(no subject)
Hello internet, I had horrible dreams last night and then I was worried today and then with miraculous timing, amy_wolf sent me two books on gay history (one of which I need for my novel) and a rubber letter press set which is the cutest thing and also Rather Useful, and this made me happy enough to get on a bus in the rain to the place I got on the bus in the rain to 12 years ago.
It was a lot less stressful this time and the one hour appointment ended up being two hours and the end result is:
1. I will be put on a waiting list for psychodynamic therapy, probably.
2. I will get a confirmation of diagnosis in the post within August probably.
3. I have been gently reproved by another medical professional regarding my lack of inclusion of "happiness" as a goal on my goal list of "try not to die, try to stop wanting to die all the time, try to stop sucking as a human so much".
Then I got a bus to Liverpool Street, which went via the bit of London I don't normally go through (Stoke Newington, Hackney, Dalston, Haggerston, Hoxton, Shoreditch, etc) and which gave me a good view of the Geffyre Museum from the front and rendered up the puns "Sell Fridges" (a shop which sold fridges, but obviously a reference to Selfridges department store) and a removal company called "Rocket Van" (reference to Elton John's hit song "Rocket Man"). I think you really do have to actually come to Britain to understand how hideously wedded to the art of the bad pun the populations of England, Wales, and Scotland are, because the ubiquity of it just doesn't translate otherwise.
Went to a Wetherspoons in Holborn to say tah-rah to Nny, who is leaving us for Oop Norf. Drank many sickly cider, had dinner, spent a lot of time making fart noises and horrible jokes about things Tumblr and the Daily Mail would both shit kittens about, came home, am now typing this naked from the waist up and gently converting tea into urine.
Jess now has TWO training/test days at two separate businesses as the reputation of the "hard-working Australian" is doing her no end of good in her retail work search. On Thursday I plan to human my way down to the British Library and do some more fuck-damned research.
It was a lot less stressful this time and the one hour appointment ended up being two hours and the end result is:
1. I will be put on a waiting list for psychodynamic therapy, probably.
2. I will get a confirmation of diagnosis in the post within August probably.
3. I have been gently reproved by another medical professional regarding my lack of inclusion of "happiness" as a goal on my goal list of "try not to die, try to stop wanting to die all the time, try to stop sucking as a human so much".
Then I got a bus to Liverpool Street, which went via the bit of London I don't normally go through (Stoke Newington, Hackney, Dalston, Haggerston, Hoxton, Shoreditch, etc) and which gave me a good view of the Geffyre Museum from the front and rendered up the puns "Sell Fridges" (a shop which sold fridges, but obviously a reference to Selfridges department store) and a removal company called "Rocket Van" (reference to Elton John's hit song "Rocket Man"). I think you really do have to actually come to Britain to understand how hideously wedded to the art of the bad pun the populations of England, Wales, and Scotland are, because the ubiquity of it just doesn't translate otherwise.
Went to a Wetherspoons in Holborn to say tah-rah to Nny, who is leaving us for Oop Norf. Drank many sickly cider, had dinner, spent a lot of time making fart noises and horrible jokes about things Tumblr and the Daily Mail would both shit kittens about, came home, am now typing this naked from the waist up and gently converting tea into urine.
Jess now has TWO training/test days at two separate businesses as the reputation of the "hard-working Australian" is doing her no end of good in her retail work search. On Thursday I plan to human my way down to the British Library and do some more fuck-damned research.