Kangaroo court
Today, I have achieved precisely nothing at all, having meant to go to a meeting on LexisNexis (I was asleep), a meeting on Amicus (I was asleep) and a meeting for Innocence (I was... er, yeah). I, um, don't win. While today wasn't what you would call the best mental health day ever - lots of sleeping and hiding - in general, I'm on a bit of an upswing. Certainly, I have been getting more stuff done. And I have been trying to, well, revamp my life in other ways. (Step one: throw out clothes. Really. More on this anon.)
But generally speaking, life is, if not good, quite a bit better. I am snowed under with work and it is raining twenty-four hours a day, but I have a bowl of raspberries by my bed and a cat asleep with her tail on my knee. Today is shimgray's birthday (he has just looked up from his book to ask, "Are you writing about me?", and I have just admitted, yes, yes, I may possibly be writing about him) and he is, one may remember, the most difficult person in the world to buy for. (I remember bemoaning once to jacinthsong, "I'd get him a book, but he has them all.")
So, I did not get him a book. I got him a hat. He has asked, however, that I tell the story of how I got him this hat, having been somewhat (and unjustifiedly, I say) horrified by it. You see, he left his hat on a bus. He was very upset about this. I was quite upset by this. It was a rather fantastic hat. It was large and leather - I once complained about his having led a procession into a field of belligerent cows while wearing it; they were understandably upset - and waterproof and just a Very Good Hat. Finding a replacement for it was the first hard part. (The original came from Ecuador, not a place I can easily get to.) But that was managed. (I ended up on the phone to a very nice man in Wales, who apparently runs a small hat business all on his own and was desperately upset that I, presumably his only customer that day or week, had happened to buy a hat off him during the five minutes that the website was between servers and thus given up in disgust.) "I'll send it to you!" he said. "You don't have to pay postage! Please say you still want it!"
I thought I would probably be going to hell if I didn't buy said hat, after that. However, how does one ask someone tactfully for their hat size? This took thought. (I rejected the thought of measuring around his head in his sleep on the grounds of there's dedication and there's Basic Instinct.) In the end, I had lizzip, through a Machiavellian plot of her own, very cleverly get Shim to measure round his head with a piece of string (when he was at work, no less), and relay an answer. In the meantime, sir_rosealot had kindly agreed to tell him that the kind of hat he was looking for was hopelessly difficult to obtain in this country and if she were him she'd just give up now. It was marvellously dispiriting.
I was feeling very pleased with myself, and then the hat didn't come. I waited, I waited, I waited some more, then emailed the man grumpily - and was surprised at eight o'clock the next morning to be woken by a cheerful Welsh voice on the phone. "It's about your hat!"
"Bleeerugh?"
"Is the person you want it for there with you?"
"Urgh."
"I'll send you another one!"
And he did, indeed, send me another one. It hid in plain view in my room for two weeks, was not noticed at all, I managed to misdirect him by the simple expedient of outrageous lying - he did not believe I was getting him a diver's helmet, or a solar panel, or a baby tiger, though seemed briefly unsure on a Wheat Thin the size of Lake Tahoe - and today, gave him his large brown kangaroo-leather hat, two bags of glacier mints and a Michael Chabon novel. I think I feel good about it. Happy birthday, dear.
Tomorrow, I shall go to class! And to lectures! And do some work, omg, and do my criminal coursework, omg, and generally Be Productive, and possibly sit down and tell the internet all about my astonishing throwing-out-clothes plan. But, hey, okay days, and I'm still here.
But generally speaking, life is, if not good, quite a bit better. I am snowed under with work and it is raining twenty-four hours a day, but I have a bowl of raspberries by my bed and a cat asleep with her tail on my knee. Today is shimgray's birthday (he has just looked up from his book to ask, "Are you writing about me?", and I have just admitted, yes, yes, I may possibly be writing about him) and he is, one may remember, the most difficult person in the world to buy for. (I remember bemoaning once to jacinthsong, "I'd get him a book, but he has them all.")
So, I did not get him a book. I got him a hat. He has asked, however, that I tell the story of how I got him this hat, having been somewhat (and unjustifiedly, I say) horrified by it. You see, he left his hat on a bus. He was very upset about this. I was quite upset by this. It was a rather fantastic hat. It was large and leather - I once complained about his having led a procession into a field of belligerent cows while wearing it; they were understandably upset - and waterproof and just a Very Good Hat. Finding a replacement for it was the first hard part. (The original came from Ecuador, not a place I can easily get to.) But that was managed. (I ended up on the phone to a very nice man in Wales, who apparently runs a small hat business all on his own and was desperately upset that I, presumably his only customer that day or week, had happened to buy a hat off him during the five minutes that the website was between servers and thus given up in disgust.) "I'll send it to you!" he said. "You don't have to pay postage! Please say you still want it!"
![rather fantastic hat](http://http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v249/71/29/36806947/n36806947_36598717_3392.jpg"){kind=link}
I thought I would probably be going to hell if I didn't buy said hat, after that. However, how does one ask someone tactfully for their hat size? This took thought. (I rejected the thought of measuring around his head in his sleep on the grounds of there's dedication and there's Basic Instinct.) In the end, I had lizzip, through a Machiavellian plot of her own, very cleverly get Shim to measure round his head with a piece of string (when he was at work, no less), and relay an answer. In the meantime, sir_rosealot had kindly agreed to tell him that the kind of hat he was looking for was hopelessly difficult to obtain in this country and if she were him she'd just give up now. It was marvellously dispiriting.
I was feeling very pleased with myself, and then the hat didn't come. I waited, I waited, I waited some more, then emailed the man grumpily - and was surprised at eight o'clock the next morning to be woken by a cheerful Welsh voice on the phone. "It's about your hat!"
"Bleeerugh?"
"Is the person you want it for there with you?"
"Urgh."
"I'll send you another one!"
And he did, indeed, send me another one. It hid in plain view in my room for two weeks, was not noticed at all, I managed to misdirect him by the simple expedient of outrageous lying - he did not believe I was getting him a diver's helmet, or a solar panel, or a baby tiger, though seemed briefly unsure on a Wheat Thin the size of Lake Tahoe - and today, gave him his large brown kangaroo-leather hat, two bags of glacier mints and a Michael Chabon novel. I think I feel good about it. Happy birthday, dear.
Tomorrow, I shall go to class! And to lectures! And do some work, omg, and do my criminal coursework, omg, and generally Be Productive, and possibly sit down and tell the internet all about my astonishing throwing-out-clothes plan. But, hey, okay days, and I'm still here.