Fuckening.
Gym: I managed! The run! With the magic of New Trainers and porridge for breakfast and a good night's sleep and BOILING HATRED! And then! TWICE! I failed to complete the requisite sets! And my entire workout was a disordered mess! But at least some of it GOT DONE. And I dragged myself through more rowing and more cross-trainering and at least, AT LEAST, LJ/DW, I managed to do a five-set of bicep curls at 32kg. Got called BOSS again by the EXTREMELY HENCH dude who usually turns up to take the bench after me.
Slog: Blah blah edit notes blah blah typing up essay. (Still to do: editing in links, sending it to Dali; outline fiddling, finish the goddamn stupid Kapoople fic especially since Liza has started making noises about doing a Wank Yourself Clever short story about Mike Bently and Freud's theory of the Anal Stage).
World: Bodily forced Jess, who returned from the ENT specialist complaining that he hadn't listened to a single thing she said about her tonsils and also bearing gifts from the charity shop (I am now the proud possessor of a bandana "specifically for flagging" and some green cut-off Levi's), to come out of the flat and into London with me for Pleasantness. In practical terms it means we went to Whole Foods and she ate a chia pudding and swore at me about being hungry while I tried and failed to drink a cup of matcha in the cold, then went to the Japan Centre as promised and was sworn at some more because I wanted to look around before committing to eating anything - she eventually sat down to eat and left me to it, although the last laugh is evidently on me because they were out of plain steamed rice and my RAGE about Wasabi's failure to provide normal portion sizes instead of RICE BUCKETS continues - anyway blah blah purchases (and a server who played "let us compare piercings" with me, thus cementing my dental-nurse experience-bred theory that piercings exist so we can make unassuming small talk) and also the little JPC bookshop.
After some coaxing and more swearing I persuaded Jess that she wanted to go to Foyles for coffee, which was in hindsight a bad move as this culminated in a) protracted bitching in a very crowded cafe about subjects unsuited to public places, and b) buying books. I wasn't going to, but I found a copy of Shigeru Mizuki's Showa (the first volume) and liked the look of it and was BOILING WITH ANGER about self-inflicted problems ("I would like to be able to read! Just indulge myself in reading a lot! Instead of CONSTANTLY FEELING GUILTY because I ought to be writing or researching or reading something different or more relevant or more intelligent or worrying about how much I will remember, and tl;dr I really envy the woman from my old workplace who used to tear through 3-5 crappy crappy photoshop-covered fantasy romances a week because SHE WAS REALLY ENJOYING HERSELF AND I'M FUCKING NOT"), and then it was rush hour, so I bullied Jess towards Laduree to wait until the storm had passed...
(She decided she wanted to look in Fopp for YET MORE music biographies, as this is Jess's drug of choice, along with First Order slash fic, Supernatural things that do not bear speaking about, and James Herriot stories - and *I* fell over and bought a copy of The First Men On The Moon by HG Wells because it was £3 and I'd been primed by its inclusion in a beautiful hardcover in Foyles and also I haven't read that one and I *know* I like HG Wells even if I still haven't managed to finish When the Sleeper Wakes)
Laduree continues to be very nice, very pretty, very comfortable, and very expensive, with very polite staff and appalling service (last time: I hope you enjoy waiting ten years for a bill. This time: Oh right we're supposed to bring you EVERYTHING you ordered). Anyway, I had an orange blossom macaron and they're good. And started reading the introduction to Showa (1923-1939) to Jess; part of the way through this I realised I'd acquired an additional audience member in the form of a small girl with a sparkly butterfly brooch on her hat, who was standing at the next table eating sugar cubes from the bowl and watching with rather more rapt attention than Jess was.
Uhhhhh oh yeah also:
1. Boy in owl beanie allegedly checking me out in JPC (or just phenomenally awkward)
2. Horrible blump of a man made a weird fucking noise behind us both on the Tube platform then, having passed to stand further down, conspicuously rubbing his dick in a very much not just "rearranging the nuisance" manner. Jess convinced he was aiming this gesture at me, me largely convinced it was probably aimed at her.
Thanks, My Gender, I would like to rewind back to this morning and just have the Big Hench Man call me BOSS again tbh. That's about the level of interaction I can take on that front. Achilles Tendon has hurt ALL DAY and is hurting now, woohoo, and there's no date on when this is actually being released in the UK, if ever: http://variety.com/2017/film/reviews/tom-of-finland-review-1201983671/
BUT IT EXISTS, AND THAT IS THE MAIN THING.
Slog: Blah blah edit notes blah blah typing up essay. (Still to do: editing in links, sending it to Dali; outline fiddling, finish the goddamn stupid Kapoople fic especially since Liza has started making noises about doing a Wank Yourself Clever short story about Mike Bently and Freud's theory of the Anal Stage).
World: Bodily forced Jess, who returned from the ENT specialist complaining that he hadn't listened to a single thing she said about her tonsils and also bearing gifts from the charity shop (I am now the proud possessor of a bandana "specifically for flagging" and some green cut-off Levi's), to come out of the flat and into London with me for Pleasantness. In practical terms it means we went to Whole Foods and she ate a chia pudding and swore at me about being hungry while I tried and failed to drink a cup of matcha in the cold, then went to the Japan Centre as promised and was sworn at some more because I wanted to look around before committing to eating anything - she eventually sat down to eat and left me to it, although the last laugh is evidently on me because they were out of plain steamed rice and my RAGE about Wasabi's failure to provide normal portion sizes instead of RICE BUCKETS continues - anyway blah blah purchases (and a server who played "let us compare piercings" with me, thus cementing my dental-nurse experience-bred theory that piercings exist so we can make unassuming small talk) and also the little JPC bookshop.
After some coaxing and more swearing I persuaded Jess that she wanted to go to Foyles for coffee, which was in hindsight a bad move as this culminated in a) protracted bitching in a very crowded cafe about subjects unsuited to public places, and b) buying books. I wasn't going to, but I found a copy of Shigeru Mizuki's Showa (the first volume) and liked the look of it and was BOILING WITH ANGER about self-inflicted problems ("I would like to be able to read! Just indulge myself in reading a lot! Instead of CONSTANTLY FEELING GUILTY because I ought to be writing or researching or reading something different or more relevant or more intelligent or worrying about how much I will remember, and tl;dr I really envy the woman from my old workplace who used to tear through 3-5 crappy crappy photoshop-covered fantasy romances a week because SHE WAS REALLY ENJOYING HERSELF AND I'M FUCKING NOT"), and then it was rush hour, so I bullied Jess towards Laduree to wait until the storm had passed...
(She decided she wanted to look in Fopp for YET MORE music biographies, as this is Jess's drug of choice, along with First Order slash fic, Supernatural things that do not bear speaking about, and James Herriot stories - and *I* fell over and bought a copy of The First Men On The Moon by HG Wells because it was £3 and I'd been primed by its inclusion in a beautiful hardcover in Foyles and also I haven't read that one and I *know* I like HG Wells even if I still haven't managed to finish When the Sleeper Wakes)
Laduree continues to be very nice, very pretty, very comfortable, and very expensive, with very polite staff and appalling service (last time: I hope you enjoy waiting ten years for a bill. This time: Oh right we're supposed to bring you EVERYTHING you ordered). Anyway, I had an orange blossom macaron and they're good. And started reading the introduction to Showa (1923-1939) to Jess; part of the way through this I realised I'd acquired an additional audience member in the form of a small girl with a sparkly butterfly brooch on her hat, who was standing at the next table eating sugar cubes from the bowl and watching with rather more rapt attention than Jess was.
Uhhhhh oh yeah also:
1. Boy in owl beanie allegedly checking me out in JPC (or just phenomenally awkward)
2. Horrible blump of a man made a weird fucking noise behind us both on the Tube platform then, having passed to stand further down, conspicuously rubbing his dick in a very much not just "rearranging the nuisance" manner. Jess convinced he was aiming this gesture at me, me largely convinced it was probably aimed at her.
Thanks, My Gender, I would like to rewind back to this morning and just have the Big Hench Man call me BOSS again tbh. That's about the level of interaction I can take on that front. Achilles Tendon has hurt ALL DAY and is hurting now, woohoo, and there's no date on when this is actually being released in the UK, if ever: http://variety.com/2017/film/reviews/tom-of-finland-review-1201983671/
BUT IT EXISTS, AND THAT IS THE MAIN THING.