never been theirs and was still theirs in that way.
A THOUSAND-POUND WEIGHT has just been lifted off my shoulders.
To recap: supervisor out Thursday and Friday, and me assigned the weighty task of getting the proofs for the fall magazine fixed up and sent out whenever they should come in. The proofs, as far as I could tell, did not come, and I spent the last few hours of Friday and most of the rest of the weekend in a stew of terror set at a low simmer - was I an idiot? Not looking in the right places? I checked the mailroom, like, four times on Friday; maybe I should have actually found the woman who sends the mail up, and asked her? DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD: I was freaked out enough that I actually dreamed last night about getting to work and being forgiven because none of it had been my fault. And then I wake up, and it is like doom outside - lots of wind, heavy clouds, and, even more ominously, it starts pouring the minute I get in my car.
And then I make it in this morning, and my supervisor's back, checking the single message on her phone - which was left on Friday afternoon, by the guy at the printing company, saying he had just Fedexed them to us, and they should be there by today. \o/! Victory is mine, and I am so totally drinking from the keg of glory.
Saturday, my mind was temporarily taken off my troubles by a trip back up to Burlington to see Br and AT; we did not make cloaks, which had apparently been the original plan for the afternoon, but we did get food and watch the OotP movie. It was great fun to watch it with Br - she hasn't read the books, so her grasp of the course of events in the Harry Potter universe is a little shaky. Also, she had totally forgotten about Sirius.
And Sunday, of course, there was Sherlock. That was much better than the second one, though it still left me feeling a bit wrong-footed. I've been going back and re-reading magnetic-pole's meta after each episode, which may have something to do with it; I also have sort of the opposite problem Sherlock does when it comes to identifying with people, and I almost started to cry a couple of times just watching those people be terrified. :P
The scene with the guy in Belarus at the beginning just ... totally didn't work for me, I don't know. "Correcting" a dialect to make it align better with Standard British English is not something I find particularly amusing anymore, after enough linguistic anthropology courses, and combined with Sherlock caring more about that than about the brutal murder being described to him - I get that it is a facet of his character, I do, but it was still weirdly unpleasant.
I also thought the bit about Jim Not-Yet-Revealed-as-Moriarty being gay was just plain stupid. The only actual piece of evidence was the number he left; everything else was a set of choices about personal appearance that have no actual logical relationship to sexuality. Hell, I would have expected Sherlock to be pointing out the illogic of using stereotypes to assess people, not relying on it himself. :P
But I did like the puzzle format; Donovan was back, if for only about thirty seconds; and Moriarty was excellent. Aside from those two bits, there was nothing in particular about this episode that bugged me - there's just something about the overall feeling it left me with that I'm not sure I like. It felt to me like the show was trying to tell us Sherlock was a little creepy for not caring more about the people who were killed, while simultaneously structuring the episode such that it was incredibly difficult to care, and making a big huge deal out of, "But Sherlock does care about John, see? See?! That's what's important here!" Which, obviously part of me was over the moon about that, but the rest of me felt a little manipulated and a little wigged out. **hands** I do want to hang on and see the next series, if only to find out what happens next.
[crossposted; original at Dreamwidth]
To recap: supervisor out Thursday and Friday, and me assigned the weighty task of getting the proofs for the fall magazine fixed up and sent out whenever they should come in. The proofs, as far as I could tell, did not come, and I spent the last few hours of Friday and most of the rest of the weekend in a stew of terror set at a low simmer - was I an idiot? Not looking in the right places? I checked the mailroom, like, four times on Friday; maybe I should have actually found the woman who sends the mail up, and asked her? DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD: I was freaked out enough that I actually dreamed last night about getting to work and being forgiven because none of it had been my fault. And then I wake up, and it is like doom outside - lots of wind, heavy clouds, and, even more ominously, it starts pouring the minute I get in my car.
And then I make it in this morning, and my supervisor's back, checking the single message on her phone - which was left on Friday afternoon, by the guy at the printing company, saying he had just Fedexed them to us, and they should be there by today. \o/! Victory is mine, and I am so totally drinking from the keg of glory.
Saturday, my mind was temporarily taken off my troubles by a trip back up to Burlington to see Br and AT; we did not make cloaks, which had apparently been the original plan for the afternoon, but we did get food and watch the OotP movie. It was great fun to watch it with Br - she hasn't read the books, so her grasp of the course of events in the Harry Potter universe is a little shaky. Also, she had totally forgotten about Sirius.
And Sunday, of course, there was Sherlock. That was much better than the second one, though it still left me feeling a bit wrong-footed. I've been going back and re-reading magnetic-pole's meta after each episode, which may have something to do with it; I also have sort of the opposite problem Sherlock does when it comes to identifying with people, and I almost started to cry a couple of times just watching those people be terrified. :P
The scene with the guy in Belarus at the beginning just ... totally didn't work for me, I don't know. "Correcting" a dialect to make it align better with Standard British English is not something I find particularly amusing anymore, after enough linguistic anthropology courses, and combined with Sherlock caring more about that than about the brutal murder being described to him - I get that it is a facet of his character, I do, but it was still weirdly unpleasant.
I also thought the bit about Jim Not-Yet-Revealed-as-Moriarty being gay was just plain stupid. The only actual piece of evidence was the number he left; everything else was a set of choices about personal appearance that have no actual logical relationship to sexuality. Hell, I would have expected Sherlock to be pointing out the illogic of using stereotypes to assess people, not relying on it himself. :P
But I did like the puzzle format; Donovan was back, if for only about thirty seconds; and Moriarty was excellent. Aside from those two bits, there was nothing in particular about this episode that bugged me - there's just something about the overall feeling it left me with that I'm not sure I like. It felt to me like the show was trying to tell us Sherlock was a little creepy for not caring more about the people who were killed, while simultaneously structuring the episode such that it was incredibly difficult to care, and making a big huge deal out of, "But Sherlock does care about John, see? See?! That's what's important here!" Which, obviously part of me was over the moon about that, but the rest of me felt a little manipulated and a little wigged out. **hands** I do want to hang on and see the next series, if only to find out what happens next.
[crossposted; original at Dreamwidth]