(no subject)
This week has been very LONG. By the end of each day I am entirely too tired to do anything except go home and become one with the sofa, although Dr F's insistence that I write Modern AU Billy Prior is bearing fruit. Sad, dusty, shitty fruit, but fruit nonetheless. And I am definitely getting fitter.
We have a new:
1. Bed frame (the old one was so bent it was touching the floor about a foot below)
2. Toilet seat
3. Set of swings up in the trees in Alexandra Park, which I want a go on when it's not pissing it down. That said, "pissing it down" is probably the right time to attempt this because then there won't be anyone around, and I am 400% done with human company.
Regarding that, of course, I'm going to the pub with Francis tomorrow.
Doing great and noteworthy things or achieving anything is so far beyond me that I will probably rot into a paste, but I did manage to get hold of the fucking Halliwick, impress upon them that I can't come to appointments that I don't know about and that the post is dodgy as all hell, so they've agreed to email me future appointments: to my surprise they actually did what they said they would, and listened to me saying "either first thing in the morning or last thing in the evening, please", so I am loaded up with a replacement appointment for my assessment. Definitely not a step I'd have taken in the past.
I can at least luxuriate in the achievements of others: a long while back I noticed that Bolongaro Trevor - one of my favourite overpriced hipster fashion shitpiles - were looking for a design intern, and so passed this on to Fiona. She applied, heard nothing forever, and then suddenly: pow! She has the internship. In London. I am extremely pleased.
[I don't apply for anything or send anything off to anyone because I'm too easily dispirited, too firmly of the opinion that literally nothing I do is right for anyone, and too generally disenfranchised to bother. The IGG thing will HAVE to happen, though, because I've embroiled too many people in it for it to not happen. If only everything else could be shoved along by guilt and other people's expectations.]
[I am a gloom sack in part because a Pro Freelance Editor seems to not understand the function of echoing and repetition in prose and wants me to remove all of it from a shitty fucking porn story. I am quite tempted to not bother fighting for it and to just rewrite things exactly as I've been told and let them wallow in the resultant characterless pap, but - BUT - it does have (one of) my names on it and is supposed to be "good exposure" which it won't bloody be if I don't put my best foot forward]
Blogs
I can't remember if I linked to these already:
http://delilahdesanges.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/art-dump-30-09-2014/
http://delilahdesanges.wordpress.com/2014/09/29/muffin-fail/
We have a new:
1. Bed frame (the old one was so bent it was touching the floor about a foot below)
2. Toilet seat
3. Set of swings up in the trees in Alexandra Park, which I want a go on when it's not pissing it down. That said, "pissing it down" is probably the right time to attempt this because then there won't be anyone around, and I am 400% done with human company.
Regarding that, of course, I'm going to the pub with Francis tomorrow.
Doing great and noteworthy things or achieving anything is so far beyond me that I will probably rot into a paste, but I did manage to get hold of the fucking Halliwick, impress upon them that I can't come to appointments that I don't know about and that the post is dodgy as all hell, so they've agreed to email me future appointments: to my surprise they actually did what they said they would, and listened to me saying "either first thing in the morning or last thing in the evening, please", so I am loaded up with a replacement appointment for my assessment. Definitely not a step I'd have taken in the past.
I can at least luxuriate in the achievements of others: a long while back I noticed that Bolongaro Trevor - one of my favourite overpriced hipster fashion shitpiles - were looking for a design intern, and so passed this on to Fiona. She applied, heard nothing forever, and then suddenly: pow! She has the internship. In London. I am extremely pleased.
[I don't apply for anything or send anything off to anyone because I'm too easily dispirited, too firmly of the opinion that literally nothing I do is right for anyone, and too generally disenfranchised to bother. The IGG thing will HAVE to happen, though, because I've embroiled too many people in it for it to not happen. If only everything else could be shoved along by guilt and other people's expectations.]
[I am a gloom sack in part because a Pro Freelance Editor seems to not understand the function of echoing and repetition in prose and wants me to remove all of it from a shitty fucking porn story. I am quite tempted to not bother fighting for it and to just rewrite things exactly as I've been told and let them wallow in the resultant characterless pap, but - BUT - it does have (one of) my names on it and is supposed to be "good exposure" which it won't bloody be if I don't put my best foot forward]
Blogs
I can't remember if I linked to these already:
http://delilahdesanges.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/art-dump-30-09-2014/
http://delilahdesanges.wordpress.com/2014/09/29/muffin-fail/