I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

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.