is clear in the opposite direction--in the southwest rural farm/suburbs of the city, so not logical to see these two dispacthed together, unless there's a major casulty--car crash, boating accident, plane crash, mulitiple drownings (sadly, last year, on the same day, at the same time, just 5 miles apart, a young boy drowned in a fast-moving creek, while three other boys drowned in the Sacandaga reservoir.

Oh jeez! Now they've called out North Queensbury, as well---not good. Something really bad just happened here. I'll keep you posted as I learn more--but it can't be good. They don't call out every volunteer ambulance service in the area (and there's a lot of them) for nothing.

It's bad--whatever it is. Fort Edward Ambulence--Fort Edward being in a whole different county, 5 miles south of this city---just went screaming past towards hospital--I am now worried, as so many of my workmates live to the north of the city, and travel the highway. I don't have any real friends up here--but I know an awful lot of people, never the same.

QUEENSBURY --- Up to 25 Travelers insurance company employees are being treated for upper respiratory irritation after being overcome by noxious fumes inside the building this morning.

In addition to Queensbury Central firefighters, ambulance crews from North Queensbury Ambulance, the West Glens Falls Emergency Squad and Lake George EMS responded to the scene.

Wow--now we're all going to wonder about the air quality in my office building, as well, as our office is seriously under-ventilated (aka: hot and stuffy). Why didn't they evacuate? Money! In a society of extreme capitalism, human life really does take a back seat...JEEEZ---Ft Edward is now screaming back north back to Northway Plaza! It must be bad! The so-called "air quality tests" must be rubbish, if you ask me! Can you say lawsuit? So, Traveler's insurance, rather than lose money by giving workers a day off, is now going to be sued through the teeth by their own employees! Brilliant! Makes me glad I got turned down for employment there!

I had a good laugh at work last night. I've made quips in an earlier post, about some of the daft answering machines we are forced to listen to--but left out one. The one's with the bad canned music.

My cubicle-mate, who's usually unflappable, being an aging, laid-back hippie type, groaned. I looked at him inquiringly. He looked at me, scowled, and said: "I hate it when you are forced to listen to bad tinny music on an answering machine, but it's twice as bad when some idiot tells you, 'Enjoy the music'!" I told him, "Welcome to Hell, enjoy your stay."

Found out last night--we get Memorial Day (our equivilent to a bank holiday Monday) off--but...we have to make it up. So, that means--I get Monday off--but lose my Saturday off, at the end of the week, which means I'm forced to be working, as of a week from today, 12 days without a day off! That sucks!!!!

--So...what's the point of having Monday off, then???? ::

For a while, back in the late 90's, my life was a real roller coaster--well, one that I actually used to operate, anyway. The Steamin' Demon is one of four or five roller coasters in our local big amusement park, Great Escape/Splashwater Kingdom. It's also only the second time I'd ever been on one--the first being the kidde coaster at our local tiny amusement park back home, Hoffman's Playland, when I was about 10 or so. Oh yeah, I threw caution to the wind and said, "what the hell?" sucked it up, and rode that baby--and hated every cotton-pickin' minute of it! I screamed like a little girl...people really find this fun?

Well, judge for yourselves. Ladies and gents, I give you, the Steamin' Demon:

It's a short trip, really--a corkscrew roller coaster is hard to film, I guess, but trust me...yikes!!

Not as bad as the Boomerang (you don't want to know--but it's aptly named) and the Nightmare(?) the indoor roller coaster that's entirely in the dark--and then there's the huge wooden old-time roller coaster, that the park is most famous for, the Comet--gawd! That thing is loud! Not as loud as the Demon's chain, when your standing next to it for hours on end--I swear I can still hear that obnoxious grating metalic sound, all these years later!

Here's more views of the coasters and rides at The Great Escape--including more of the Demon and other rides I ran: Condor, bumper cars, canyon blaster, nightmare, merry-go-round, tilt-a-whirl, swan boats, rainbow, kiddie train, Route 66 cars, ferris wheel, tornado (now defunct old-time car ride through a dark tunnel simulating a tornado).

Often enough it is, that I wish I'd been able to finish out my schooling--especially where my writing is concerned. I read the works of other writers--whether that be a play by Ibsen, a mystery by Steven Saylor or a television script from Dr Who that someone gave me a link to, I cringe when I realize just how plain and shallow my writing truly is.

I feel like, well, as much as I know by learning or instinct, there's twice as much I am missing. I feel that much of the time my writing is just straight-forward and simple (which is sort of the way I am, I suppose, much of the time), and lacks the intricate layers and the inimate knowledge of everyday life, that fleshes out the work of so many writers, and really makes a solid impact on readers and/or viewers.

I either don't have that within me at all, or, I haven't the foggiest idea how to get it out of me. And, it makes me sad, a little. It's why--and I'm fairly certain of this--I will never be published. I don't have that subtlety, that little something extra, that marks a truly wonderful writer.

My writer's voice is something that I carefully cultivated and nurtured, over the years...not on purpose, but it just came out of me, gradually, inspired by the works of Emerson, Thoreau, Balzac, Cowper, Goldsmith, Shakespeare and, believe it or not, Louis L'Amour. And, my "voice," I'm finding, is continually evolving. I'm adding new words, new expressions, all the time, because..well, you do, don't you? I look at things I wrote 15 or ever 20 years ago, and think--"wow, was my grammar awful or what?" Seriously though, I do take a lot more time to think about my writing, than back then, when I just sat down and did it, heedless of errors or linking paragraphs in a logical order.

Still, no complaints, really...just being a wee bit wistful, tonight. I think--I suppose I am, an average writer, as Americans go. And, that's okay...after all, I could be

One of the biggest stories to hit the city of Glens Falls, NY (pop. 15,000) of late, is the opening of the new roundabout! OHHHHH! NEAT-O! Forget the Hyde Collection and it's fine art, Cooper's Cave and the civic center...we have roundabout now! Zowee! Golly Gee Whiz!

I mean they had a parade of antique cars and floats, bands and news crews--whoa! Can you stand the excitement?

Someone actually posted of video on YouTube of it!

WHHHHEEEEE!!!!

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 10: Reunion

In an instant, the Doctor was kneeling beside Rose’s pale, inert form. Jane knelt down beside him, feeling Rose’s wrist for a sign of a pulse--there was none. The Doctor yanked out his sonic screwdriver and focused on Rose’s head. He sighed audibly.

Just then, a loud screech came from the kitchen. “My temporal shift resonator!” The Doctor cried, as he ran into the kitchen. Jane followed suit, and even Rose scrambled up from the sofa to have a look. The strange box in the kitchen was shaking and smoking, making a terrible racket. The dials glowed red and green, as the surface of the table began slowly to melt from the heat. “Get back! Yelled the Doctor, as he moved towards it, “It may explode at any moment!”

Tough cheese old girl, this is what you've got, deal with it. What is it, I wonder, that has such a firm hold upon my life, that I cannot seem to succeed, no matter how hard I try? Is it fate, a curse, or is it just plain, old-fashioned bad luck?

Let's address the subject of fate, for a moment. I don't like to dwell too much, on all the loneliness, grief, destruction and hardship of the past year and a half. To think on it too hard, would surely destroy me. Life truly is a road. For the fortunate, it is well-paved and clearly marked, and has not too many barriers in its path. For many, the road has its twists and turns, its hills and valleys, but none that cannot be negotiated with modest effort. And for some, our roads are completely unpredictable. There are times when the way is smooth and relatively carefree--and other times when it's just two muddy ruts on a vast deserted plain. There are huge mountains to scale and barren desserts to cross, with many an unmarked cliff and hairpin turn. That'd be me.

Emerson once wrote, "The way of province is a little rude." Rude indeed, for me, of late--downright mean and dirty-minded. I mean, just when I think the bad stuff is done--whoops, no, not quite...and sometimes the thought of living past 50, makes me so very weary of the journey.

I laughed when I read that horoscope someone sent me. Oh, the parts about the past year, were surprisingly true, in some respects--but the predictions? Ha! Yeah, like the one about "promising offers arriving in May?" Come again? What a load of bull that one is! Oh, wait, I'm about to have my part-time wages taken from me by my student lenders in a law suit--hardly promising, ey? May is nearly done, where's this fictional Prince Charming? Sitting at home on his sofa, watching the football and scratching himself, most likely. My "progress report is glittering with gold stars." The only gold stars I've seen, is when I hit my head and got a concussion back in November. Puh-lease!

My "fortunes are on the rise." Well, true, I did save myself 10 dollars, by taking the bus instead of a cab.

Oh, but come fall, it looks promising for "real estate transactions." Yeah? Does that mean that I'll get a bigger cardboard box in a posher alley?

Socially and romantically, I'm supposedly feeling "stirred up and adventurous." I am? What I'm really feeling is tired and old--toss that prediction in the old rubbish bin. I'll be "out and about," doing the meet and greet--yeah, in the breadline, maybe. You meet some swell people in the soup kitchen. I'm even going to meet new people who are "going to change" my life! Ummm--lawyers for the student loan company? The Salvation Army or Red Cross, when I finally lose my home?

The most chilling prediction: "By the end of summer, you'll be home-free." Yeah, well, I expect for me, that'll be a literal translation.

Road Trip!

First, take I-787 that runs along the Hudson River to Albany's Empire State Plaza:

Funny, the advert on the radio talks about Willard Mountain ski area--my dad used to drive a school bus and took groups there, and sometimes he brought me along for company--we once took the ski lift to the top, and walked down--very slowly I might add, as it was slippery. It was kind of neat, though. That was over 20 years ago, I'd not thought of that in years.

Another cool memory--this one from my teen years--the state's Independence Day firework's celebration--it was awesome! In later years, instead of dad and mum taking us two girls, it became me, taking mum. It was just the best time--the music, the food, and, of course, the wonderful fireworks:

The original title of The Run for Rose was "Racing Colors." It started out life as a horse story/murder mystery. In the Original tale, Jane comes out to the barn and finds, not Rose, but one of her clients, in the horse's stall--or rather, the client's head--in the hay rack--with the body missing. And, my use of colors in the story, deliberately reflected the plot. But, I found that the story was a bit too..well...slow and boring. I felt I was trying to be too...artsy. Too much like those chick-lit, trendy, Oprah novels one of my English professors kept trying to foist on me. No matter how many re-writes I did, I just couldn't find that spark. If I ain't feelin' spark, I dump the story.

What's a "spark?" It's sort of hard to describe, but I guess it could be called a focus point--a centered feeling, a bright light inside my gut, that tells me, while I'm writing, "now you're cookin' with gas." It's...just really hard to describe. It just...feels right, you know? That's not to say that what I'm writing is brilliant or anything--only that when I have "spark," writing is just ten times more fun. It's almost like the story starts writing itself. It's an amazing sensation. It's why I write, quite frankly--just on the off chance of "spark."

Of course, sometimes I'll go back, like I did with Bodysnatchers, and think that I could do it better--and hopefully, the re-write of the BS on this blog, was better than the original, published on Teaspoon and an Open Mind, back in early September. I don't think I'll ever know that for certain, but I personally felt the second version was much, much better.

I used harness horses, as I had spent February to mid-July of 2006, working as the sole office cleaner at a harness racing/slot casino complex in nearby Saratoga Springs. I adore horses, and tho' I hated my job (it wasn't just dirty and low-paying, it was extremely painful, as well) I loved being near the horses. I could watch the night races during my breaks, chat with a few fellow horse people that I knew personally, watch the racers train on the two tracks everyday. And--during dinner on Fridays--a few times I was able to schedule my two breaks back-to-back on Fridays--I got to watch (twice) Dr Who on the employee lounge's big-screen television. That was rather cool. I only got to do that twice, tho, as baseball season was upon us, and the guys tended to hog the TV set.

Anyway, that's where the harness racing idea came from--that and a great one-off mystery novel by a lady named Pat Hewett, which takes place at a harness track in California.

So, the setting. Oh yes, I've lived the setting, very much so--more than once. You've not lived 'till you've tried walking a pair of horses down an ice-covered drive, and the horses feeling frisky--oh, what a joy that experience is. NOT.

I've lived in, been out in the woods, during the type of weather described in the story...all the sounds and sights are as accurate as I am able to describe them. A northeastern sleet/freezing rain storm is a miserable, miserable thing.

And, that's my point in the story--that the monsters can be scary, but..the things around us--like mother nature, can carry their own horrors, as well. So, my aim in this story, was for there to be a dual element of suspense and darkness--the mysterious being in the cellar, and the real threat of the weather--and I am going to use that to..no, you'll just have to wait, to see what happens, sorry.

"What d'ya mean, comb my hair--I just did!"

Latest thing burning up the fan forums: That the mystery of "you are not alone" is connected to the Doctor's beginnings--Susan. Let's see, what else...oh, the Face of Boe's saga will continue...and, as we heard from a fellow blogger, that among the famous celebs slated to appear in Series Four is Woody Allen as Einstein--I'm hoping that's just a RTD practical joke, as I've never been an Allen fan. Nothing against him, just hate the whinging, over-the-top self-depreciating humor...it's been a tad overdone, methinks...and it would seriously mess with my suspension of disbelief--unless, of course, he were like Ms. Parish and Mark Gatiss, and totally changed from the norm. That would be okay, I suppose.

And, of course, despite all the conjecture that he's leaving mid-way through, NOW people are saying that Mr. Tennant is staying on through Series 4, bless.

Speaking of Tennant, I watched a brief clip tonight, that was sent to me, of Saturday's episode, "42." WOW!!! I mean, the clip was only 2 minutes, but...holy cow, was Tennant's acting smoking hot..the man's a blinking pistol! And, to give her her due, Ms. Agyeman was fantastic as well. I was quite moved, by the clip. It was just...wow. Knocked my socks off--and that isn't easy, as I was wearing laced up hiking boots, at the time.

MARTHA: "If he asks me to tell him how much he looks like James Bond again, I'm gonna' hurl!" DOCTOR: "I'll have a banana daiquiri, shaken, not stirred."

Ever have a migraine headache? Try having one in one whole side of your face...ow. I thought/ the bad tooth was getting better, should'a known. Oh, the abscess went down, but now, it seems, the infection's spreading. Wonderful. I have to spend the next day or two, trying to track down a really cheap dentist. The problem is, and I hate like hell to admit this publicly, but the thing is...I'm already missing quite a few teeth, many more and I actually will be gumming my food. But that's my new motto, isn't it: Life sucks, then you die, ha-ha.

Dr. Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER NINE: Stone Cold

Jane promptly plowed into the Doctor’s back as he stopped short. He stared at the scene laid out before him. The trees, grass, dirt drive and house, were all encased with a thin coating of dripping ice. Freezing rain mixed with sleet drove down out of the steely mesh of the sky. The Doctor turned to her. “I knew there was a reason I hated northeastern New York in the winter." Despite the situation, Jane laughed, then turned serious. "I haven't a clue what's going on here, but whatever you need, if it'll get things back to normal, I'll help." The Doctor nodded tensely. "Look, I need to get this where I can finish working on it. I need to find my friend in exactly…” he stole a glance at his wristwatch, “eight minutes, or she will very likely die.”

He had just finished the final adjustment when Jane's anxious voice called out, "Doctor! You'd better come in here." Pocketing the screwdriver, the Doctor gave the device one last quick glance and started for the doorway--only to stop short. There was Rose, his Rose, lying on the floor near the wood stove, seemingly dead.

Author's note: This is where the story ended, as I'd never finished it--I'm going to finish this on the fly this week, as I get the chance, so the next installment may not appear right off.

Okay then. Is it a full moon, by any chance? Got a message this morning in my box--wasn't there last night. Well, here, I copied it before I deleted it and blocked the sender. Check this out.

"I have been reading your blog recently, most especially the Doctor Who stories. Firstly, Doctor Who is copyright of the BBC. You should not be writing stories about a BBC show without their express permission. Also, I think you have been stealing ideas directly from the scripts and using them as your own. I find this very reprehensible. I have copied and pasted your stories and am sending them on to a friend of mine at BBC Wales and also forwarding them to Russell T. Davies. I’m sure they will take whatever action against you that they find needful. Also, I find your little "jokes" about David Tennant very distasteful, and am sure David would be quite offended by them." This person only gave his name as Peter.

First of all, Peter dear, I HAVE published the words on my blog--in more than one place-- "Dr Who is copyright of the BBC," including at the end of the story, "The Bodysnatchers." Secondly, the BBC is likely more than aware of the presence of fan fiction. There are entire websites devoted to it, most especially, "A Teaspoon and an Open Mind," which has thousands of Dr Who and related stories on there.

As for copying stuff already written--either in script or book form--I DON'T DO THAT. EVER. NEVER, EVER, EVER. It's merely coincidence. For example, In June of last year, the ONLY New Dr. Who episodes I'd ever seen were 2 and a half shows from Series One. When I wrote my first Who story, I literally didn't even know who David Tennant was, or what he looked like, and knew pretty much nothing about anything to do with Series Two. Yet, in that first story--a 9th Doctor/Rsoe story--, my alien was an energy being that sucked people's faces off and left them blank. No one was more surprised than I, when I finally saw the Idiot's Lantern episode in late July last year. Even though I DID NOT plagarize, I still removed the story, in order to prevent reactions such as this "Peter" had. The story, "Sagebrush Terror," is still sitting in my files, awaiting an extensive re-write.

I suspect this Peter may be referring to my use of the sonic screwdriver and/or the church scene in Bodysnatchers? I'm told there was a similar scene in the Lazarus episode. Purely coincidence!!! I wrote Bodysnatchers at the end of summer last year, around our Labor Day holiday, end of August, early September. I did do some re-writing of the original story before publishing it on here, but nothing too significant--mostly I just fleshed out Martha's character a bit more, gave her a tiny bit more of a role in the story than I originally had, and changed the ending marginally. Being that I live in the USA and have never been--and likely never will be in--Wales, I don't know how I could have borrowed from any current Who Episodes. My current story being published, was originally a horse story/mystery, that I wasn't happy with, and converted to a Who story--no clue how I could have plagarized that, either.

As for Mr. David Tennant--he's a big bhoy, I'm sure he'd take my innocent jibes in stride. What am I saying? David Tennant DOES NOT read my blog! He doesn't know I exist! How is he going to even know? Come on, peter, use your common sense here! Besides, the little jokes are not meant in a mean sense. I happen to like Mr. Tennant's acting and he seems like a personable enough young dude, to me, and he's nice looking--in an average sort of way. It's not like I'm attacking him or anything. It's just me trying to lighten my own darkness a little...David Tennant be damned, I need something to laugh about, and I find his physique--and the fact that girls swoon over it--quite funny, indeed.

Well, I am tired today, and am equally tired of incensed Tennant fans--is Peter gay, I'm wondering? So, folks, from now on--don't bother PM'ing me with your beefs. I won't read them, anymore. I have REAL problems to hack through, without your silly, meaningless dribble to contend with, besides. If the BBC, Russell T. Davies and David Tennant want to sue me, they will have to take a number and stand at the back of the line! There's a pile of student lenders and other creditors in front of them.

Actually, I should add, that in a way, I'm slightly flattered. To think that things I imagined, later turn up--albeit, only in slightly similar form-- in future episodes, to me, is rather gobsmacking. I won't say great minds think alike, but rather, serious Whovians think alike, ha-ha.

The words engraved on our Statue of Liberty are somewhat of a joke, nowadays. To many Americans, the homeless are not even human anymore. If America's poor are treated like yesterday's rubbish, and virtually invisible--the homeless are treated worse, much, much worse. Is it any wonder, that I live in terror of it?

A while back, a wrote of the incident in Los Angeles, where a homeless man that went to (I hang my head in shame) the Presbyterian hospital there, for emergency treatment, was just left on the streets. Here's the aftermath of that genuine American horror story:

LOS ANGELES - Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center, whose discharge of a paraplegic man onto skid row earlier this year was widely publicized, says it will adopt new guidelines meant to end the dumping of homeless patients.

I'm not a big believer in horoscopes--they're fun, and sometimes--tho' only rarely--strangely accurate. Anyway, someone sent me mine, from Town and Country magazine:

You're probably eager to find out what's in your stars for 2007, since last year could hardly be described as carefree or easy. But being uncannily prescient, you're likely to already sense that your planets are shifting, and you're beginning to get out of the direct line of fire. Not that you've been discernibly ruffled or have let anyone know just how pressured and uncertain you've felt. Scorpios are fiercely private, and even if your inner world were crumbling to bits, you'd still manage to keep your characteristically cool and inscrutable facade in place.

Socially and romantically, you're feeling stirred up and adventurous as maverick Uranus continues its voyage through the most emotionally expressive angle of your chart. You'll be out and about, meeting intriguing new people who may very well change your life. Close—especially intimate—relationships hold an enormous potential to evolve and grow this year, so toss those old agendas out the window and focus on living entirely in the now.

All I have to say is, "Meh."

Wow!!! Maybe God did hear me, the other night! First, the worst of the pain left me, then...I was cleaning out my shoulder duffle, so I could use it for bringing back my shopping--and...(drum roll---long drum roll--oh, heck I can't leave my friends hanging...)
I found my October disability check in there! I never even remembered not cashing it (well I was just a tad in the throes of one of the worst bouts of depression I'd ever had in my life--and had been laid off from work and had other woes, besides...wow. I'd never not cashed a check before--and, it's STILL GOOD! It says right on there, "good for one year." And, it's for 659.00!!! I can pay the rent!!!

However, next month will be a challenge. I may have to lose my internet and/or phone service, as my hours are being cut--'tho I'm looking, later this week, into walking down to the day labour service---it's a legal street corner employment agency--you walk in, see if they have any work for you for the day, and if they do, off you go--it's basically temping for derelicts and the destitute. Not very pleasant work, usually, and the wages are below minimum wage--the company takes part of your wages as its fee, but it's work.

Despite feeling like , I have to go to the store. I decided that 18 dollars pay isn't worth being wiped out physically, for. I am so incredibly sore today--I think the abscess is building again..at any rate, talking on the phone is out, today--I have to enough of that tomorrow, I've decided my jaw needs a serious rest, if I want to do my job properly. Good thing I am not on radio or something, hate to think what my voice must sound like, this week--lots of mumbling, I suspect.

A couple of my co-workers are puzzled as to why work won't put me on surveys much--as they tell me, what I call my "working" voice, is very professional sounding--hell, that's just 30 years of answering phones, and a few acting/broadcasting lessons, anyone can do that--but really, I love doing survey work, and detest selling...but, I'm white collar cannon fodder--I'm stuck in the bottom rung of the business forever...and I'm not even all that good. About 3 or 4 times a month, I'll be in the top five, but that's not saying much. There's people that are in the top five nearly every day they work, about 5 or 6 of them, at least. No, I'm not put on surveys because of the same old story--image. It doesn't matter how good you are, if you don't have the looks, the outward personality, you're rubbish, plain and simple. It's just the way things are, in America--maybe everywhere, I don't know.

So, I'm off in a bit to the bus stop down the way. A long trip--It'll take about 4 hours to get a half a mile to the stores ,shop, lug the stuff back to the bus stop and wait for the bus--no exaggeration. In a car: 1 hour or less. I so miss my car! Have to do the shopping. No clue what I am going to be able to get. I'd hope to keep the food budget down to 10 dollars (5 pounds), but don't see that happening.

I will probably nap when I get home, as I'm quite exhausted from the pain and also from the emotional stress of trying to wrap my mind around all this bad stuff that's about to happen, that my life is over, I mean. Sorry, but that's just the truth. I know some of you want to help, but can't--and just knowing that you care, means so much to me, you have no idea--it's friends like you that really are the only thin that keeps me going--and I do so desperately want to just stop and get out of this life, this nightmare.

So, off to Save-a-Lot and the one dollar store...wish I could go to the Chinese buffet near there, I'm so hungry I could eat (excuse my while I cover their ears and whisper this) some sweet and sour cat.

Oh, I give up already!!!!

Another David Tennant fangirl e-mail!!! I mean, I'd almost rather have the tooth abscess!

Okay, okay, uncle. I give in. I had consigned the rude piccys of Tennant to my recycle bin long ago, but am still getting pleads for me to show them...how many weeks has it been? And I'm still getting e-mails from sex-starved teenagers...whatever.

So, here they are, and I hope you don't go blind looking at them. Although, I really do think he'd make a smashing hoisery model, really I do... He ain't no "Teninch" though, no way. Good thing I haven't anything to eat, I'd probably just toss it up again.

This is for you, "Davidsdreamgirl:"

Last night, I was the office celebrity. Usually, that honor falls to one of the musicians
or sports nuts in the office. Well, lately I've nearly been creamed several times while in the middle of a very well-marked crosswalk. It's state law that drivers have to give way to pedestrians--regardless of whether the light is red or green. It was the last straw when I came within inches of being nailed by some old geezer in a compact car, who breezed through the intersection like I was invisible. Ironically, he had a "God bless America" bumper sticker on his car. And this has being going on for months--but has been, for some reason, especially bad of late. Spring fever? So, I wrote a brief letter to the editor..and now everyone in the office is saying--"oh saw your letter..." Funny, didn't think it was that big a deal. Huh.

Here's all I wrote:

Crosswalk stopping is the law, not optional

We hear so much about the war on terror. Tonight, as I limped through a well-marked crosswalk, an older man in his little car just blew through the crosswalk like I wasn't even there. We spend billions to fight someone who we say has no regard for human life, what does what happened to me, and happens to others, say about our fellow Americans? God bless America? Sometimes, ya' gotta' wonder.

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 8: Freeze

Meanwhile, in the stable, Jane was having worries of her own. She entered the darkened barn, shining her flashlight in each of the stalls. The horses were all either quietly crunching their hay or simply looking curiously over their stall doors at her. There was no indication that anything had ever been wrong--which lead Jane to believe, after hearing the screams of the horses earlier, that something wasn’t quite right.

Jane raised the rifle, standing well back from the object of her extreme attention. She knew what it was, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. At the far end of the barn, stood the large blue police box she knew was the Doctor’s spaceship. Rather abruptly, the door swung inward and a tall beefy thug in a black leather jacket came charging out, carrying some kind of strange looking machinery. Jane’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Freeze!” She yelled.

The man stopped dead in his tracks and, raising an eyebrow, grinned at her. "Erm, yes, it is freezing in here. You should get some proper central heating." Jane stepped back but kept the gun’s sights trained on his chest. He just looked at her, seemingly unconcerned, “Uh, I’d raise my hands, but if I drop this,” he indicated with a nod of his head, the electronic device he was holding, “there would be a very loud bang, and I believe that I’ve upset your horses quite enough for one day--not to mention that this entire barn could possibly be blown to bits instantly. It’s rather delicate, you see.” He squinted at Jane in the murky light. “You know, you seem somehow familiar. Who are you?”

Not bothering to lower her weapon, Jane replied, “I think that’s my line.” The man looked unconvincingly chagrined. “Whoops. Sorry. Always seem to get that part wrong.” He shrugged. “Okay, I haven’t much time to work with here, so," he shrugged, smiling, "take me to your leader. That is the right line, isn’t it? Mind you, it’s a bit of a tired cliché, but, 'whatever', as you American’s say.” Seeming to be oblivious to the rifle, the man breezed past her. “Okay, then, lead on.” He opened the barn door, with Jane on his heels. “By the way,” he said with his back to her, “I’m the Doctor.”

I'm told that I can put a calendar, archives, etc on my blog page--but when I go into edit, it's all there on "content" but it never shows up on my page. Do I have to have a pro account to have a calendar, archives, etc. show up on my page? Or is it just broken? (The way my luck is running, I'm betting on the broken theory).

I am very tired tonight. I was going to blog earlier, but dinner took longer than I'd anticipated. I'm exhausted, and still quite sore--tho' most of my hearing is back, and I can swallow now. My fever was nearly gone this afternoon--99.6, but is a bit on the high side again tonight, 100--tho' that's considerably better than the 103 that it was, last night this time. But my jaw feels as if I'd gone a few rounds with George Foreman and lost.

Flame is bugging me to play with her--she's got this thing now, where she'll stick her paw between my--umm--well, let's just say it's a good thing I'm not a guy--she'll sit underneath my legs--which are propped up on the antique camp chair, and the paw will shoot up through the..erm...little gap, and try to grab onto the keyboard in my lap, to get my attention. Either that, or she'll tug at my pants leg incessantly and start whinging.

I was going to stop blogging as of tonight, but two friends asked me not to, and they've been good friends, so I will continue--if only intermittently, at times. Because of the tooth abscess, I don't have any days off this week, as I have to make up work hours, tomorrow. So, I'll be going nearly 14 days without a break--tho' I'm only working nights, next week, so I'll have all day--or much of the day, to rest and try and get myself well.

My job is a bit..odd, sometimes. Had a cat on answering machine tonight--no person, just tiddles: "Meow, rrrerow, meow, meeeoow.."etc. Oh good, I'm calling a cathouse. The hookers must've been otherwise occupied tonight, as they let their pussy answer the phone. Sorry, couldn't resist that one.

I was reading the Times Online today, about Welsh Dolphins--as if Welsh wasn't difficult enough to understand, now they want to translate it into dolphin? Anyway, in the article, I saw some words that I'd never thought I'd see in the same sentence before, "great tits," and "Buckingham Palace." Of course they were talking about birds...

I'm off to work. But, when I get home at half-past ten, I'll likely be blogging into the night...still have some stuff to put on, until I close down. Odd, I am still getting "blind" invites to be "friends." I don't have much fondness for "blog friend collectors," but I did, earlier in the week, respond to two people, whom I felt were sincere. Many of the invites I get, though, are illogical...from teens and people promoting themselves.

I have nothing against teens, but I don't relate to them, anymore, really. Today's teens live on a whole other plain then they did when I was growing up--many of them can't even spell, they just do "text speak" which is fine, if you are actually texting someone, it does sound really stupid tho', in "normal" writing situations. Like when we were little kids talking pig-latin in front of our teacher or whatever.

Anyway, I'll be back online and blogging around 11.00 pm my time (5 hours behind the UK).

So the lawyer's office called. He won't be able to look at my case until Monday. Oh well. Not much hope there. I'm already on disability, and they work on contingency--and probably not much hope of any big comepensation claims from me--American lawyers only take you case if it means big bucks for them. Riiight. No. I doubt he'll take my case. I'm just a poor schmuck, let's face it.

I just came out of the kitchen, from checking on how lunch is coming along (Ramen noodles--yuck), and found Flame had not only ripped my nice clean sheet off of the bed, she was all wrapped up in it, cat gigggling, kicking it for all she was worth. Well, I say to her sternly, "What do you think you're doing, little miss?" And she just looked up at me, gave a cat laugh and kicked the sheet some more. She was one sheet to the wind.

So, I went into the living room, and suddenly, she's come stampeding in with me, jumps up on the top of the big book case, drapes herself over the front of it, and starts trying to knock the books on the top shelf off, with her paws--all the while looking very pleased with herself. I think she's glad to see me up and about, ey? She's like a little kid, sometimes...cats!

Here's a still shot I found for the latest Hollywood blockbuster: Die Hard 10: Feck Off!

I've been asleep most of the day. Got up about half-past ten, stuck some old rubbish on my blog, ate a fried egg and catsup sandwich, took three Ibuprofen's and went back to bed.

Had a mess of weird dreams, but that's okay. Anything's better than what I went through most of the night. At one point I was very much curled up in a fetal position, alternately sobbing and begging God to end it, into my pillow (didn't want to disturb the neighbours). My fever was high and the pain about as unbearable as any pain I've ever had--I was at the point where I was ready to walk the half-hour to Emergency and check myself it--but I simply didn't have the energy. My face was so swollen, that I'd lost part of my hearing on that side. Then, sometime in the small hours of the morning, I finally slept--think the abscess must've topped off and broke or something. I'm still so incredibly sore in my right jaw, tho'. The throbbing pain in the tooth is by no means gone. My neck is stiff and I have a splitting headache--but the intense pain is mostly gone, and for the first time in 36 hours I did finally sleep. I've had kidney stones, and second-degree burns, fractured my knees and had sciatica in my back--and none of them hurt as bad as yesterday.

I'm still in quite a bit of pain, still have a slight fever, and can't see well out of my right eye from the swelling, but...yesterday, last night...it was like being tortured for hours on end, by some invisible being for some crime you don't know you committed.

Wish I could have the whole day off, but must get my check today and cash it. I have very little food in the house. I have to buy cat food, toilet paper, and a few other things I can't do without, like milk and margarine and bread...but no idea how I'm going to eat this week. I've maybe 10 dollars (5 pounds) to spend on food. Cab fare--it cost me 6 to 11 dollars to go to the store, so cab fare is out. Have to spend half a day traveling by bus. The stupid city of Glens Falls only supplies one bus per route--so if you want to use a bus, you'd better have loads of time on your hands...mostly because most of the stores are outside the city--a trip in a car that's about 15 minutes, takes 45 minutes to 1 hour by bus, at least. But, in my condition, it's better than walking. But, I am dreading it, tomorrow. I'd rather just stay in bed and sleep this off. But, nothing I can do.

You know what I miss most, being alone? I miss someone hugging me, and letting me just cry. Sounds daft, I suppose, but I do. I'm never going to have that, not ever. But, I reckon, there's lots of people in this world that don't have that comfort either, and they manage okay. The cat's have stayed by me, all night--Flame kept giving me genuine worried looks...she kept trying to play with me, or she'd paw at me and stare into my face, as if to say, "what's wrong, mum?" I'm going to miss them sorely. My heart will truly be broken forever, when they've gone. I've never not had a pet in my life...it will seem odd.

I keep looking around at my things and wondering who will get them. Guess there's no way of knowing. I think, the weekend before I have to leave, maybe I'll have an indoor garage (boot) sale. It's odd tho', thinking of other people fondling your treasures. I remember, when dad died, and later, mum, and my sister was like, "I want, that and that and that..." I mean, I did take some of dad's stuff, like some towels and bedding and a lamp...but I wasn't greedy about it. Is that what's going to happen here...sis and other people grabbing at my horse statues, furnishings and pictures and such? That's a hurtful thing, knowing that. We spend a lifetime, collecting bric-a-brac and such to make our homes uniquely our own--and the minute we become destitute or die, the human vultures sweep down to take it all away--for their own profit, or someone will just dump it in the rubbish, like it never meant naught at all. And maybe, it doesn't, who knows?

I had to view some slides of modern art paintings, once. Modern art is fine, but I'm not a huge, huge fan of it. I more appreciative of traditionalist art, personally speaking. This one artist, Margaritte, or something like that, was...interesting. But, being old-fashioned, I sort of found his works a bit too...Sgt. Pepper, for my more pastoral tastes.

Fresh Meat

(In honor of Ogden Nash)

At the gallery I sought recreation,
to consider the artist’s repertoire,
pursuing, perhaps, some inspiration

How very stressful, hunting inspiration,
dear me, what a vastly infinite chore,
and ghastly, trolling for recreation.

A titanic slice of baked ham laid out upon display,
an open eyeball on top, stares, in a creepy way.
Yet bravely I strove to track inspiration.

A half-empty wine glass stands by itself, alone.
In this crowd, I bet it’s New Jersey grown,
I’d be drunk, to think this recreation!

Ver Meer, Monet, Elvis on velvet I’d say,
beats this funky-twaddle any old day.
Only the trendy see inspiration.

Stalking the room, I try to see what I missed,
patiently pondering the artists’ gist.
At the gallery I sought recreation,
pursuing, perhaps, some inspiration.

This winter I stumbled across a website that asked readers to complete this sentence: "I am_________." And taking my cue, I wrote a series of "found" poems--poems using sentences found just anywhere: websites, bus adverts, billboards, graffiti, magazine covers, what-have-you, and re-writes the sentences/words you see into something, that hopefully appears as a poem, if you're lucky.

I think, personally, my "found" poems should be lost, but...you be the judge:

Snapshots of Life

A series of “found” poems, based on random individual statements on a website.

Adam and Eve

I have never been snogged.
I just want to be alone.
I want to have sex.
I don’t know how to say no.
I have a fetish.
I am allergic to Latex.
I think nudity is beautiful.
I feel sorry for Britney Spears.
I married a lesbian.
I watched my boyfriend kill himself.

On Holiday

I am afraid of felling God.
I am not who they think I am.
I thong.
I am a coolie.
I visited a prostitute.
I got engaged.
I ended a friendship.
I feel spiritual.
I visited Amsterdam.

Words to Live By

I have to go to the bathroom.
I must not sit on the cat.
I am not your stereotypical anything.
I hate country music.
I love my cousin.
I love birds.
I cheated on my girlfriend.
I am an aging beauty, alive and so grateful.
I am pregnant.

Road Maps

I have been in a mental hospital.
I blow glass.

I am a Buddhist.
I went surfing.

I am a web designer.
I think about God all the time.

I am a shopaholic.
I hate unrequited love.

I am a Doctor Who fan.
I want to learn the salsa.

Shallow Minds

I hack.
I pee.
I have a dirty mind.
I am a fashion victim.
I hate high maintenance girls.
I am supposed to be doing my homework right now.

Windmills

I am on a quest to find the real me.
I like to read.
I loved someone who didn’t love me.
I write stories.
I regret my first kiss.
I remember my first love.
I lost my father.
I had a difficult pregnancy.
I’d rather not talk about the past.

The World’s Shortest Sentence

I am who I am.
I still have no idea who I am.

I am honest.
I think I am ugly.

I am not as innocent as people think I am.
I don’t know who I am anymore.

I am an open-minded liberal.
I do not feel like I am a part of any nation.

I don’t like where I am right now.
I am sad.

I think I think too much, therefore I am.

Dancing in the Dark

I love kisses.
I want to finish my tattoo.
I keep trying, that’s all I can do.
I love giving women intense pleasure.
I am drunk, drunk, drunk.

I went to Japan.
I love sushi.
I am very curious about witchcraft.
I married a blue eyed demon.
I am craving a kiss.
I love Alice in Chains.

I love love.
I love curry.
I love tea.
I wish I was British.
I want to live again.

I love a man I don’t think I truly know.
I am a baby boomer.
I love my cat.
I wish he would let me in.
I was never so shocked in my life.
I shop and dance and drink like it’s my job.

Escape

I love to dream because I can go anywhere.
I have a memory wall.
I am heartbroken.
I wish art were more important in our society.
I wish I could fly.
I got extremely drunk on my 21st birthday.
I can never stop learning new languages.
I am looking for my soul mate.
I am living in a prison made of glass.
I still haven’t gotten over him.
I want to have a dog.

Mental State

I want to be a virtuous woman.
I love my flip flops.
I can hear music in my head.

I got chased by a cow.
I think about death.
I still am drunk.

I love the color blue.
I hate being that third person in the elevator.
I have manic-depression and it makes me giggle.

Personality Test

I am a tree-hugging hippy.
I am baffled by the moral decline in the U.S.
I love dirty, rude offensive jokes.
I don’t understand myself sometimes.

I work weekends.
I am a mother of six.
I love tequila.
I wish I could ride on the wings of a Pegasus.

I resent my husband.
I went on a cruise.
I have a weird sense of humor.
I hate being stereotyped by ignorant people.

I love junk food.
I feel alone a lot.
I want to make a difference in the world.
I know it will work out in the end.

Life in Reality-land

I am glad to be leaving this job.
I like to get pampered at the salon.
I want to be more flexible.
I am a gay Christian.
I do not understand racist people.
I love to empower others.
I like being me.
I live a life of fulfillment and adventure each day.
I am a poet.

I have had to run from the cops so many times.
I have a crazed cat.
I am emotional over art, music and people.
I am really a vegetarian because I hate meat.
I hate trends.
I believe in angels.
I believe in aliens.
I am addicted to cigarettes.
I was caught drinking and smoking by the police.
I think the politicians should be in jail.
I am a restless spirit.

I am extremely paranoid and extraterrestrial.
I had my wisdom teeth removed.
I torture myself with sad songs.
I collect frogs.
I love weird facts.
I wear a lot of black.
I can feel things before they happen.
I lost my child.
I am someone you know.

This one's going to be deeply depressing, as I'm seriously unwell.

I'm told my internal bleeding may be from the Ibuprofen that I've been taking on and off over the past month for both my foot pain, and now my abscess. Wonderful. I'm in so much pain that I can barely function. It comes in waves, thankfully, and subsides for a while before slugging me again. But, everything--doing my job (talking for hours with a bad tooth, loads of fun there), eating, sleeping--even just walking or reading...are becoming a burden.

So, if you don't like negative posts, you're not going to like this little trip into my present location: Reality-Land.

Anyway, there's no way I can keep my apartment now--my hours are to be cut back even more, next week. Without that 600 dollar disability cheque, no way. Can't live here. I almost got creamed, walking through a crosswalk tonight, by a big flatbed tow truck--and I almost let him. Not on purpose, but, I just didn't care, I was so wracked with pain--both physical and emotional--that I was just...numb.

Tomorrow night, I'm closing down this blog. I am not deleting it, just...going away. I don't think I will return.

I can't do this anymore. No one wants to hear it, and I don't blame them--who would? I'm shutting down, tuning out, signing off. The abscess tooth that I can do naught about--that truly was the last straw, the proverbial one that has broken me.

I am broken. I am so very broken. I'm more broken that I was last autumn. I've never been this way before--I just don't care any longer. What for?

I can't keep posting stupid inane stuff on this blog--David Tennant jokes, silly adverts, pastoral essays, Dr Who stories...like everything is fine and okay. It's not. It's never going to be.

All I wanted, was a little security--knowing I had a roof over my head, without threat of losing it--what a dream that was! Or rather, in my case, what a total joke! What kind of jackass loses her home three times in a little over a year? I don't care what anyone tells me--I AM a loser! Winners don't have all this stuff happen to them.

Anyway--yes, I am feeling very bad for myself and you know what? Stuff it! I've earned the right to feel this way. I'm tired of being in pain, of going hungry, of worrying about feeding the cats, and cab fare, and laundry..and keeping National Grid and Time-Warner Cable happy...and, keeping this naff old apartment.

I don't care anymore--I won't care. Caring only makes it hurt worse. I'm not going to get help--they don't help people like me--college educated and articulate..they don't see the bi-polar disorder, it's an invisible disability. My torment is my own, and rightly so. Who cares? Why should I be special? I'm not. Not by a long chalk. There's no white knights on a steed, no super heroes, no Dr Who's, coming to my rescue...It's all on me, and that's the way it should be. Oh, I've friends for moral support, which is fantastic, really. But...I just can't fight anymore. I literally feel very old, tonight--I walk old, I sit old, sleep and eat and talk, old. I'm an old woman in a middle aged body.

I will post a lot of stuff tomorrow, as I don't need to be into work until the night shift. But when I go to bed tomorrow night, I will post no more. I can't live in a lie anymore.

Well, the toothache is about as bad as it can be--but I'm still standing and slugging away, ey? It's intermittent, which makes it bearable--those few minutes when it subsides to a dull ache are a true blessing.

Here's what some others had to say about pain:

Nature knows best, and she says, roar!
Author: Maria Edgeworth

The pain and hurt which i feel, go as deep as it is real; to be around and yet unseen, takes the water out of the steam.
Author: Jay T

Ah yes, I do indeed remember these! Cow pants! When they stampede, are they then, "sin-cow pants?" Ouch! That was lame, wasn't it? Ah well, misery loves company.

I've figured out, that all this continual bad stuff that keeps harrying me, is the result of a curse I must have brought back from Egypt.

Oh, I'm kidding, of course...or, am I? No, really though--it really feels like I'm cursed. I don't believe in curses...but then, I didn't used to believe in ghosts, either. Beats me. I think I'm just a target in the shooting gallery of life.

TAKEN FROM THIS WEBSITE: http://www.everythingunderthemoon.net/spells/protection-banishing-curses.htm

Knot Spell
To rid yourself of problems or a troublesome situation.

Take cotton yarn in the appropriate color of the problem (green for money, red for love, etc) and pour out your fears and problems in to the yarn. Tie it up in knots to symbolize how "tied-up" you feel. Take it outside and let the wind blow it away along with your negativity. Go back inside and take a ritual bath or shower cleansing.

Spell to Reflect Negativity

Best done during the full moon

if you are feeling uneasy, nervous or threatened, try repeating this chant quietly to yourself.

Divine Goddess, Goddess Divine,
Divine God, God Divine,
If evil dwells within this place,
Please make it leave my space.

And just in case you're being bothered by those pesky vampires (they can really ruin a good date), here's this spell:

pell to Rid yourself of Psychic Attacks
Spell to Ward off Psychic Vampires

USE CARE WHEN DOING THIS

This is a fairly straight forward spell to rid yourself of psychic vampires (you'll know if you've got one, trust me!)

Repeat this 3 times, then allow the incense and candles to burn themselves out.

So I just got a phone call, more runaround. I am soooo-tired!

First, the social worker won't help.

Then, the charity won't help.

Now, I got a call from the mental health advocacy place, and they can't help--but, they did give me a phone number for a lawyers (barristers) referral service--which gave me the number for a local Soc. Security attorney.

Big catch: If I can't pay my rent, how the hell can I pay a flipping lawyer????

Got a 2nd call--no dentist. He wants a 25 dollar co-pay just to see me today. Ain't got it.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: life sucks, and then you die.

I'm trying to hook up with a dentist--can't pay him now, so not sure if I can go--if he wants a co-pay before I leave, that nixes it.

The pain comes in bursts: deep kettle-drum throbs, with sharp little tendrils, white-hot, flaring up the nerve endings on that side of my face. All I can do is bend down, plant my palm on my forehead, grab a fistful of my hair, close my eyes, rock back and forth and just breath slowly, until it subsides--which truly is a relief and a blessing.

I have to go in late to work--I can''t call in sick, and can't really even afford being late, but I don't know what else to do, I just don't. I'm waiting on a phone call now. If I can't afford the dentist, I'm just going to have to buy more alcohol and headache pills...it's the only way. This is worse than when I sprain/broke/bruised my foot a month ago, make no mistake.

I wish I could be someplace else, someplace, anyplace...

Ah, if only there was a Dr Who...I'd ask him to whisk me (and the cats) away in his Tardis to somewhere where I could afford to live in peace and security (security as in being able to pay the rent on time).

If only there was a superman, I'd ask him to yank out this tooth.

If only there was a fairy godmother--or even her friend, Buttons--I'd ask to give me a good-paying steady job, that I'd be good at, of course.

If only there was a magic genie, I ask three things:

1. Make Social Security stop screwing around with the incomes/lives of the low-income disabled.

2. Give America NHS

3. Make it so every politician in the USA has to live on food stamps and public assistance funds for two weeks.

Since I'm unwell today, I thought I'd do something rather light and easy for my blog this morning.

I am rather dreading today, if I didn't need the money so badly, I'd stay home and suffering in peace...but no hope for it, gotta' do the telemarketing thing, so if nothing else, the cats will eat. Going to be a long, tortuous, blinking miserable day for me, though, make no mistake. It honestly feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to my jaw!

Anyhow, these aren't my best, but here goes:

David Tennant balks when it's announced by the Russell T Davies that his co-star, Freema, is being replaced in this episode, by Bob the Builder.

"And I'm telling you, I am not moving from this spot until you get that moth out of my caravan!"

"You want me to what? Now I have to save England from the Daleks, Cybermen AND the Eurovison voting bloc...isn't that asking a bit too much?"

Well, it's nearly 4 in the morning on this side of the pond, and I would dearly give anything to be sleeping. My bad tooth has gone abscess and the agony of pain is my despair. ..no, the excruciating pain, and knowing there's naught I can do about it. Nothing. I just have to take it. My face is swollen to twice its size and the incessant throbbing is so bad, that it's upsetting my stomach as well, now. And there's nothing I can do. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I've not a dime for cab fare emergency, and certain no money for a dentist--I have no dental coverage any longer, or so I'm told.

I'm trying hard not to cry from the pain--and I have to talk on the phone for the better part of 9 hours today.

Okay. I admit it. To quote Henry: ..."my wages taken, and in my heart some lark singing, let me be gathered to the quiet west, the sundown splendid and serene, Death."

Yeah, if I were walking down the street, and someone tried to mug me at gunpoint--well, I'd let the SOB just shoot me. I'm serious. It hurts that bad. You're not supposed to take more than 1200 mg of ibuprofin a day--I think I've taken 1500 and counting..and a half a bottle of Seagram's cooler.

I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. What other little hand grenades is life going to lob at me now? Isn't it bad enough I can't pay the rent that's due on Sunday? That I have to give up my cats next month? Lose my possession? My phone/internet service? Oh, I forgot, tonight, just before bed, I was walking over the wood threshold between my bedroom and the kitchen, when I got a splinter in my foot--wasn't the splinter, but the wrenching motion--I seem to have re-injured the side of my bad foot, as that hurts like hell as well, tonight, and I can barely hold my weight on it...and I have bad heartburn, besides.

I am thinking it's a damn good thing I don't own a gun, right now. If I were a horse, I'd be shot--but being human, the world just makes me suffer. I'd rather be the horse.

PS DON'T be alarmed! This is just what happens to me at stupid o'clock in the morning when I'm desperately tired and in horrible pain--I start banging my head, verbally. I'm doing what I can--warm salt water rinses and pain meds, and crossing my fingers and hoping I can get through the day without riding the elevator to the 10th floor and jumping (just kidding). There is, sort of, no tenth floor--at least not for us white collar lackeys--it's the maintenance floor and off limits...but if there was...

Tho' my experience of professional standardbred harness racing was strictly county fairs and pony harness racing at a small private country race track as a child--I remember this race on the television news, and clipped his photo from the newspaper-or rather, mum did. I think I was about 8 or 9 years old, at the time.

It wasn't until my early teens, that I stepped foot on the grounds of the raceway.

The great NEVELE PRIDE--one of the best standardbreds--trotter or pacer-- to ever hit a track. In this case, the track was Saratoga Raceway--changed to Saratoga Equine Sports Center in the late 80's, and now known as Saratoga Gaming and Raceway.

(A pacer is a horse that trots both (same two) legs forward on one side, and both (same two) legs back on the opposite side, usually helped by special devices called pacing hopples, but some horses pace naturally, for some unknown reason.

A trotter trots with a diagonal motion--

PACER

TROTTER

Nevele Pride's record in this race was not beaten on this track for four years. The rules and procedures of American harness racing differ from those in Europe. Personally, I think the Europeans have it right. The biggest difference tho', that I'm aware of is that I don't think they have pacers in Europe.

Stanley Dancer was a fantastic driver--one of the best that Saratoga had ever seen. Although 1.56.4 is not quite the unbelievably fast time today, as it was over 35 years ago, it's still not too shabby--and I wonder, if that great horse had access then, to the ultra-lightweight racing sulkies (bikes) and synthetic harness, super fast track and other racing improvements we have today-just how fast he'd really go.

I was recently told that I shouldn't be afraid of succeeding. I am? I mean, just because I'm on the down and out, doesn't equate with my being afraid to succeed. Still...I started to wonder...so I found a test online, that measures how afraid you are of succeeding, on a scale of zero to 100--100 being that you're petrified of succeeding. My score: 20.

Here's my evalutation:

According to your score, you seem to have very little fear of success. It may lurk in the corners of your mind from time to time, but for the most part, you keep it pretty much under control. When opportunities come your way, you rarely hesitate to jump on them, even if this means you’ll be taking on extra responsibilities. When climbing the ladder of success, you tend to forge ahead with little hesitation, giving it your all. Although fear of success may seem like an odd concept, it’s actually fairly common. People who fear success will often sabotage their chances for it and become underachievers. You, however, seem to possess a healthy attitude when it comes to success.

You can find this "success likelihood" test online @:

http://www.queendom.com/tests/access_page/index.htm?idRegTest=729

I have been in England--but decided a 3-hour layover inside Heathrow doesn't count, really, as I wasn't visiting, but just stopping by, for a bit . The same holds true for the state of Maryland.

This is where I've been, from the time I was born to January, 2004.

own visited countries map:

vertaling Duits Nederlands

create your own visited states map

create your own visited countries map

Home early from work. My toothache is worse tonight, than it's ever been, and the right side of my face is so swollen, I couldn't talk properly on the phone. Which is no big loss, as I didn't make a single sale--and, in two hours, only talked to three people...no one home, tonight, and the calls were molasses-slow coming in.

The right side of my head feels heavier than the left--odd sensation, that. Guess I can write off eating dinner, then--ah well, good for my figure. Thank heaven's I've got a dozen ibuprofen left--no cash for any tooth pain remedies, and my temporary filling stuff is about done. So, I have some Seagram's cooler before bed, to help me sleep.

I surpassed my sales goal today, so was offered day shift again, tomorrow, thankfully. I'd like to say it's becuase I worked harder, but honestly, tho' I did tailor my approach and manner a bit, really, they were just jumping at me to pay their bills--one of those freakishly lovely days when you get good calls all day--happens about once every couple of months.

So more in my pay than I had anticipated--not enough to save me, but it will help stave the nightmarish inevitable from happening. Losing three homes in a bit over a year--I can only shake my head and wonder how I ever thought things would get better. Yeah. Nice try. I don't want to lose my cats--really, they're the only family I have left, for all intents and purposes. They are so happy here. It hurts worse than anyone reading this can possibly imagine, makes my severe toothache seem like nothing at all--and sometimes I think all this year and a half of constant pain and hardship is just going to eat me alive--hence, the breakfast metaphor in the other post.

Incidentally, no. I don't have anywhere to go--I love my sister, but firstly, she lives on top of a mountain in Vermont--so I'd literally be stuck there, with nowhere to go, and, more importantly, we love each other but otherwise are virtually total strangers. And, our moral, political and other differences are so wide apart, that quite literally, the only safe subjects we can talk about are gardening, and the weather. No joke, really. She's ultra-conservative, bigoted, right-wing. I'm a far-left, open-minded and liberal. Living examples of oil and water.

I'm told, as well, that neither government or charity services can't assist me, until I'm actually legally homeless. Nice, ey?

So, I can say that I'm doing my best to keep from just...well..and trying to survive what to me, is the #1 worst thing in the world that can ever possibly happen--I have to do this physically alone, with no human comfort here. My only comfort is my cats and my handful of internet buddies and a few close friends that I've never even met, and a bit of Dr Who, now and then. And, that's enough, for now. It has to be.

I can't be upbeat and positive--I'm not Mary Poppins or Superwoman, for God's sake! I've had nothing but pain and hardship for over a year--rarely a let up of more than a month or so--and it has, and is, taking it's toll on me. I'm only human. That said, I am trying, very hard, to stay sane and stable, and not do what I most want to do (I'd be lying, if I said otherwise), and just give in and give up. I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do.

Not to belittle others who are down--honest I'm not, but...this isn't a depression over not getting to go on vacation (holiday), or not getting to go to the pub with my friends. This isn't about not getting those hot new designer shoes, or that someone is prettier than me, or that I can't get a date, or that the dinner party didn't go as planned, or get what I wanted for birthday/Christmas, or that rain kept me from playing my favourite sport.

This is like being told that you are definitely going to die in three months. This is like having your foot caught on a train track with the express roaring down on you. This is being trapped in an elevator (lift) while the building is on fire. This is being told you are going to spend the rest of your life strapped into a bed with feeding tubes running into you. This is, for all intents and purposes, like a slow-motion emotional rape. This is your life--everything you hold dear, and that makes life worth living--being stripped from you. Molly bar the door, it's too wet to plow.

Well, hope for me is now, just so much horse pucky. But..I will still be blogging until about the second week of June--hopefully my Dr Who story will be completed by then, for my two readers to finish, ha-ha. Wouldn't want to leave you wondering for the rest of your life, what happens next, ey?

Yup, it's been confirmed--no one can assist me. I'm not too good, today, but I'm trying. Somehow, growing up, it never occurred to me to say, "mommy, when I grow up, I want to be completely destitute." Five years of college, and I'm literally worse off than when I had only my high school (12th year) diploma. Life is nothing more to me, than a cruel irony.

Anyway, I'm trying to keep my mind off the nightmare. I suppose this must be how someone who's alone in an empty room, dying, must feel.

There's things I wanted to write but now will never do. Four or five short plays--daft and poorly written, I'm sure. Mostly, they're just notes for future reference, but one I did start--tho' it's only one page. One, was about the Salem witch trails, one I just talked about in my previous post, one is a modern adaption of the short story, "The Revolt of Mother," by 19th century New England writer Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, and one is about a famous actor, who gets arrested in a small back country town, full of quirky people, and has to do community service helping to run the little community theater--run by the judge's daughter, and the last is a short play I fiddled with, in which the ghost of Descartes magically appears in Thoreau's cabin on Walden Pond.

I also still have a couple of Doctor Who stories I'd never finished--one the current tale being re-published and finished off, on this blog.

Still..writing isn't everything, I suppose. I'm still breathing. Guess that's something, anyway, ey?

There's no denying, David Tennant really hams it up as Doctor Who.

Well, so, it seems, does this Dalek "of a thousand voices" :

I had this idea for a short play, and started drafting a few notes in February, but it looks now, like I'll never complete it. I got the idea from something I saw on the internet (pictured below, and the old film from the 70's that my sister was fond of, "Soylent Green". Here's some stuff I took from my notes:

So, with the huge increase of people applying for food stamps, welfare assistance, housing assistance, heating assistance and the like, the US federal government just can't cope. Afterall, they have a that multi-trillion dollar military fiasco in Iraq to pay for, and corporate welfare, and Congress's cradle-to-the-grave health and benefit plans to pay for, as well. I mean, what do these people want from their government? Food, shelter? The government's not their mother for pity's sake.

So, the Republican party has finally come up with a solution. Funded by the estate of the late Rev. Falwell, and radio talk show host Rush Limbaugh, A new political party has emerged: The Donner Party.

The Donner Party has this as it's platform: Use America's tired, hungry and poor as a new food source.

Think of the money they'd save! And, they could peddle this mystery meat as gourmet food, or sell it to the public schools cheap, or even import it to third world countries--they'd be rid of the money they had to shell out for food stamps and food pantries, Medicare, public housing assistance and the like, and make money from their new foodstuff. Capitalism at its finest! I mean, they eat horses, don't they?

In the mid-1800's, a wagon train of settlers, known forever as "The Donner Party," was lost in the Sierra Nevada's in heavy snow. To combat starvation, they began to eat the corpses of those who died.

Yup--I'm trapped in the elevator of life--"Going Down!"---ridin' that sucker all the way to the sub-basement. But hey, I'm doin' it with a smile!

Okay, admit this people, how many of you have farted in the lift? Ah, thought so. Well, then I saw this cartoon and it gave me a chuckle, thought I'd share it:

So, I'm off to Glen's Fall's "sticks out like a sore thumb" office building, to a lovely 9-hour split-shift of telemarketing. Gah! Yesterday, thought I did well, got 24 people in 5 hours to say they'd pay up--9 of whom actually did, over the phone. I was in the number 2 spot for most sales yesterday afternoon. Do I get a "Good job," a "Well-done," or even a "not bad?" No--I get a "you didn't meet your goal of 50 percent credit/debit sales."

My job sucks.

The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 7: Long-distance Call

For a moment, Rose and Jane’s eyes met. Rose’s eyes were wide with apprehension, while Jane’s eyes became focused, a soldier preparing to engage the enemy. Moments later, a tremendous boom reverberated through the entire house, rattling the windows and knocking bric-a-brac of of tables. With a frightened yowl, Doc ran from the kitchen and dashed under the sofa. After the noise died away, there was utter silence.

Trembling slightly, Rose nearly dropped the phone. Screwing up her courage, she asked “Who is this? What do you want with me?” The voice merely chuckled in response. That only made Rose mad. “Oh yeah, well just you wait ‘till the Doctor gets here. You won’t be laughin’ then!” The Voice stopped laughing. “He is coming, Rose Tyler. But you will never know that.” An bright green electrical charge came out of the phone. It enveloped Rose. She shrieked in pain and stiffened, falling to the floor.

While, by no stretch of the imagination, am I a material person, I am not sure one could classify me as an idealist, either.

There are some people, who make up for their scantiness of their material possessions, by putting themselves in a higher place: the convent, charity work, teaching, etc.

Me? Meh, not so much, I guess. I used to do volunteer work all the time, but that was when I had a life, ha-ha. Actually, several months ago, I went to the library, to offer my services--well, it's pretty much what I keep saying, about image I mean. I got the old look-down-one's-nose at the upstart chav who dared to express a desire to enter the world of posh yuppie-dom...or is that yuppie-dumb? I really hate sarcasm--I mean, I really, really, really hate it. I got, "Can you read?" I'm SERIOUS!!! DOH--no, I just hang around libraries to admire the artwork on the book's dust jackets. Sheesh! Actually...some of the artwork is rather nice...

But really, I am neither materialistic nor am I an idealist--I just...am me. And to be honest--I haven't a clue who "me" is, anymore.

Well, what adult Dr Who fan hasn't wondered--come on, be honest---what the Doctor and Rose truthfully got up to in the Tardis--and just why does the Doctor pine for her, so much...well, you are about to find out--here's a clip that was retrieved from the cutting room floor.

WARNING: Though the video is brief, it does contain ADULT CONTENT

Okay, it's really a fan vid, combining clips from something called, "Secret Smile," and "New Earth."

It's a mild day, here, overcast and breezy, with a hint of stormy weather in the air.

I've been belted about by life's storms lately...I'm thinking once too often. Quite frankly, I'm about ready to go down with the ship, and gladly. Peace at last. It's the only way to finally get some rest from life's turbulence that I can think of.

I'm serious, I'm damned tired of it all. What the hell's the point? I get a break in the weather, sometimes, becalmed in life's seas--but then, get struck by a nor'easter, and it's back in the poo again, for me. This time, I'm facing the Perfect Storm, and I don't really think I care whether I drown at sea or not, to be quite honest.

It would have been nice, getting published, or having one of my stupid short plays read--but let's face reality here--got no talent. Period. No talent, no image, no money--and yes, it takes money to make money--it takes image to be a success. That's really how life is, no getting around it. It's not what you know, or how well you do it, it's how well you look, who you know, and how much power and/or money you have. Life in the REAL world. Or, at least, in America.

So, I'm lost at sea. Life is going to eat me alive--and I've decided to just let it. So what? Every one I've turned to for help has turned me away--state workers, feds, advocates--I'm rubbish. Life is having me for breakfast. Well, one of my distant ancestors was eaten (he was marooned in a shipwreck and later consumed by his starving shipmates)..so why not carry on the family tradition, let myself be life's corn flakes?

Someone sent me this link to something Tennant had done for some TV series. I didn't catch all of it, as the Scots is just a bit too broad for my northeastern NY ears--but I did manage to get most of it. Anyway, I think Tennant is quite pretty as a gal--in fact, I literally think he's nicer looking in drag, than when he's unshaved and mussy-haired. No, really. He's much prettier than me, I'm almost jealous.

Actually, he did a great job in this role, a fine actor, honest.

We didn't have video games, when I was a child, and only had 3 TV stations to choose from as well, so we made our own fun, mostly.

We listened to records a lot--mostly singles, but sometimes someone would bring over an lp album they'd just got. One of the neighbours had a big stereo system, so we often went to their house to listen--but we might go to any of the 8 or so houses on the street (two homes were owned by childless/retired couples) and party. Sometimes, they wound up in our cellar--we even set up a "club" sometimes, stringing a curtain across a closeline and using an old photographic light stand (sans bulb) as our "mic."

I remember there was this song by Tony Orlando and Dawn, "Knock Three Times," and we just drove poor mum nuts, upstairs in the kitchen. That's because when Tony sang "knock three times on the ceiling"--erm--we did. And "twice on the pipe"--well, the supports in the cellar were metal pipe, that we hit with a hard object (I forget what), and you can just imagine, I think, what good ol' mum thought of that.

Sometimes we'd have little shows and things. For instance, we'd draped a blanket over the back window of our station wagon, and made a puppet show. Another time we used one of those crazy "eight balls" to pretend that we were fortune tellers. One time, I buried a Barbie doll and made a treasure map for the other kids to find.

My friend Tommy and I used to get broom handles and metal rubbish can lids, and pretend we were knights. One time, he got a toy musket and we were Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett (conveniently ignoring the fact that these two historic frontier figures lived in two different centuries), and sometimes cowboys, from shows like Streets of Laredo, Cowboy in Africa, High Chapparel, the Virginan and the Rifeman. We might take to the woods and play forest rangers (inspired by the late 60's, early 1970's version of the TV show, "Lassie," who's new owner was a California forest ranger), and we sometimes played WWII soldiers, as well as spies from Man from U.N.C.L.E.--a lot of us played that, when it was on TV. There is the abandoned foundation walls and cellar of a long gone house in the woods, and that was our "spy base"--the old cellar hole being the dungeon or, alternately, the bad guys headquarters.

We used to go fishing--one time in the pouring rain, using big trash (bin) bags as rain slickers, or we'd ride our bikes all over the village. We might go swimming or explore the woods or cemeteries next door. We'd go to the movies together, play board games like Sorry (similar to Ludo), Monopoly, Operation and others. We were, I remember, for a time, especially fond of Operation. And Mystery Date! Let's not forget that--oh, we loved that game. We played Old Maid and other card games sometimes, too.

And we had our dolls--especially Barbie and friends, with all the clothes, mum always bought us Barbie clothes when they went on sale. And I had a western doll, for a time, Johnny West and his horse...loved those. I had a fantastic western playset--my all-time favourtie, came in a metal carry case which opened to display buildings and grounds--Fort Apache. It was very realistic. And I had the Britains figurines--cowboys, crusaders and Queens guards. And we all had Tonka trucks and/or Hot Wheels or Matchbox cars.

We played kickball (like baseball but with a soccer ball), Run the Bases (like baseball, but with only 2 bases, and less players--even 2 could play this game), softball/baseball(in the village's summer league), horseshoe pitching, croquet, bowling (at the bowling alley), basketball and pool (snooker?).

We never really ever ran out of stuff to do--and we didn't have videos, video games--and we didn't often sit around (well, we did sometimes) going, "I'm bored."

"Grazing Miss Albany" was shot yesterday, at a historic Albany, NY diner dating from the early 1940's.

The Miss Albany Diner dates to about 1941 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It was featured in a scene with Meryl Streep (Jack Nickolson's scene at the diner was later cut) in a feature film in the late 1980's.

The diner is located in north Albany, near an industrialized section of the city that was once known as "the lumber district." This part of the city later housed the city's last brewery, the Schaffer Brewery, which went under, finally, in the late 1970's. However, many warehouses and other small businesses still remain in the area, such as a theater supply house, office supplies, National Grid offices and other businesses still give Miss Albany plenty of business.

The film--which is still awaiting investors to the tune of $300,000--is an indy film by a production company from a local college--RPI in nearby Troy, NY. It is about new owners taking over an old-fashioned hometown diner, and turning it into an all-you-can-eat buffet, and the results of that big change.

I ate there once or twice as a child, as it was fairly close by from my old home village--good hamburgers as I recall. The diner is less than a mile from the city/village line. It looked a bit different in my day, though--the present exterior was changed for the film, "Ironweed." Also, the cowhead is new--I believe it's Elsie the cow, the famous "mascot" jersey cow from the now defunct Borden's dairy, which used to be in my village.

Anoraks unite! We finally have a theme song:

Found this little Dr Who skit online:

Another reason why I hate telemarketing: stupid answering machines!

With extreme emphasis on the word, "stupid."

I am here to tell all you parents out there, I know you love your little rugs--erm, children, but when it comes to letting them do the message for your answering machine--don't. I mean it, don't. I know you think your little wonders are adorable, but to everyone else (except maybe gran and grandad) well...sorry, but it's worse then having to listen to Amy Winehouse (no offence to Ms. Winehouse, who's a talented gal, really), and fingernails being raked across a chalkboard, both at the same time.

But...if you really want to show the world what a complete moron you are, do this: "Hello? Hello? I can't hear you---SO I MUST NOT BE HERE, HA-HA-HA!" Okay, if you want everyone who rings you up, to mutter obscenities and call you an idiot arse, that's the perfect recording.

Oh, then there's the singers--do I really have to go there? And the pet owners that let their cat or dog do the recording--yes, they do, and it sounds over the phone, as ridiculous as it sounds in print, here.

And then, there's the butch, drunken, redneck (chav) biker dudes: "You know what to do, so just do it and get it over with." Charming. I keep trying to imagine the sort of dates these guys get (if any)--yuck. No.

And then, there's the "happy" people. Yeah. Got one tonight--twice. Went something like this:

(Woman with a chirrupy bird-like voice): "hello! How are you? I am blessed and so are you..." Oh man! After this one, all I could think of was the "Barney" song: "I love you, you love me..." Bleh! Phooey! Bleck!

Oh yeah, I'm blessed, --oh yeah, I'm real blessed, that's why I'm flippin' telemarketing for a living! Right, Barney-lady, whatever you say.

I learned a long time ago, that, at the end of the day--it's the little things that make you most happy.

Just look at my cats--Flame is sitting in the sun, watching the shadows of the leaves of the vine clinging to the front window, playing about in the breeze. She's enthralled, head bobbing to watch the flickering shadows playing across the sunlit square on the apartment's ugly tan-beige carpet.

When all else is lost to one, you still have the sunshine, the leaf shadows, the birdsong. And, maybe, that just has to be enough, in the end.

I've had a few people, of late, say it's too bad I'm not a real writer--that I don't write for my living.

Well, I don't know about the rest of this semi-civilized world, but...

Why? Well, besides the fact that the quality isn't entirely there..

I don't fit the "image."

I didn't graduate from Harvard, Oxford, Cambridge, Univ. of Iowa, Univ. of North Carolina/Chapel Hill, etc... In fact, out side of an Associate of Arts degree in Liberal Arts from a small un-prestigious community college, I ain't got nothin'.

Looks--yeah. Judge for yourself how well this would look on a book jacket:

I've never studied fiction writing--don't have a clue how, I just do it. My fiction writing is really boring, I suspect.

I am a chav--no denying that. Chavs not only don't write books, they don't even have the image to be hired to sell them. It's true, I'm not just saying that.

No, no matter who badly I want it--not going to happen. I write the occasional article for the internet, blog, and for fun write plays, poetry, and fan fiction. But, no. I can't be a pro. Not without the degree and the looks to back me up.

Ah well, that's capitalism for ya', ey?

Doctor Who: The Run for Rose

CHAPTER 6: Static

Sighing audibly, Jane stood and walked over to the window. Although nearly two hours had passed since she’d gotten out of bed, the sky hadn’t gotten much brighter than a very murky shade of gray. The sleet had turned to freezing rain, sheathing the blackened trees and wires and the brown and white ground in an ever thickening coating of ice. Part of her mind was in the barn, wishing she’d thought to cover the horses with their rugs, and part of her worried at the much less mundane problem of Rose and the Doctor.

Her smile quickly faded. For, just then, out of the blue, another sound emitted from the radio. It began as a quietly evil chuckle and then drew itself out into a malicious echoing laughter that seemed to encompass the entire room. Doc hissed and ran into the kitchen, with his tail puffed out, as fast as his four legs could carry him.

It's full-blown spring, here in northeastern New York. The blossom petals from the Tulip trees and crab apple trees, flutter their pink petals softly to the ground. Time, like the falling blossoms, slowly falls away, drifting on the winds of life, fluttering, spiraling slowly to the earth that one day, claims us all.

Spring is a time of change, usually, a time of beginnings. For me, something is ending, forever, and it goes down harder--much harder, in the spring, than in any other time of year.

Outside my front windows, out on the city street below, the scenery is changing, turning away from the harsh whites and grays of winter. It is fast becoming God's masterpiece, a palate of blue sky, rich green leaves, yellows and whites, blues and pinks, as flowers lift themselves from the winter-weary earth to shine for the world in their glory, as if to say, "Here we are, we are born again."

And here I sit, in my chilly little room, cats content and me, just scared and waiting for the nightmare that I know is coming--too soon, I'm afraid. And I see the glories out there, that I used to revel in, and I sigh and turn away.

There's a lot of fan-made Dr Who videos--I don't watch them often, as I am not much of a music video kind of person--but, that said, I rather liked this one:

So, here I am, nearly 11pm at night, Boots cuddled up beside me--I'm going to be lost without my lovely cats. I've self-medicated myself with a Seagram's cooler--still hate berry flavour, but any port in a storm, ey? Even so, still tastes better than cheap beer--except Olympia Beer, that's mostly water, If I remember correctly. I used to drink that when I was in Wyoming, all those years ago.

Where the hell do the years fly, ey? One minute, a certain time in your life feels like yesterday--the next, if feels like a lifetime ago--or worse, so far away, that if seems unreal, like it happened to someone else.

You start to think of all the people you knew, who are dead now. You think of little insignificant moments and start to realize, that, as small as the memory seems, it still meant something. Every second of your life, in some small way, as you grow old, starts to take on new meaning. You find yourself, in troubled times, longing to go back to that tiny little moment: lying in bed next to the radiator on a cold winter morning, your mum reading to you, having a coke and a hot dog with your mum and sis at the Woolworth's lunch counter, singing in your really God-awful school chorus, shopping for groceries with your parents on Saturday mornings, going for a drive with your dad, picking bunches of lilacs for your mum and/or your teachers, playing a board game with someone, riding the bus to school for the first time...so many small moments--there and gone..and you don't even think twice about them, after...until you come to a day in you life, when you realize just how special and precious and dear, those little moments really are.

"Mustangs in the Moonlight" painting by a Glens Falls area artist