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".