I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

FORT TICONDEROGA BATTLE ANNIVERSARY, NEAR SOUTHERN END OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN

Good old Lake George: (yes, it is that clean--the town uses the lake for drinking water)

SARATOGA SPRINGS!!!!

WEll, I made it home, somehow.

I thought I was going to pass out in the office today, felt so woozy. Guess it's going to take a while for my procrit shots to take effect.

Flame is just so incredibly loving, today! right now she's curled up asleep on the slide-out drawer for my keyboard on my new/used desk. She's been in the "I'm cute and adorable, gotta' LOVE ME!" stage today. Yesterday she was quite cranky, and mostly wanted to be left alone. Even female cats get mood swings, ey?

Haven't had lunch and think I'll skip it.

Going to make a variation of my Cajun hot pot, tonight....just Zatarain's black beans and rice with tinned corn, but instead adding the usual chorizo or smoked sausage, I've the hotdogs to put in it. Have a feeling when I get more "solvent" again, I'm not going to be buying many frankfurters from the store, for awhile, ha-ha. Hey, I can tell people that I'm on some new "Hot-dog diet," ey? Maybe I'll write a diet book and get rich.

The insider scoop, direct from Cardiff:

Tate won the contest, hands-down. Crediting the fact that ginger-haired English women hold their liquor better than skinny Scottish men, Tate said, "I am woman,(hic) hear me roar!" Tennant responded by throwing up on producer Russell T. Davies designer shoes. While Tate recovered from the drinking bout fairly quickly, Tennant spent the rest of filming with his head coming in close contact with a loo bowl.

Uh oh, the republicans are at it again, putting McCain adverts on my blog. So Here's MY response

Well, on my usual 10 min. Break.

Supervisor told me I'm barely average in the current telemarketing sales campaign, and could do better. Well, what else is new? That's me in a nutshell, barely average.

Still, it beats cleaning public toilets and picking up dirty beer cups for a living, hands down. Yes, that's what I wound up doing, post-college. Nice to know that naf old 2 year degree was good for something. I keep my AA degree on my wall, handy in case I ever run out of toilet paper.

I still can't believe I got so upset about Dr Who this weekend. That really made me put on the brakes, Sunday afternoon. I make a point to try and not get too obsessed with stuff, try to keep my perpective not too cockeyed. So, when it dawns on me that something like a TV show, sends me into a tailspin, whoa. Not good. Time to withdraw a bit. Find something else to do. Those people at BBC Wales would care less if I watch the programme or not, so it's not like it's a big loss, whether I'm still a fan. Certainly, I'm aware that Davies or Tennant would give a flying peanut whether I'm unhappy with them or not. I'm not that naive!

So, will try and finish that Dr Who story on wordpress and then move on to something else--maybe just essays or a play or something.

Well, feeling really poorly, but must slog on until 4pm. Life sucks and then you die, people....if you're lucky.

Have a great day all, peace. Nancy G.

I have this artist friend in Greenwich Village down in New York City, has some of her work on display at a gallery down there. The gallery owner rang her up yesterday, with the news that someone had purchased no less than ten of her paintings.

When she asked the owner what made the man buy so many of her works, the owner said the man was curious to know if her work would be worth anything in years to come. It seems that the gallery owner had responded that her art would appreciate in value long after she was dead. Without hesitation, the man snatched up her work, paying cash for them.

"That's great news," I told her, "you must be well chuffed". "Well, yes and no," she replied. "How's that?" I asked. "The man who bought the paintings was my doctor."

An overcast morning here. Feeling weak and shaky again today. Not much I can do about that, I suppose. Probably need to eat, but I don't feel much like eating. Suppose it'll bacon and eggs, as the high humidity has made honey-nut shredded wheat all clump together, for some reason. Couldn't afford juice this week, and our tap water here literally tastes like it was filtered through dirt, so I'll have to have diet Pepsi with breakfast, as I have to conserve the milk and make it last awhile.

So, not into work until noon this week. At least I'm not stuck on night shift. I didn't used to care what hours or shifts I worked, or how long the work day was, or even if I had to work 6 or 7 days a week, as long as I at least had a job and enough funds for my food, shelter and utility bills. But, since becoming ill, it's getting harder and harder to work even 4 hours a day, without feeling completely knackered. I'm literally growing old before my time.

I need to get out more, to feel alive again, to be part of the world again...just don't have the energy--or the funds, most of the time. Getting those twenty collections notices in the post this weekend, from the federal govt.'s education department...that really took the wind out of my sails...then that stupid Dr Who stunt Davies and Tennant pulled...not a good weekend for me, at all.

Sometimes it's ironic to me--here I live in a quiet little city in the foothills of the southeastern Adirondack mountains, 178 miles from New York City, sandwiched between two major resort towns--tons and tons of amusements and attractions and things to do, basically right on my doorstep...and I do nothing. I am like a prisoner, forced to look between her bars and watch the world going on with its business while I stand there with empty hand, helpless and powerless to change anything.

Well, that was a cheery post, wasn't it?

Anyway, have to eat before I pass out, I suppose. I barely did a thing this weekend--which I hate. I miss being active, very sorely. Yet, I feel like I've been put through the wringer. When will this all end? Wish I had some mates to hang with, to pull me out of my funk.

"Yes, yes, David, that was a really good fart. Erm--I think I hear the director calling you, why don't you go see what he wants, ey?"

I will say that it isn't easy, living with DCD (aka: dyspraxia) and dyscalculia, most especially when you are so aware of just how vast the world is, just how wondrous and full is the breath and scope of our history and experiences and knowledge--and, those things we do not yet know, those things we cannot necessarily see and touch, or readily explain.

I cannot stress enough, how helpless I feel, when I struggle to learn--and oh, how frustrated I get, steeped in self-loathing and sheer frustration, most especially when I desperately want to "get" something!

But, my wonky brain simply makes that impossible: chemistry formulas, reading and playing music, balancing my bank book--even simple subtraction eludes me. And learning things like Photo Shop, dancing, even badminton...very, very difficult. The side of my brain that must take logical steps in order...tends to take the first few of those steps--then either stops or simply passes over a point in the sequence like it was never there.

As an example. If you were to give me a short sequence of numbers to repeat, I could do that up to a point--say the fifth or sixth or even tenth number. But, if you asked me to repeat those numbers backwards--maybe I MIGHT get to the second or third set of numbers--and my brain would come to a screeching halt, and I simply wouldn't be capable of doing any more. And let me telling you, that HURTS me, emotionally. It makes me feel small and powerless.

I especially hate it, really hate it, when someone blows my disability off, by saying "I'm bad at math, too." It's NOT that I'm "bad" at math--it's that my brain doesn't allow me to process the information properly to complete the task. In fact, I LIKE algebra, when I took it for the first time in college, I thought it a bit like doing a puzzle game. But, as I discovered, with the help of one of my professors, my brain won't allow me to do it--it "skips" steps, "forgets" information.

Yes, this even effects my memory process, at times--not always, but enough to give me a lot of grief, when I was in college.

For instance, I can learn a math formula--or even lines from a play, have them down pat--and then, as little as a day or so later, the information is gone from my brain. It's why, I discovered, I am incapable of memorizing multiplication tables, or how to do long division.

I have learned, as far as exams and scripts and speeches go, how to work with my memory lapses. I've found that if I did one or two quick bursts of intensive memorization...in short doses, just before a test or a speech or performance, I'd be (mostly) good to go. Otherwise, long times spent memorizing things well in advance, are basically a waste of time for me.

In studying, I've also found that I learn better with assistance--a teacher in front of me talking about whatever the course is, and with in-class interaction, and step by step guidance. I found, much to my dismay, that study on my own is quite hard. I don't retain things as well, without that person-to-person interaction.

My concentration wavers too much, on my own. I'm a person who is drawn to observation--I'm always looking, forever curious. That's probably why I was so good at historical research and finding antique bottle to dig up for my collection, when I was out in the woods...out exploring the woods and fields, I was always finding things...sometimes artifcts, sometimes just an interesting natural object.

Sometimes my curiosity, my sense of wonder, my joy of discovery, works well for me--and sometimes, not. Sometimes my attention wavers at the most inoppertune moments. And, that can be terribly embarassing and frustrating.

Anything requiring hand-eye coordination means that I have to stop, pause and try and figure out how to compensate for my disability. Sometimes I succeed. Like with horseshoe pitching or darts--what I do is experiment, basically trial and error, until I find the stance, the movement, the place to put my gaze, that will make the thing I'm trying to accomplish work for me. Art is impossible. I cannot hold a pencil properly, cannot connect my mind with my eye and my hand and my heart, all at the same time.

I can take nothing for grated. What's difficult for any "normal" person, his doubly so for me--and sometimes just plain impossible. And you have no idea how sad that makes me.

And the worst part of all this, the very worst part, is that so few people know, and rarely does anyone ever understand.

It's an invisible disability. And, it IS debilitating, sometimes.

I used to dream of finding an understanding teacher, who "got" my problems and would work with me. I did have one--a wonderful math professor, who with her help, made me FINALLY (after 5 sucessive failures) pass algebra. I would never have passed the math requirement that was needed in order for me to graduate from college, without her kindness and understanding. But, that's so rare. So few understand--well, no one wants to, really. People don't like what they can't see, or touch, or understand.

Sometimes, my disability embarrasses people. My dad, teachers, fellow employees--whether they know about my problem or not, my difficulties will sometimes cause other people discomfort--so I don't tell people about it, if I don't have to. It's best that way, I've found. Telling makes people treat me differently, and I don't like that.

But it is hard, so hard, knowing what a wonderful place we have here on earth--an incredible store of thousands of years of knowledge. Beauty and poetry and song are everywhere, in the earth and sky, and in the heart and mind. To be excluded from that, even in the smallest way, can be quite shattering.

I lost my car in the late summer of 2006. So, no more country drives--well, with gas prices, and global warming to worry about that wouldn't be possible now, anyway.

So, I'm taking you all on a "Virtual" road trip with me and my immaginary vintage pick up truck, down the back roads and by-ways of Washington County NY.

So, sit back, enjoy some of my favourite "road trip" music, and take in the scenery:

I'm not giving it up completely, just backing away from it. No more watching Who DVD's every day, no more writing fan-fic, or reading every little article or interview that comes out, no more books...I'll watch the DVD's from time to time, still...may watch the specials next year, may even still pop in on the forums, once in a while, and write my stupid DT captions...but not going to obsess over some TV programme any longer. Not worth feeling like this, no way.

Here's what I wrote on another blog:

"Made a fool of myself last night--and quite literally made myself sicker, over the news of Tennant's alleged regeneration.

I couldn't sleep last night, I couldn't eat this morning. I had to force myself to eat, so I could take my metformin and Atenlol, antibiotics and vitamins. Glad the health center nurse gives me my Procrit shot--my hand was trembling so bad this morning, I wouldn't want to have had to hold a needle, ha-ha.

Then I realized how utterly stupid I was being.

I've a feeling I may not be the only fan thinking of ditching the Doctor. I'm sure that the BBC's getting an earful, today.

Not good for someone suffering from depression and a chronic illness, getting upset like that--over a flippin' television programme! Blimey!

It isn't the regeration that upset me, it wasn't DT leaving that upset me, I'm fine about that. (I love Tennant as the Doctor, and would be enormously sad to see him depart, but it's his life, he can do what he wants--plus I haven't done the sex-crazed fan-girl thing in something like 30 years...he just sort of looks like any other bloke, to me--like some guy I might see in the lift at the office, or standing in the queue at the market till).

No, I was upset over the WAY this was done. It was low.

Not that Davies would give a darn, what I think. I'm nobody...I'm not even British (tho I would like to be). I can't afford to get the Sci-fi channel, or buy the books, DVD's, CD's or toys. I'm no one. So I doubt the man's going to give a rat's bottom what I think.

I highly doubt Tennant would care, either. I'm not anybody...and that's okay. that's just the way the world works. I lost every last one of my illusions about life in the last 2 years, believe me. I live, eat and breathe reality, these days.

But, I would like to tell Davies to his face, how much he hurt me. He snapped my trust in Dr Who and crushed into little pieces.

I don't like cheap shots. I don't like being made a fool of--and I REALLY felt like a fool, this morning, when I realized how upset I'd gotten last night.

He wanted to play it cute--and I understand that the man doesn't have the balls to care who he hurts. He's going to write and produce Who, the way he wants to, and if someone gets hurt or people get upset, the man's not going to care. David Tennant is his pawn and played along with it, and that puts him down a notch in my eyes, as well--again, not that either of them will give a hoot.

Anyway, after 25 years as a serious Who fan, I think it's time to step away.

Doctor Who saw me through some terrible, terrible time, these past 2 years.

Focusing on Dr Who helped me through my grief at the loss of my mum--and some of my beloved pets, it helped me through both a foreclosure and, later, an eviction. It saw me through job losses and a repossession, and huger and cold.

My love of the programme saw me through illness and pain, it saw me through virtual isolation from the outside world--no money no phone, no internet, televsion or radio and no friends in my life, for months and months,

Doctor Who even kept me--albeit, in an off-hand way, from coming painfully close to ending my life.

Yet, last night, I think was a wake-up call.

I have to deal with practical things. I HAVE to live in the real world, I can't wrap myself up in something that is not real.

And Dr Who, at the end of the day, is just a TV show.

I've decided to back off from Doctor Who. I think I need to. I've let it become too important to me.

I've decided to finish my most recent fan-fiction story, called "Dark Holiday" on wordpress, and then quit writing Dr Who-fic forever. Well, it's not like I'm all that great shakes as a writer, and it's certainly not great literature, so it's no big loss to the world, whether I write anymore or not. I just will find other things to write about. I've my "oldmaid" blog on blog.co.uk, to keep my interest in writing going, without having to crank out some naf fan-fic stories.

No, Russell T. David, David Tennant and the BBC won't care how I feel, so why should I care about Doctor Who?

I have no life anymore, and feel that this clinging to a mere televsion programme has rendered me all the more pathetic than I am right now.

I made such a moron of myself last night...still can't believe it.

The BBC. Russell T. Davies, David Tennant and all the rest of the Who team that were in on this, slapped me in the face for no reason, last night, other than for some cheap shock tactic.

I don't like bad surprises Russlell, Haven't I had enough of those, time after time after time, in the past year?

You're a calluous miserable sod, Davies. You don't care who you hurt, just so you can get your little jollies.

I'm too disgusted to continue. My joy is dead. Thanks for nothing Russel and Tennant. You stink".

Well, the storms are going 'round us today. So it's partly sunny and less humid out there, as we slowly creep into the evening hours.

I can't stress enough how much I hate the hot, humid weather. But, then I put things in perspective. I remember the months and months of snow and cold we have here--the nights when the thermometor dips to zero, then 10, then 15, then as much as 40 below zero (farinheight, not celcius, folks). The ice and the blowing snow, the snow piles higher than a bungalow's roof...the sleet, the freezing rain, from November to April....I guess I can live with hot and humid for a couple of months, yeah?

I decided to finish "Dark Holiday" on Wordpress, before I ditch writing Dr Who fan-fic altogether. I have a couple of other unfinished works, but...who cares? It's not like it's great literature.

My schedule was changed at the last hour on Friday, so this week (due to lack of work) I start work at noon-time. Well, I need to chill--time for some music.

Think I'll start off with some "sing-along" tunes from when I was young:

SONG/ARTIST

Ruby Tuesday/Rolling Stones
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da/The Beatles
It Never Rains in Southern California/Albert Hammond
Sugar, sugar/The Archies
Lonely People/America

SHIFTING GEARS: ("Road trip" songs)

Life in the Fast Lane/The Eagles
Let her Be/Hootie and the Blowfish
Hot Blooded/Foreigner
The Long Way Home/Supertramp
More than a feeling/Boston
Rockin' Down the Highway/The Doobie Brothers

CHANGING GEARS YET AGAIN: (stuff I've started listening to in the last couple of years/months)

Diamonds in the Dark/Mystery Jets
Golden Skans/Klaxons
Love Me Like You/The Magic Numbers
Modern Way/Kaiser Chiefs
Midnight Show/The Killers
Over/The La's
I Kinda Got Lost/Chris Bell
It's True/The Mysteries of LIfe
Let's Go/The Feelies
Streets of Fire/The New Pornographers
Forebidden Love/Madonna
Murder on the Dance Floor/Sophie Ellis-Bextor
Slow/Kylie Minogue
Crying Game/Culture Club
I Wouldn't Normally Do This/Pet Shop Boys
Heart of Gold/The Kinks
29 Palms/Robert Plant
Sheep/The Housemartins
See-Saw/The Jam
The Cone of Silence/Yo La Tengo
The Ship/Runrig
Going Back to Harlin/Emmy Lou Harris
Flirting With Time/Tom Petty
My America/Deacon Blue
Give Myself to You/Train
Love on the Moon/The Sutherlands
Prairie Town/Randy Bachman
If I Needed Someone/The McGanns
End of the Night/The Cowlicks
Five O'clock World/The Proclaimers
Somebody Remembers the Rose/Whiskeytown
Like This Train/The Mutton Birds

LONG WAY HOME--SUPERTRAMP, FROM 1979. (Slight delay before song begins)

"The long way home is always the most interesting way to travel."-Nancy G.

"Yeah, I'm quite gay, these days...erm, I mean happy. I'm very happy, these days."

Well, didn't Nancy have a rough day, yesterday?

On top of getting ten more of those rather unpleasant US govt. collection notices, being too sick to work, being told that I may--or may not---be going into kidney failure (ever so nice of the doc to clarify that, ey?), spending over an hour trying to figure out how to make just under 40 dollars stretch 5 days (sounds like a lot but with the cost of things these days???), then...everyone telling me that the Doctor regenerated and DT was outta' there---like I said, it wasn't so much him regenerating, it was that I wasn't prepared for it----

---Am I the only one who thinks this little cute stunt on the part of RTD might just backfire on the BBC---I know they lost or nearly lost, some very loyal viewers yesterday, including me...and not all because of DT leaving, but because of the dirty way this was handled.

I'm just furious that RTD was so disrepectful of us long-time fans that he felt he had to leave with this cheap parting shot. I thought he was a much better person than that. I'm really, really disappointed in the pair of them--both DT and RTD. I understand that Tennant was just a pawn, a dupe in Davies' petty little game with us fans, but I definitely have a somewhat lower opinion of him as well, now.

I was never--and I cannot stress this enough--a David Tennant "fan-girl." I didn't pitch a fit because David was gone--I knew that would someday happen. I was upset because my trust was torn apart. I am very anti-spoiler....I mean, I KNEW about the Doctor getting zapped by the Dalek since oh, April, when a friend in a letter told me about it. But I said not a word to anyone, did I?

But, Davies did a reveal about the Sontarans, he revealed about the companions...then, there was the regen scene. What kind of BS is that?

I'd like to tell RTD to his face, that this was really not funny. I'd like to tell him that if he was a decent, intelligent, civilized human being, he should apologize, because he HURT a lot of us, last night. He broke our trust, he stomped all over our faith in Doctor Who---and for what? Why did he do this lousy thing?

Of course, I doubt the man cares. He's leaving, what does he care? What would David Tennant care, if I'm upset? I'm nobody. No, honestly. I have lost every one of my illusions about myself a few yeas back. I'm nothing, and even if I could tell them to their faces, how terrible was the thing they did to me, they wouldn't give a damn. I'm not British (but I'm open for being adopted, ha-ha), I can't afford to get Sci-fi, or to buy the books or DVD's or CD's or toys. What do they care? I am, if nothing else, realistic about my standing in the world, and also my ranking in the sphere of Doctor Who fans. No, what they put me through last night...counts for naught in reality-land.

Well, the nurse admonished me to rest today. Have to go for another Procrit shot tomorrow morning. Hopefully, the antibiotics will help the infection, as well. Seems no one has ever caught this infection, they believe I've had it awhile, and that it may--or may not--have damaged my kidneys.

It's been over a year, this nonsense has been going on. A year ago, I was at work and suddenly felt inexplicably sleepy and weak. Went to the ER--was told that my blood count was so low, that if I hadn't come in, and it had dropped even one or two fractions more, my body would'a crashed and well...bye-bye Nancy. So after an operation and several transfusions, they sent me on my way.

Since then, it's been all downhill from there...and no one yet has been able to completely discover why. Since last June, my diabetes got worse, and my immune system is turning into rubbish, and...no one seems to have a clue.

I count this as having begun when I slipped on the wet kitchen floor and blew out my right foot, tore it to shreds. Before that March day in 2007, I easily walked miles without bother--used to walk 3 miles (partly uphill) to my then-summer job at the Travelodge every day. Carried up to 30 pounds of shopping a half-mile uphill...I was fit, I was healthy...heck, back in May of 2006, I'd sprained/fractured my ankle, and was back at work two days later, on one crutch, cleaning the offices--walking all over the big complex at the harness track/casino. But something about last year's fall was different. Well, for one thing--it wasn't the type of injury that was ever going to heal, that was ever going to stop hurting....I think maybe--and this is only a guess mind you, that perhaps last year's injury was as much physological, as physical.

For the first time in my life, I was made utterly helpless for almost a week--imagine being completely alone, with no one there, and being totally crippled by a horrendously bruised and swollen foot, and in constant, intense pain. I was 100% alone and barely able to move, and had to fend for myself--and the cats, and I'd never had to deal with that before. In hindsight, I think that sudden realization of my own vulnerablity really shook me to the core. It changed me. Before for that injury, I seldom needed a doctor--since then...I've been getting sicker and weaker.

Ah well.

The humidity of last night--gosh, it was awful last night. It was so humid, you could almost cut the air with a knife, and there was no breeze0--my bedroom was 88 F all night. I woke this morning with my hair all wet, like I'd just blinking washed it! Gosh, I do miss my air conditioner, some days.

Well, it's half-past three and I've barely eaten anything all day. Last night really threw me. I still was so upset, that I didn't feel like eating, this morning. All because of some television programme.

I think maybe this is a wakeup call. I have to cut back my interest in Doctor Who. It's just a TV show, for pity's sake! I know it's been a lifeline for me, the only thing I've really had to hold on to, and look forward to, throughout these dark times for the past two years or so.

But...maybe, after 25 years of fandom...maybe it's time I moved on? I try to picture my days without Dr Who, and it's hard. It's not like I have money or transport to find a replacement hobby or interest. Still, I don't like what that little stunt of RTD's and David "sex-god" Tennant did to me, last night.

I will have to reflect a bit on this, methinks.

Well, gotta' toss some hot dogs on the cooker and have some lunch. Cheers. Nancy G.

I wasn't going to blog today, on account of my making such a massive arse of myself last night.

But, with such an unprecidented comments response on my blogs, and so many people pumping therories at me, I thought I'd just quickly do up a Dr Who theory scorecard, as it were:

1. The Doctor regenerates, and next year DT appears in all flashback episodes.

2. The Threefold Man idea--Which is incidentally, the one that inriques me the most, and the oen I myself might most be likely to write into a story (not that I came up with this one, this is something a Dr Who Online fan posed tome): One person thinks that the Dr. regens into the Master (John Sims), Donna Also becomes a version of the Doctor, and that the hand also grows into a third version.

This is a really cool idea, but not sure how practical it would be to film--tho' I'm sure DT might love the idea of working at doing three different versions of his character.

3. The Doctor stops the reneration process somehow.

4. It all centres around the hand, and Donna uses the hand to save the Doctor.

5. The Doctor regenerates into John Sims, period, and David Tenannt is outta' there, sipping those tropical cocktails drinks with little umbrellas in them, on his yacht in the Mediterainian.

On the other hand, read where the BBC is offering the man 1.3 million pounds to stay on in the role.

That's a lot of haggis, people.

Makes this week's 85 dollar pay check of mine, seem like...hell, not even pocket change to a guy like that. Take the cash, David, don't be a prawn! Trust me, if there's one thing, and only one thing that well I know, it's that poverty sucks!

Okay, okay, I've calmed down. I'm still not entirely convinced--I mean, I want to have absolute faith in "slayme's" comments, but then, I ask myself how one of my fellow Americans (well, he sounds American) would have the inside scoop? Even if he works in the TV industry in some capacity over here (I don't know that, I'm just speaking hypotethically)how would he know that, I am not sure...well, anyway I decided to throw caution to the wind, and to trust "slayme," though, and despite my jaded feelings towards my fellow human beings these days (a telemarketer's hazard), I will take the gent at his word and sit on the fence until the jury is in and all the cows are back in the barn.

So, no more talk of Dr Who, then.

There's loads of other things I can write about. Having had to sit through all of those "writing intensive" courses at my two colleges in the first half of this decade, reckon I should try and make some use out of it...don't need many writing skills, as a telemarketer...which is fine, I did a tiny bit of voice and public speaking studies at school, as well..so at least I'm putting that to use.

Well, as some of you know, I was a horse-crazy kid. Never owned one, of course--tho' I did talk mum and dad into buying me a cheap used--very used, western saddle, for my 15th birthday, so I could take western lessons at the hunting/jumping stable up the road from us, in Loundonville.

In high school, in my senior year, back when I was 18, I was in this "apprenticeship" programme--it was an experimental programme, that allowed 4th year students to go out and try out a career for a month.

Well, I ended up at "Mill Pond Stables." This was a semi-posh western and hunt seat stable, about 4 or 5 miles from our school. It boasted 50 horses and an indoor arena with tiered seating for horse show audiences, also a tack shop and big lounge, and vending machines (my first introduction to coffee--it was awful!) It had a tannoy, and..well, for a stable of that era, it was rather posh.

The owner was thin, stooped cowboy who was always wearing a hat--one day, a horse snatched it off his head, and I found out why he never took his hat off: vanity. The man was as bald as an egg.

He taught "western balanced riding" known then as the "Monty Foreman Method." I still to this day, prefer to ride "balanced," even when being taught by other instructors.

Anyway, the owner wasn't thrilled with my being there--seems he was full up of stable rats, as we horse-crazy girls were sometimes unattractvely called. It's sort of like a mall brat, but we preferred to look at new saddles in the tack shop and discuss points of confirmation, rather than gaze at clothing in the mall and discussing boys.

So, the owner would manage to find stupid little jobs for me to do: clean the glass globes in the light fixtures in the lounge, take apart and put away the jumps, toss hay to the horses in the stalls, water down the sand-filled big indoor ring with a hose--oh, there was a fun and rewarding job...not. But, I was around horses, so no complaints from me.

But...the owner had just a bit of a mean streak in him. He used to focus it on a boy who worked there, but when the kid quit, suddenly, it was my turn.

Now, the pranks were usually harmless: one time I was strutting about like a peacock, 'cos my mum and dad had just bought me a beautiful shiny new pair of western riding boots. It was while I was watering the ring, he came in with the tractor and the harrow, on the pretence of smoothing the rink, knowing all the while that I would come out of it, coated with an inch of sand--looking for all the world like I'd just slogged through a sandstorm for miles. He got himself a big laugh out of that...and the combination of the spray from my hose and the "sandstorm"....well, my shiny black boots were caked brown. Took me weeks to get them shiny again. (Hence the nickname "dustyboots" was born.)

Another time, he asked me to take over the till in the tack shop, while he ran out to the vending machine for a soda. Well, I went to ring up a sale, and the till drawer popped open--and there was a great big ugly rubber spider in there. Yes, I yelped. I hate spiders. The "customer" was in on it, too, and they both had another good laugh off of me.

But one time, one of his little pranks nearly back-fired on him, in a serious way.

The owner was training a young colt in the indoor, and he dismounted and asked me to take the horse in to the stable area, and untack him. Okay, he'd never asked me to do that before, but I was young and naive, right?
I was actually quite chuffed at being given such a big responsibility, as it was a 30,000 dollar reining furturity prospect--so this futurity prospect was owned by RCA records or some such. And incidentally, that amount of money shelled out for him in 1979, would be like 80,000 today, roughly. I mean, I was REALLY chuffed to be given his care!

Yeah. Not for long.

The owner handed me the reins, with that wicked grin on his face....and too soon, I found out why. As soon as I got halfway to the gate, the colt took the bit in his teeth and began dragging me along with him. Now, as I recall, the horse weighed probably 800 pounds, and I'd yet to be taught how to control an unruly horse properly.

Well, it might have been okay, but just as we got to the closed gate, someone came along and opened it, to bring another horse in.

The colt--with me still holding the reins, literally bolted through the open gate, and out into the stable aisle--dragging me--and I do mean, dragging, because idiot girl here, was too damned shocked to just let go, out through the barn. It was when he headed for the partly open door, that I was almost killed--because it was only open wide enough for the horse...not for a horse and some stupid teenager.

Just as I was about to have my head bodily flung into the edge of huge solid metal sliding door--inches from it, the old lightbulb went off in my head. You know, the one that said, "Doh--let go, you moron!"

Of course, was the owner upset that I almost got decapitated? Nahh-he was ticked off because I let the horse get loose! I got so, I really wasn't very fond of that man, after a while. I may be slow, but I do get there eventually.

That's It! If this is for real, I QUIT. I mean it. I'm fed up with life jerking me around--now even by my favourite tele programme! NO. I'm not putting up with it. I won't be LIED to. It's not right. I've had so much unhappiness--why did they have to ruin the ONE joy I had left to me?

David Tennant and Russel T. Davies really had me beliveing that all would be as usual, next year--then, this gets thrown in my face. Stinking liars.

It isn't him regenerating--it's the fact that they wanted to be all cute and secretive about it, and not preparing me for it--I don't like bad surprises. It hurts! This SUCKS.

My 25 year love of Dr Who has just ended tonight. Screw this. I've 2 "Classic" DVD's I watch them. Bloody cheap chav low-brow stunts weren't part of the old series, let me tell you.

LIfe sucks and then you die, people. For me, that's the bottom line.

I just got back a while ago from the health center and read the responses to my previous post(s).

I haven't had a chance to respond to them yet, but I'll try to get 'round to it, later.

I'd like to think that this is just RTD's way of going out with a "bang."

Personally speaking, I absolutely don't like "flashbacks"---not in literary or any other form, except in very small doses. For example, either to give a wee bit of back story, or as exposition. But, it's not like I have any say in the matter, and if the "flashback" scenario materializes, I will just have to bite the bullet and hope Tennant can pull it off.

I will say that the "Split personality/Doctor's" theroy intriques me a great deal. I could live with that. Probably not the case, though.

It wasn't, I want to stress, the Doctor's dying--I actually had an inkling of that, a few months ago--having seen a blurb about him being shot by a Dalek back in April...didn't mention it as it was too major a spoiler.

No, I'm just a wee incensed about how this whole thing was handled...sneaky and underhanded isn't something I cotton to--God help me, I've got enough of that living under the Bush regime administration, ha-ha.

If I hadn't read and heard Tennant talking about his stint as the Doctor next year, I wouldn't have been so taken aback by what I've read tonight, on blogs and forums all over the 'net.

Bottom line is--this is what I consider a BAD surprise. Nancy doesn't like bad surprises. Nancy is, in fact, sick to death of bad surprises. (My first morning's post today, should give you a hint of that.)

THAT'S what I'm ticked off about.

But thank you all, for trying to calm me down, it is deeply appreciated. Let's just say this isn't the best day for me to get more bad news.

___________________________________________________________________

In other news from my side of the pond:

Well, the nurse at the health center says that both my blood count is 9.1, and my sugar is 327. What that means is my blood count is nearing the stage where if it goes any lower, I will need a transfusion again. And my blood sugar is way too high, and she gave me an insulin shot.

I'm mildly scared, because I can feel my mental abilities slipping away from me today---I cannot spell perfectly ordinary words--words I never had trouble spelling before, I simply cannot remember--, and I am having problems concentrating on typing.

She said it will be okay, once the Procrit shots take effect, that the mild semi-dementia I'm experiencing, probably will be only temporary...it's that "probably" that troubles me, quite frankly. Second to being homeless, losing my mind is my second-worst nightmare...something I always dread, knowing I'm bi-polar.

Well, we had one heck of a rain storm--the rain was so hard, I could actually hear it while I was in the shower. I came out to the front room, to find the floor under the window all wet--the rain had obviously driven sideways through the balcony window, right into the room---thankfully, it didn't quite reach the electrical OMG--I can't remeber the name.....oh, extenstion cord (see what I mean? This IS scary!) the cord was nearly right uder the window....thank heaven's it stayed dry!

Well, I've some chores to do--the washing up is calling me to the kitchen sink. I hate washing dishes--after the dishwasher quit at the Old Faithful caf, where I worked in Yellowstone Natl. Park in the summer of '80, I was pulled off the grill and made the dishwasher--you haven't lived 'till you've stood over a hot, steamy, smelly wall-length machine for 10 hours (on a busy day we might average 1000 customers an hour) a day, pushing rack after rack of mucky plates in and pulling red-hot dishes out. Or spent 40 minutes scrubbing burnt on baked beans out of a really mucky pot. I HATE washing dishes, ha-ha.

I mean it.

He regenerated and David Tennant LIED, the little creep.

So much for me thinking he was a nice guy.

Screw this show and it's dirty little secrets.

I don't like being LIED to.

I don't like bad surprises. Haven't I had enough of that cr*p in my life?

THIS SUCKS. I QUIT. No more crushing news. I'm sick of this.

Up yours, David and Russll. You stinking, lying bastards.

Oh, I just read that the Doctor's going to regenerate. Now, I don't object to actor's leaving the show, they have their life.

But, David Tennant has PUBLICALLY said that he's going to be filming the four Dr Who specials next year---so did he lie?

And if he did--that was a really low-brow thing, and I would be so disgusted with this type of ploy, that no matter how much I love the show (and I do love it, with all my heart) I would STOP watching the new series.

Doctor Who has been one of the few things that's kept me going, these past two years. As life has continually dragged me through hell, the one bright spot (aside from my friends--I'm not so shallow as to put them second to a television programme), the one shining light for me, has been Dr Who.

Time after time, it's take me away from things that came near to driving me into, quite frankly, ending it all.

The last thing I need is to shattered by a bald-faced lie. That would be a scummy thing to do to the fans. Staging a secret regeneration, merely for shock value.

I think Tennant is the best actor to have bring the character of the Doctor to life, but certainly would NEVER begrudge him leaving...he has a life of his own and a mind of his own, and by gosh, that's certainly his right to make that decision.

I hope this is only a teaser, to get keep us all on pins and needles until Christmas of 2008. I hope it is. I don't think I can take any more disappointments or shocks...even from a TV show.

A short while ago, out of curiosity I checked my visitor stats--not pageviews, but visits--it was just over 900 visitors so far today--"Whoa," I thought, "that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

But, apparently not. In the last 20 minutes, my stats went to 2000+ visitors. WHAT THE ____???

Anybody else seen their stats suddenly go flipping wild today? Very strange! It's not like I'm writing anything riveting or scandalous! Weird, weird.

It looks as if there may be a storm moving in--it's clouding up and the breeze is freshing, and there's that pre-storm feel to the air...that ominous electrical feeling anyone who's spent a lot of time outdoors (such as moi) knows quite well.

Flame is such a clever, clever little girl-cat. If she feels that I'm not paying enough attention to her while I'm keyboarding away, she starts getting all cute, waving her paw at me, or making chirrping noises...NOW she's figured out that if she plonks her arse directly in front of the monitor screen, I HAVE to notice her! She's a pain in the bottom some times, but I do love her...she's quite the character. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I was supposed to make up some hours at work today, but around quarter to noon, I almost passed out getting up from my chair so opted to sit a while....going to the health center in a bit to get checked out--might need a blood transfusion, or it might only be my wonky blood sugar again (I'