I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

ARRRGHHH!!!!

I just got another note in my in-box from that pesky DT fan-girl, carping at me about why am I picking on the love of her life, the faboulous sex-god David Tennant, yadda-yadda-yadda....

I realize these are (I hope anyway) just kids, who maybe haven't the maturity yet, to see things the way you or I, as adults see them.

I won't bother repeating her e-mail, but the young lady was quite rude, and really tore into me. Even tho' I've told her that the captions were just meant to be humour. I told her twice already, that I've never in my life harboured any ill will towards Tennant, and certainly am not trying to be mean--I'm just having an innocent laugh, that's all. There's no call for this girl to be so rude and mouthy about it. Don't these kids have real parent's anymore? Geez--my old mum--in fact, all the mum's on my street--would have made short work of this mouthy little miss, let me tell you. There is something to be said sometimes, for tough love.

For god's sake---David Tennant doesn't care! David Tennant won't EVER see the stuff on my blog, so....why jump all over me about it?

Will you rude fan-girls just stop reading my blog, if you are that unhappy about it?
Now, you see why I'm going to stop the DT captions for a while?

Someone just shoot me, already.

Running on Empty and Topping ‘Er Up

With all that’s happened in these last two and a half years, sometimes I feel lost, like I’m not really “me,” any longer, as if I’m here, technically, but really just going through the motions.

There is so much more to me, the person that I used to be. Don’t know if that makes sense or not. I used to feel things, see and hear things. I used to feel alive and free. Oh, being bi-polar, I had my bad moments as well, certainly.

There’s this whole side of me, that no one has ever really seen. I’ve written about it, sometimes, on my blogs. But, not once in my 47 years, have I ever been able to share that part of my life with anyone. What I’m talking about, is my….well, I suppose in another place and time, it might be considered a pastoral or poetic side. The side of me that sees in nature, not just objects, but objects d’art, feels both genuine harmony and also, the raw wild freedom of…well, never mind, it’s not important at this late stage of my life, I suppose. Besides, that part of my life is well gone and done with. I do sometimes wish that just once, just one time, that I’d been able to meet someone whom I could share that side of myself with, to take outdoors and show them the natural world through my eyes. Yeah, well, I reckon if it hasn’t happened by now, that it never well. I live in the city now, away from all that, mostly.

So, anyway, things are getting better for me, better than they’ve been in over a year. I even went out on the big holiday weekend, and mingled with the Sunday crowds of holiday-makers, for the first time in well over a year. By myself, of course. Being a long-time loner did prepare me for this solitary life, somewhat. But…no one is ever prepared for being utterly alone, in the physical sense. Not that I don’t have friends, I do. Fantastic friends, I’m proud to add. But, they are very far away--here where I live…no, there’s simply no one.

Oh, I have a few very nice co-workers, but no one ever comes to my flat, and no one ever asks me to go with them anywhere. **Ever. Well, that’s technically not true. Last summer I was invited by a co-worker to go to some street party…I showed up, she said hello, and…left with her friends five minutes later, like I wasn’t even there. It’s not the first time that’s happened, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I hate being treated like I’m invisible, truth-to-tell. Not that I crave attention or need entertaining. I mean, I’m simply not the type of person people are drawn to--repelled, perhaps, but rarely ever drawn to.

Still, even these six months without tele, radio, internet or much physical contact of any kind, I’ve managed alright. Well, back in early March I ran into a rough patch…just about gave up on myself, on my very life, for several weeks. Still might---after all I’ve been through, I’ll be perfectly honest, it won’t take much more hurt and bad things to push me one time too far. In October of ’06, I nearly snuffed it. But a few friends pulled me through it.

My internet buddies keep me going. Their kindness and compassion have been simply amazing. Still, back in March, when I so nearly came to lose EVERYTHING…a part of me finally died. I’ve had so many loses, so much grief and despair….truthfully, some days my very soul is running on empty.

Which is why, even now, when things are finally beginning to look up for me, ever so slightly, I’m still scared. Heck, I’m terrified. I’m afraid the bubble of my good fortune will burst, and drag me, alone and screaming, back into the dark, mucky sewers of reality. I never tell anyone this, but I envy people who have someone--someone there in the physical sense, guiding them, taking care of them…perhaps, even loving them. I will never have that. Not ever again.

I have to go on, of course. Even though my dreams of a better future lay in total ruin, and my efforts to support myself, to make a reasonably happy life for myself, have failed utterly, still…I realize that I have to go on. I have re-gained a few of the things I’ve lost--the internet, a government cheque that helps me keep from being homeless, a fun day’s outing… and I’m grateful, believe me--I’m very grateful. My soul will never truly be full again, but, the bringing back of a minor bit of normalcy to my life, has added an inch or two of fuel.

** "No one asks me to go with them anywhere, ever." When I wrote this, a week or so ago, it was absolutely true. But, just a few days after I wrote that line, a co-worker did finally ask me if I'd like to go to lunch with her, this coming Friday. I think the last time I'd eaten a meal at a restaurant with someone else, was the day of our mum's funeral, when my late dad's cousin and his wife took my sister, myself and my nephew out to lunch, afterwards. That was November of '05.

So, Series 4 of Doctor Who is in the can, and now we fans--as of this summer, must wait a whole year for more Who, in the form of three television specials...and then, we must wait another whole year--maybe, for the series to properly resume again! Oh, the crosses we fans must bear.

I must say right now, that for a while, I had some reservations about Russell T. Davies' version of the show. I mean, here I am, a simplistic country bumpkin, and a genuine old maid...and there is Mr. Davies, a sophisticated, intelligent, man of the world--totally the opposite of everything that I am, and I looked at his version of how the series should be, and I thought, "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to relate to the New Doctor Who."

But, you know what? I am going to say, flat-out, that I was wrong. It has been simply brilliant.

Okay, wasn't entirely thrilled with the soap-opera aspect, at times. Having never in my life had anything to do with romance, I don't suppose that I would. But, the sappy touchy-feely stuff aside, everything else has just taken my breath away. And, in a way, Mr. Davies work (his writing), in a very small way, has made me re-think my own writing, just a little bit. It's certainly made me see the Doctor's character in a whole new light--with the help of Mr. Tennant's take on it, naturally.

So, my hat's off to Mr. Davies, he will be sadly missed in the world of Dr. Who fan-dom.

They're both stupid, and they've been around forever.

In the news today: Scientists have discovered that flies with lower intelligence (flies have brains? Who knew?) live longer.

Which is probably why George Bush will live to be 120.

And, someone sent me my horoscope in my in-box. Now, how this person--whom I barely even know--knows that I'm a scorpio, I've no idea.

My late-mum used to semi-believe in this stuff---and twice in my life (just only twice, mind you) the prediction was quite accurate, in amazing detail--which I did find a bit startling. But, the other 98% percent of the time, it was pure rubbish.

Anyway, this is my horoscope that "Marycanary1271" sent me, I believe, from Town and Country magazine, my mum's old favourite, oddly enough.

What do YOU think? Is this an accurate depiction of the "real" me? Or is it all rubbish?

You’re not looking particularly bothered or harassed as this New Year dawns, and why should you? Scorpios possess an amazing capacity to surf the turbulent waters of change without losing their cool—or their grip. And though 2007 was full of gigantic breakers and the undertow was often ferocious, you simply fixed your gaze on the shoreline, held steady and rode the turbulence out.

PEAKS & VALLEYS Public Life/Career: 3/29, 11/21; 6/21, 7/10. Love: 5/4, 10/1; 8/13, 8/29.

What a bunch of blather!

I especially like the one about "Exotic locales" in July--what? Am I going to prison? 'Cos it's a sure bet I won't be getting out of upstate New York, any time soon!

I "won't be devoid of romance????" Honey, I've been devoid of romance for 47 years, I don't think 2008's going to be any different!

"Your dream house on the mountaintop or by the sea, only a heartbeat away?" My income is around $100 over poverty-level, and I'm so in debt, that it would literally take two lifetimes--or a significant lottery win-- to pay everything off--dream home? I don't think so.

I'm going to close in on my goals? I don't have any "goals" any longer--well, aside from not being homeless, I suppose.

"Not bothered or harassed as the New Year dawns??" Yeah, let's see, on New Year's eve I got hit on the head by a wood bookcase full of books, I lost my internet, couldn't pay my rent or electric, was in horrible pain from an abscess--one so bad it wound up putting me in hospital, I was warned by a doctor to cut my work hours in half or I would kick off--that's the job that was my sole income in the world, mind you..."not bothered or harassed"? Donkey poo! I was crying myself to sleep at night, for pity's sake.

What a bunch of malarkey! Does anyone really buy this stuff--and sorry if you do, I'm not trying to insult you, honestly. It's just...wow. Hard to wrap my head around the fact that a bunch of stars in the sky, can actually tell you anything about yourself--they're just lumps of gaseous rocks, for pity's sake.

Now, I've been a fan of folk music since my early teens--but this is one of the ood-est songs I've yet to hear:

So, no more picking on David Tennant for a while. Thought I'd give the poor wee chap a break, ha-ha.

Oddly, I've noticed that the more I blog, the more posts I write, the less hits I get on my visitor stats. Yet, if I blog nothing for a few days--I mean absolutely nothing whatsoever, my stats go up by one to two hundred--what's with that, I wonder?

Out of curiosity, I looked at my visitor stats for my new DW fan fiction blog. There's this naf little story I wrote, only took a week to write, called "Doctor Du Jour." Well, I didn't spend much time crafting this particular story, just jotted it off, for wont of nothing better to do. Don't think it's one of my better one's, and it's certainly not one of my favourites. Yet, that's the one story that has drawn the most hits.

Just shows that you never can tell. Sometimes the stories you enjoy writing the most, or think are your best, seem to be the one's that get the least attention--and yet, something you just did on a whim, or didn't put much thought into, are the one's people want to read. Very strange. My favourite story is probably a tie between a story called "Rain of Terror," my latest completed story, and the first story I wrote for 2008, titled, "The Pyramid Project."

Some stories just seemed to almost write themselves, while others--particularly a very long tale called, "Mad Country," seemed to take forever to write--"Mad Country" took about a month, I believe--but, partly because I was also writing other stuff, at the same time.

Well, I have to go and buy a second fan, this week. It got to 63 F (17 C) today. By Saturday, temperatures are predicted to soar to 90 F (32 C). Not my favourite type of weather. I'd much rather be cold, than hot--especially here, where hot often translates to tropically humid, as well, sort of like what they get in the deep South and Florida. Plus, I don't live near a beach anymore--one of the downsides to moving to the city, is that the city's beach (on the Hudson river) isn't within walking distance or on a busline.

Where I've lived before, the three other towns I lived in here in the Adirondack mountains, all of them had beaches: My first town had one, my second town (where I had my caravan home) had no less than three town beaches and a state beach (at a New York state park campground), and Lake George had three beaches, as well as a brook behind the home where I had my flat.

I admit, I've been spoiled, in the past.

I also miss my air conditioner. I had to leave it behind, because the guy I hired to help me move never showed up, and, tho' it wasn't a big one, I couldn't lift the air conditioner by myself. But, that's what they make windows and fans for, isn't it? Except that only two of my windows in the flat actually open...the rest are painted shut. Yes, I live in a dump.

On top of everything else, the plumber can't get here this week, so I have to continue sticking my hand down into the toilet tank, to manually pull the chain, every time I need to flush.

And, I have discovered that my kitchen and bath have mysteriously been invaded by gnats--probably coming through a small hole in the glass of the bathroom window (there when I moved in). So, besides a fan, I have a can of bug spray to add to my list. Pesky things. Last month it was worse though: baby moths had invaded the kitchen...not my favourite insect...not as bad as spiders, which also seem to be more abundant, this year, but still, wasn't crazy about having moths in my flat. At least the bats are gone, thank god...and no cockroaches, ever. I always worry about that--hate the blasted things, they make me ill, just thinking about them.

I'm trying to find a weekend when I can go down to Albany to put flowers on my mum's grave. I could just take off and go, now that I've a bit of extra funds (well, one week out of the month I do, anyway)--but sis's brain isn't all there, thanks to the crack (which she is off of now, thankfully), and even when I write down detailed directions, she still gets muddled and confused...seems strange, 'cos she used to be a cab driver in the Albany area, and drove all over--even down to Manhattan, sometimes. So, I have to play tour guide and take her to the grave (well, to be fair, the cemetery is huge--over 450 acres). I have to wait until she has use of her partner's Cherokee, and can drive over from Vermont, to pick me up at the bus station in Albany.

Got an e-mail from an internet acquaintance of mine, over in the UK, who says her mum just bought her tickets to see David Tennant being a ham--erm, I mean, playing Hamlet, and the girl's just over the moon--as well she might be, I suppose. I don't guess I'll ever get to see a live performance of Hamlet--something that used to be on my to-do list. I do hope someday, to get to see a theater performance--ANY theatre performance-- again, tho' at the moment that still seems highly unlikely, especially with ticket prices locally, averaging around $25 to $35--it's just not economically feasible. But, one baby step at a time, slowly working towards having a reasonably normal life again, that's my goal at the moment.

(Sign for the Charles R. Wood Theater, located in the old Woolworth building, downtown Glens Falls)

I was moving some boxes in my closet (I've only lived here for a year and a half, and I still have empty moving boxes in my closet) when one came down and gave me a nasty scratch on my arm--had a loose metal staple in it, apparently, and my arm found it. For a little scratch it hurts like hell. Actually though, as someone who's spent a lot of her time in A&E, I have to say that it's normally the minor cuts that hurt the most--I've found that the deep cuts often are the one's that don't hardly hurt at all, for some reason. Well, at least I had the dreaded tetanus shot this year--man, that's one shot I'm glad you only need once every five to seven years--takes days, sometimes a week or more, for my arm to stop aching.

Well, it's going on midnight. Hope you all have a great Wednesday. Cheers, Nancy G.