I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Oh, this is nice. Now, besides all the other bad stuff giving my stomach and depression flip-flops, my main e-mail address, Hotmail, is totally down. It won't let me access my e-mail address. Nice, ey?

First it's the Yahoo account I'd had for some 7 years going dodgy, now Hotmail's flipped out and not behaving itself. Life sucks, and then you die. That's my motto, don't wear it out.

I usually get it in the tummy--not so fun when they forget they have claws--ouch!

Who says cats and dogs can't get along? Our kitten, Robin, used to stick his whole head in Baby's mouth (our rough-coated collie dog we used to have). Baby would just sit there, holding his mouth open, looking at us with a "help me?" look on his face--but he never once moved his mouth. Robin, a ginger tom kitten, was a cat looking to be sectioned. He'd chase butterflies, ride on the dashboard of the car, sitting up and staring out the windscreen, while we drove around the block with him (he used to bug us to take him for rides), He used to play with the ripples in mud puddles and once even attacked a nun's shoe (long story).
But, Robin took special delight in beating up Baby, who looked like Lassie, while Robin was less all of 4 inches high. But the collie would take it--he doted on Robin.

I never could much carry a tune. But as a teen, that really didn't stop me, much.

Some nights, I'd sit out, admire the stars and sing--alone of course--even Shamrock, my half-collie, would leave (everyone's a critic).

This here song, was another favourite of mine. You see, I was a bit of a quiet rebel. While my peers were listening to Kiss, Abba, Pink Floyd and that (and I did too, sometimes), I just had to make my own paths to follow, and for me, that meant listening to folk music and John Denver and the like.

I used to like this song, thought it was romantic. Sounds daft now, I suppose, in my older years, but..I used to sit under the stars, in front of a cracklin' fire, in the firepit set up between our garage and the woods, and sing or listen to this song, and daydream about being waltzed under the stars to a fiddle tune. At the time--and, perhaps, maybe still, deep down somewhere, I couldn't imagine anything more romantic than that. Mind you, I really cannot dance a lick, and am an old maid, so it's a pretty impractical and daft thing to daydream about, but...there 'ya go.

Now, I don't feel much like blogging, in light of circumstances, but I have decided to blog here and there, so you'll know I'm still here. When the entries stop--I've lost my internet service and this blog is finished. Over.

Oh!!! This cheered me up--made me cry, with the joy of the sweet, sweet memory.

I used to listen to the music of folk singer, Bill Stains, back when I was a teenager. Oh, how I loved this song! I loved my dear old Hudson Valley. I used to sing the chorus while out hiking beside the laughing waters of the Moordenaerskill creek, and over the hillsides.

And, oh yes, I was singing along with this. The video quality is so-so. But this made me so glad of heart to hear this again. I equate this song with joy and freedom, contentment, innocence and curiosity.

I just had a really odd conversation with someone on one of the other websites I visit sometimes. This guy "nillieboy," well, it started out with a normal convo about our pets and innocent stuff, then, out of the blue, he says, "so you're a lesbian, right?"

Ey???

I mean, I've had loads of friends who were/are, but honestly, on a personal level, I've never even thought about it--no more than I've thought about any aspect of dating. I just...don't care.

Seems "nillieboy" caught on to my mention, several weeks back, that I'd not dated a guy in over ten years. How do some of these people equate a woman not dating, with her being gay? Beats me with a stick. It sort of reminds me of how, when I was in my late teens to late twenties, every time (or nearly so) I was just being nice to a guy, he'd behave like I was hitting on him! I had to actually stop talking to guys, because I got tired of the whole BS attitude of them all. Maybe they equated fat woman = desperate for a date/lay? No idea.

Well, they've not shut down my internet yet--nor has Time-Warner even bothered to reply to my e-mail message, other than send me a spam saying they got my message. Typical.

Lately, in the past week, I've out of the blue, been inundated with spams for overnight loans. Yeah. That'd be great, but...really, come on. If I had 500 to 2000 dollars to pay back an "overnight" loan, would I really need an overnight loan? Stupid.

I'm still in my pyjamas. And, I don't care. Well, I do, but I don't want to, so I'm ignoring my true feelings and doing it anyway.

It's funny how overnight, your entire life can fall apart. I haven't decided yet, to be honest, whether I'm going to pick myself up out of life's alley this time or not. Not sure. I'm trying to find a reason. But if one more person says to me, "things will get better" so help me, I'm gonna' deck them. I mean it! I've been hearing that cute little turn of phrase for over a year now--just stop already. NO!!! Things are NOT going to get better, okay? I live on Planet Reality here. And on Planet Reality, there are not always happy endings--or even any kind of closure at all, for that matter. Life is just going to continually smack me around, till the day I die. There are no superheroes, no miraculous lottery wins, no one is going to "discover" me, and no philanthropists are going to take me in. I'm not going to ever escape this cycle of bad, not ever--there are NO happy endings here, and there probably never will be. I'm damned and that's my lot in life, now. All the good stuff is gone forever. So, let's just acknowledge that and forget about the perky sayings---however well meant--quite frankly, tho' I appreciate the sentiment--and I really do, honest---I am quite tired of hearing it. I simply don't believe it any longer, okay? I'm sorry if my saying this turns some people off, or accidentally hurts someone's feelings--it's not meant like that. I am merely expressing my true thoughts and feelings, wearing my heart out on my sleeve.

I have to go to the bank, in a bit, find out what's going on with my account. Just what I need, a long hot walk, and me not well--besides the jaw infection, now I've picked up the little bug that's been floating around the office this week-- to discuss bad news. Yippee.

Oh, and I finally got a dental appointment, and have to cancel, because now, with the theft of my funds, I can't afford the dentist--or more antibiotics if I need them, because there's no money to spare any longer on such "luxuries."

Will you people in the UK PLEASE stop complaining about NHS? Do you know how expensive health care is here? We have to spend tons of money on co-pays and up to hundreds of dollars in prescriptions and such. It ain't free here, not one whit--if you haven't the money, you do without and literally suffer....or you do go to hospital/the doctors, you stand a very real chance to lose your home or have your wages garnished. I know NHS isn't perfect, but do Brits go completely without healthcare like millions of us Yanks have to? Do they have their wages taken from them, go hungry, lose the roof over their heads, for no other reason than they are sick?

Well, I'm rambling. I'm in a very depressed mood. I couldn't take anti-depressants even if I could--no money for them.

This is a really bad post, I may delete it later.

From 30th May, 2007:

In my job as a telemarketer I do sometimes come across people telling me that either, the person I'm calling is deceased, or that there's been a death in the family.

But the other day, I had more than half a dozen such calls within a two-hour period...very unusual.

Well, that's a fact of being human. We all die.

I don't know if there's a heaven. I reckon there's a hell--I've been living in it for over a year now, ha-ha. I've seen a ghost, and I would like to believe, at least for some people, that there's a nicer place we go to.

It would seem a pity, for some, if this is all there is. For some of us, that would really suck, ya'know what I mean?

I'm scared of dying--the process, I mean. But not of death. Death would be...okay. I mean, my pain would end, and that would be good, yes? It's not like I'd be leaving any kids or spouses or even much in the way of family, behind. I don't have an important job, I'm not significant to anyone. So, what's the big deal. Hell, I likely won't even get a coffin, when I die, just some ashes in a cardboard box. No really, there's no money to bury me, so that's what's really going to happen. And...so what? I'm dead, what the hell do I care what happens, ey?

Anyway, funerals are tough to deal with, emotionally and, for folks like me, financially. Then there's the tedious chore of clearing away the debris of someone's life. Some people have loads of stuff to show they existed--others, there's precious little. My dad, for instance--just some mostly used furnishings, a big TV set, a bunch of clothes, a few photos and momentos, and some paperwork, a little cash in the bank, and little else.

That'd be me, as well. Only dad had the firehouse and VFW and 30 years of employment behind him. Mum had us two kids and her library and a good childhood behind her. What do I have? a 2-year college education, a handful of knick-knacks and three cats. Big deal.

IN LIGHT OF THE FACT THAT I'LL BE LOSING INTERNET SERVICE QUITE SOON, AND AM NOT EMOTIONALLY ABLE TO WRITE, AT THE MOMENT, I'VE REMEMBERED THAT A WHILE BACK, WHILE MY MODEM WAS DOWN FOR A COUPLE OF HOURS WHILE THEY DID SOME KIND OF REPAIRS TO THE LINE OUTSIDE, I'D WRITTEN A COUPLE OF BLOG ENTRIES TO BE ENTERED WHEN I CAME BACK ONLINE. UNTIL NOW, I'D FORGOTTEN THEM.

I AM POSTING THEM NOW, THO' THEY AREN'T ESPECIALLY INTERESTING OR RELEVANT, SIMPLY BECAUSE...I DON'T KNOW, I FELT LIKE IT, I GUESS. HERE'S ENTRY NUMBER ONE:

30th May, 2007:

Someone gave me a link to some kind of David Tennant interview or something. Though I'm thrilled with his acting, and love his portrayal of the Doctor (DT's Doctor is ten time much more fun to write, fiction-wise, than Eccleston's) I'm really not a huge Tennant fan, really--in the sense where I droll over his looks or scream every time he walks into a room.

No. NMS--not my style. He seems an interesting bloke, and he's nice looking, I suppose--when he's shaved and combed, and any rate. But, the guy will never make this old maid's heart go pitty-pat. He's too young, for one thing--I mean, personality-wise. He seems to have a wonderful sense of humour--always important, in my book---and seems like an interesting conversationalist, and I'm not suggesting he's one of these guys who's nothing more than an overgrown teenager. That said, I don't know...but he just seems like he's more the gent whose interests and behaviours would be better suited to a twenty-something, than someone like me, who's not that far from being in this world for a half-century.

I may be completely wrong, but somehow I don't see this guy, hanging out in a library, strolling a historic site or going to a country auction. As a matter of fact, I can't picture this guy ever getting his fingernails dirty, let alone his feet and hands.

Me, I like to just plunge right in and enjoy myself. Despite the low wages, no healthcare and hardships, I loved working at the dressage barn, when I was 30/31. Heck, when I was a stablehand, I worked so hard each day, lifting and shoveling and such, that within two months, my thick deerskin work gloves literally fell apart, and the fingers split. So, over time, the dust and stuff would work its way into the gloves, and the dirt became embedded in my callouses so much, that I still had tiny grains of dirt on my hands two months after being laid off.

Did I get upset about it, no. To me, it was a homage to my hard work, ha-ha. So when some ignorant upper-middle class arse said to me, "You're not working?" all snotty-like, I could show them my hands and tell them I'd been laid off from a job, where I'd worked harder in one day, for poverty-level wages, under extreme weather conditions (try working 9 or 10 hours in minus 10 to minus 20 below zero Farenheight conditions, ice/sleet, snow, rain/thunderstorms and 90 F weather)...

...I literally worked harder in one day, than many of these snobs worked in their entire lives. I remember, I was muddy--it'd been raining for two days solid, and my overalls and wellies were filthy, and I needed some milk from the store. I went in, and standing in the que at the check out, and this posh elderly lady actually stood there and literally looked up and down her nose at me, like I was some kind of disgusting insect. That hurt. A lot. It's hard not to feel hate, sometimes, but as I recall that I decided just to feel sorry for her, for her stupidity.

Bet this David Tennant--and probably his family and friends as well--never in a lifetime, ever had to endure that. I wince when I hear the guy moan about being cold when he's working. He does, I'm assuming, have access to high priced warm clothing (I had to make due with a 20 dollar pair of ski-overalls from the discount store and an old canvas barn jacket and leather work boots, in literal arctic type temps), this guy has a warm caravan and hot tea handy (I had only a stall to duck into out of the wind and cold--I'd often be still shivering well into my bedtime, when I got home), and, Tennant doesn't have to endure the weather 5 or 6 days a week, 7 to 10 hours a day, like I did. And...he's rich. I made about 150 dollars (75 pounds), roughly--sometimes less, sometimes more--a week, with no health care (no NHS here, remember) or any other benefits. And, I often only had a couple of Snickers bars to eat during the entire day, because I didn't get any lunch or tea breaks. I worked from the time I got there, to the time I left, mostly non-stop. So yeah, I wince when I hear the guy moan about being cold. Get real. The guy honestly doesn't have a clue what really being cold is like. I've had a tiny bit of frostbite and near-hypothermia! THAT'S cold!

Anyway, getting back to the original subject, I was watching this interview with Tennant, where he's asked, what he'd do if he had a real sonic screwdriver. His answer was that the uses he'd find for it, would be "many and varied." I almost spit out my tea, when I heard that one.

I hate to say it, but what flashed in my mind, was Tennant's statement that he liked to dress up as the Doctor in the bedroom, in front of his girlfriend. It's not that I have a dirty mind, but hearing this, right on top of hearing that...well, draw your own conclusions, ey?

This is just to let you all know:

Since Time-f'in-Warner has cut off my phone service for being ONE DAY late, I think I'll probably be losing my internet service soon.

That means my blog will end, and I'll no longer have any e-mail access.

I will still be able to access my PM's at Dr Who Online, for those two of you who know my handle, and you can still contact me that way. But I'm not allowed to access my e-mails at work.

So, sometime in the next day or next week or next two weeks, I can kiss my access to the internet goodbye, probably forever.

I will be totally cut off (very literally) from the outside world.

I just want you to know how very grateful I am, for all of you putting up with my whinging and rants and stupid Dr Who jokes and stories. Apologies to David Tennant for "picking on him," it was all in innocent good fun. Okay, I know Tennant doesn't read blogs but just felt like saying that.

Well, not much more to say. Between the theft of funds from my cheque account, the loss of my 600 dollar income from disability, the pending student loan lawsuit, the loss of my phone and internet, and the fact that I hate my job and am tired of my fellow Americans treating me like rubbish, tired of not being able to get out of this apartment/city month after month (not been out of Glens Falls since mid-November), tired of the stress of trying to pay my bills and worrying about being homeless or hospitalized with depression.

I say life sucks--and then you die.

I'm never going to be loved, and no one has much use for me.

All I ever blinking wanted was a job that I was good at, that paid enough for me to survive decently.

My ideal life isn't much: a job I like and am good at, a secure home--preferably somewhere in the country, but not specifically--a chance to go somewhere once in a while, a quiet night in a secure place--relaxing with a good book, some nice jazz on a rainy night, cup of coffee or tea, my pets...secure in the knowlege that everything is paid, that there's food in the cupboard and the roof over my head isn't going anywhere.

Little things make me happy. Spending time with friend(s), talking or playing a game or whatever.

I don't have to be entertained. I like a hobby, volunteer work, whatever, for pleasure. I don't have to go on (although I love travel) any holidays.

But those things are as out of reach for me, as a BMW or a European holiday, or a big publishing deal.

Never going to happen. Not ever.

But, enough of my whinging. Sorry.

Naught to be done, really, is there? I'm just one of those lucky people life chooses to bash over the head, continually. There's millions of us out there. I'm by no means unique, and don't I know it.

Well, I'm offline. This may be, if Time Warner has its way, My very last blog entry ever.

Sorry I can't finish the Doctor Who story, but..hell. It wasn't much good, anyway. I was just making it up as I went along.

Anyway, thanks everyone.

You can send me messages, and I will reply as long as I have internet at home. But if they stop, then I'm done. They've shut me off.

Well, I have to shift myself out of this chair. I kind of lost my appetite, when I found out about the theft to my account, tonight. But I suppose I have to eat something, at least my stomach says yes. I don't want to, but if I don't, I'll wake at stupid o'clock in the morning with hunger pains.

Cheers, all, and thinks again for reading me.

Oh, and for those who've been extrodinarily kind and sent me cards and things--thank you. Actually, thanks seems kind of small repayment for your thoughtfulness. Just know that these things brought me great joy, and made me feel human, and cared about...and that's the most special gift anyone can give another person. Thank you so very much.