I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Here's part of the press release:

It's Christmas Eve in 1851 and Cybermen stalk the snow of Victorian London, in this special Christmas edition of Russell T Davies's Bafta Award-winning time-travelling drama.

When the Doctor arrives and starts to investigate a spate of mysterious deaths, he's surprised to meet another Doctor, and soon the two must combine forces to defeat the ruthless Miss Hartigan. But are two Doctors enough to stop the rise of the CyberKing?

The BBC has also announced that it shall be airing the Dr Who proms concert as well, during the holiday season.

For more information, click on the BBC link to the right of this post, in my list of Dr Who websites.

As some of you know, I've been rather uhappy with myself, these last several days, even to the point of seriously--albeit only briefly--considering if I should look into having myself institutionalized (sectioned). I'm still not sure what's going on with me, of late. Perhaps the isolation of the last several years is having a more profound effect on me that I'd realized. Maybe the bi-polar thing is worsening, maybe I'm just an idiot, and have been fooling myself all these years. I dunno'.

As I've said, I really don't believe in anything, any longer--but, that's not entirely true. I do believe in my friends, you who live in places far-flung from me...especially the one in Kansas.

Seriously though, it never ceases to amaze me how this small group of human beings, whom I've never met, have hung with me through all the pain and hardship, the stupidity and the rants, and a few times of good news, as well. I'm truly grateful to have them still here with me.

Still, some days it is harder for me than others, to want to get up in the morning. I long to have something to hold on to, something to give me purpose. I long to be wanted for something, needed by someone, to be a useful member of society. I'd given up the notion of actually having an enjoyable career, a while back. I had to face reality head-on, and realize that all I am, and all I'll ever be, is the poo on the bottom of life's shoe.

I mean that. All I'll ever be is the person no one looks at twice, who cleans your toilets, or washes your towels, or rings you up on the phone trying to sell you shit you don't really need.

Well I know, that we make our own lives. No one is in charge but you, and if you fuck up, it's you that did it, and no one else.

Sometimes, it's the emotions we feel before an event, that either drive us into the ground, or lift us up to the hill-tops of life. And, when you aren't fully in control of your emotions--such as with clinical depression, oh, you can so muck up you life, so easily.

I can't afford treatment, not that I haven't asked. I have crap health insurance, a crap health care provider (8 months I've been with them, and I've yet to see, or be assigned to, a proper doctor), and I've got a crap income to enable me to go to the doctor regularly.

If I'm out sick or at a doctor's appointment, I don't get paid. Last month, I got a whopping 33 dollar pay check, 'cos of the stinking flu.

So, I just get sick, so what? No, really. So what? I'm here, I'm not here...would that really change anything? No, not at all--well, it would for my cats, bless them. I suppose my sister would be sad, but she'd get over it. It's not like we've ever been close or anything. It's true though, some days I feel like the most insignificant, meaningless person on the planet. Can't help it, I just do.

Maybe that's why I write, to make me feel like I'm still a human being. I know that I will never become a REAL writer, no one will ever come knocking on my door, asking me to write something for them--and quite frankly, I literally no longer have the emotional will to fight for those naf old dreams. So, I blog and write mediocre fan-fiction and horrible plays and boring poems...because they're one of the few things that still make me feel like a real person.

Well, it seems moi has overslept just a wee bit--no thanks to the rugrat teens upstairs again..these kids need to get themselves a REAL job, then they'd be too damned tired to be bouncing off the walls (and my ceiling) like a bunch of ten year olds on crack, 'till 1 or 2 O'clock in the morning.

There's sometimes a lot to be said for hard physical labour, ha-ha, especially when it keeps the yobbos quiet.

Nasty day out there, today. It's wavering between heavy rain and ice pellets. Oh joy. And, I have to bustle out to do the laundry--and walk there, 'cos I'm so broke, I can't even afford bus fare. Then, I have to come back home and bake a pie.

Yes, a pie. Today's our annual pathtetic office do for the Thanksgiving holiday. This is where my cheap chav office--rather than actually putting on a buffet themselves---has a "pot luck" where people in the office bring in things to eat--including a roast turkety, if they can get some sucker to do it. Last year I made Waldorf (apple) salad with smoked turkey, raisins and dried cranberries, this year I'm doing a peach crumb pie. Thank god I remembered to leave the butter out overnight to soften, to make the "crumble" topping, or I'd be screwed. One year I forgot--and the butter was hard as a rock, so I had to skip the crumb pie, and just make it a regular one...wasn't the same, alas.

So, during our TEN MINUTE break, we all have to bustle into this tiny little conference room--think 30 people trying to crowd into a windowless room that barely holds one big conference table that seats 15 or so people, all trying to serve themselves from the hodgepodge of food on offer--and pour themselves soda, as well---rushing back to their cubicles and trying to wolf down their supper--all in TEN minutes. My employers are such chav misers, it's pathetic.

That's why we are forced to work no more than 39 1/2 hours a week--40 hours (in New York state) would make us full-timers, and they'd HAVE to, by law, give us benefits, such as sick pay/sick days, overtime pay, holidays/holiday pay, health care insurance, etc. As yet, the US government has yet to enact protective legislation for part-time workers...the US govt. does love to kiss big businesses arse, don't ya' know. It's a wonder they're not engaged.

Oh yeah, they flipped the car maker's the bird, but are throwing billions more of our hard-earned money a Citigroup. Great. Sure, Citigroup has 300,000 some odd employees, but if the car maker's fail, millions, world-wide, could potentially lose their jobs, and then the economy--especially local economy's--would crash and burn for real. God, these politiicians are thick. A bank shouts "help!" once, and the US government, sends out the marines, the navy and the lifeboats...you or me, we scream repeatedly for help, the US government goes "Ey? What's that?" and just lets us drown.

The post man passed me by this morning. No bills then...or junk mail, or letters. I can just see me now, when I'm old and past it, sitting in the lounge of some nursing home, saying, "Oh yeah? Well, I was so poor, I didn't even get any junk mail!"

Yep, tagged again.

1a. Describe your outfit.

salt and pepper colour heavy cotton socks, my posh Cosmo jeans with the embroidery up the outside calves, blue plaid cotton shirt--same one in my bebo pic a the bottom of this page. my eyeglasses...no, not doing the underwear thing, use your imaginations...then again, maybe not.

2a. Are you listening to music?

Yup. The Proclaimers again.

b. Was This Intentional?

NOt really. I just got tired of the silence and turned on the player, without bothering to change the CD.

3a. Describe the objects within arms reach.

Japanese paperweight, computer monitor and harddrive, headset with mic, speakers, Dr Who soundtrack CD, cat brush, mum picture, spur clock, mouse pad with a Friesan horse on it, mouse, bottle of water, about 20 books.

b. Randomly choose one object and tell where you aquired it.

Since my right hand is resting on it, the mouse pad. I bought it in 2003, from Walker's Farm Home and Tack store, in Fort Ann, NY.

4a. What room are you in?

Living room.

b. To What extent is it yours?

Some rich guy Australian chav owns the building, so technically it's his. Otherwise, I'm the only one who lives here, so it's all mind--well, and the three cats, they think they own it, as well. Wish they did, think of the money I'd save by not paying rent. I wish this place wasn't mine, I HATE it here!

5a. Did you decorate this room yourself?

Well, I don't know if you call what I did, "decorating," but yeah, I put things where I liked them.

5a. Briefly describe the furniture in the room:

Used desk, used desk chair, bookcase purchased new from Walmarts, used glider rocker, small antique oak dresser, antique green bookcase, reproduction faux wood stand, step stool to get out through the balcony window, antique straightback chair, art deco radio stand turned book case, used octogonal end table with green marble top, antique Victorian side chair, used 3 tier faux wood corner knick-knack shelf, locally hand made rustic wood Adirondack stand, with red fox motif, small antique folding Adirondack camp chair.

A very competitive David Tennant, resents a rival for the girl's attention:
"Oh, shut yer hole, Fred, you're not sexilicious enough for the lass. Now, what were ye' sayin' about ma' hottie hair, young lady?"

ABOVE: view from the top of the office building, facing south--downtown (high street).

I heard a former security guard in my building today, tell of hauntings in our office building. This is the same ultra-modern office building that was built in the early 70's, mind you. But, I'm told it was built on the site of a former funeral home.

I've heard a couple of people talk about doors mysteriously opening and shutting on them. I myself got on the elevator one day, pressed the button, the doors began to close--then they opened again..yet, no one was there, and the buttons in the hall to summon the lift, were dark...very strange. People on the 9th floor, working after hours late at night, have reported seeing a man and a little boy roaming the halls.

Hauntings, or just imagination? Having seen a ghost, I leave my mind open on the subject...my thoughts on hauntings swing both ways...mostly tho', I'm pretty sure there are spirits, or echos, or time shifts or whatever you wish to call them. What they are, I don't think we'll ever know, so I just accept them, and move on.

Well, looks like we might have a white turkey-day this Thursday. It's snowing now. Here it is, I look out, the road's over covered in the white stuff, the snow's coming down fast and heavy...just a dusting so far, not even half and inch yet, and I'd not even noticed!

I was sitting here, grooving to The Proclaimers, thinking my own thoughts--sitting mind you, less than ten feet away from my enormous front windows, and the big sliding glass window that leads out to the balcony--you think I'd bloomin' notice that the tree out front was getting white, or that the noise of the passing cars was suddenly getting muffled?

So, we're supposed to get snow, rain and freezing rain all day tomorrow, some more snow on Wednesday and Thursday...our national holiday.

Well, the fate of my electric and gas service is in limbo for the next 24 hours or so. I have to go back to the social worker's office tomorrow, to see what their go-between at National Grid can do for me....I think, from past experience, MAYBE what will happen, is that they will cancel my budget agreement, demand the whole 500 to 1000 I owe. (I'm STILL paying off the bill from 2006, when my furnace died when it was 10 below zero outside, and the only heat I had was one little electric fire, which used up one hell of a lot of electricity, for a wee appliance!) anyway, NG will then send me a dissconnect notice, and then I go back to the social worker, and they apply for an emergency HEAP benefit...and then I reapply for the budget plan, and we're back to normal.

Or, none of the above, and I'm just screwed.

I say I owe between 500 and 1000, 'cos I've not looked lately--well, if you had my income, would you want to see that? Well, anyway, I pay the same amount 12 months a year, on the budget plan, which is far better for me, 'cos before that, it was mad, trying to come up with a monthly budget---one month the bill might be 70 dollars, and WHAM! The next month the bill might be over 300 bloomin' dollars! When you are on a low income, living quite literally from paycheck to paycheck...well, I have to tell you that sort of thing is definitely going to give you some sleepless nights.

So, wait and see at the moment.

I'll tell you what though, I'm so incredibly knackered now. Just took my temperature and I've a fever again. Lovely. Week 8, this is. God, I miss being 19. I could have brochitis, arthritis and a sprained ankle, and not turn a hair, just keep on going. Hell, even when I was 30, I was mucking stalls with sciatica in my back! Now, I get a blooming cold and it knocks me out and makes me feel like I'm ready for a bath chair. I'm telling you, you hit 45 and it's all downhill from there.

So, since the social worker for New York State Office of the Aging, who helps me out 'cos I'm disabled---I only have a few grey hairs, I'm not quite there yet---, well since their office is at the other end of the hallway from my telemarketing office, I decided to go in for a couple of hours, make up some time for my day off. They put me on collections--which is my favourite..not 'cos I like telling people to cough up or else, actually I try real hard to be kind, which is usually productive.

I have to admit though. Some collections--or rather pre-collections, which is what we really are doing--have a little button on screen that you click on, "refuse to pay"--which only means that they get booted to the real collection agency, after we've had a go and failed. Well, it's really kind of petty I suppose, but sometimes, when I get a genuine arsehole from the hunting club or whatever, it is such a small, rather delicious pleasure, to click that little button--down the rubbish shoot you go, you stinking redneck bastard! You think I'm annoying, wait'll the REAL collections people start ringing you ten times a day--and they're from India, so just you try to understand what they're saying, Rambo!

No, I like it 'cos for one, I don't have to really sell anything--I hate selling, truth to tell--and also, it's got a much shorter script, so your not out there, beating a dead horse, flogging something for 5 or even ten minutes, rattling off all the advantages of the product. With collections, it's just: Hello, this is who I am, you owe this money, will you pay it today, oh you can/can't? well...yadda, yadda, yadda. Short, sweet and to the point, love those kinds of scripts...it's a hell of a lot easier on your voice, as well...and of course, a lot less pressue. The pressure to sell is enormous, and if you go a few hours without a sell, it can make you feel like rubbish. My businnes doesn't really do pep talks--in fact, what they usually call "training," is pretty laughable--just shove a new script into your hands, read it through once, and then jump on the phones and go do it...which is fine. I love a new script...well, anyone would, who has to say the same damned intermiable script, over and over every single day, for hours on end.

So, I've just made myself the most marvelous dinner of a hodgepodge tuna casserole that I threw together--I had a box of instant macaroni and cheese, and to it I added some tuna-fish, sour cream, a little milk, cream cheese, a little onion powder, some thawed frozen peas, and a dash of worcestershire sauce, mixed it together, heated it through and.... Yummy! Probably sounds disgusting to most of you, but I'd not eaten hardly a thing all day, so it was a meal fit for a queen, to me.

I've an idea for a new 10 minute play, germinating in my brain, that I've been making mental notes for all week--it's a serious play. I really prefer writing funny stuff (tho' nothing I've written is ever probably all that funny, really)... comedy is a joy for me to write, even if I don't have much talent in that area.

I came to realize that I've never once really dug deep and pulled out some of this angst that's inside me, and used it for dramatic purposes--and, maybe, like my not being able to do that with acting, maybe I'm just not able to open my own Pandora's box, period, not even in writing. But, I sort of would like to give it a go--I've tried once before, a horrible short play called, I think, "the boardwalk," which I posted on my misc. blog, but, I'm afraid I'm merely a very shallow and simplistic writer, and there are no great stories inside me, waiting to be written...and certainly they'll never be any plays, not ever.

And, and this weekend, I'm going to try and work on an unfinished Dr Who story, called, "Numbered Days," that's on my wordpress blog...so hopefully that will keep me busy. Really, that's really my only reason that I have left inside me, to continue writing--for my own pleasure.