Murrmurrmurr and derp and ggrrblaaah bah.
This is one of those days that starts early, when you stumble out into the thickest of fogs that even the taxi driver is being careful. I knew as soon as I stepped outside that the flight was going to be delayed. Sometimes I think I delay flights just by having a ticket for them.
I ate a sandwhich and watched Six Feet Under. I read my book. I refrained from buying another one because there was no room left in my bag (I managed to fit everything into carryon, Cath! Be proud of me.) Eventually the sun had burned off enough of the fog that flights could start coming in again.
Everyone else on the plane seemed to be a businessmen. They thronged about in their suits, looking at their graphs, being cliches. I sat defiantly around in my stripy socks feeling totally weird and out of place and listening to one Laura Marling song and one Voltaire song on repeat and staring out at the mountains and being an odd little cliche of my own.
At work I'm once again sitting in my little desk tucked away in the corner of the library. Everyone else went out for drinks because it's someone's birthday and I lied and said I had to study. I do have to study, so that bit wasn't a lie, but I knew I was far too drained to manage it. Socialising. Ugh. The work people are nice and all but I'm not me around them, and it is really exhausting, not being me. I should work on that. But if I was me today I would have been hell to work with. I am Angry!Ali, and Moody!Ali, and Fragile!Ali, so it was better for everyone concerned that I kept my customer service easygoing colleage face firmly on.
The taxi driver this morning was talking about the London riots and called everyone involved "Human trash" and AUGH it fucked me off. Human trash. Uggh. Noooo. I wanted to stab him in the face (I told you, Angry!Ali) not that I am defending the rioters, I am just illustrating the point that I felt unstable to the point where NAMECALLING made me want to maim something. Just like there was too much shit and violence and broken things in the world and that last comment was just too much.
Sirens keep going past. The hospital is just across the road. Sirens all the time. And just now something went BANG just outside. I do not like.
This is one of those motels that wraps your toilet in a paper ribbon to prove to you how clean it is.
I don't think... a place should have to prove their toilet is hygienic. Also I don't think a white paper ribbon with gold writing is the best way of doing this.
There is a sign above the tea and coffee making facilities that says "NO COOKING OF TOAST OR ANY FOOD" like toast isn't a legitimate food. There is no toaster, which leads me to believe they have been under siege by hoards of holiday makers who bring their own toasters and gleefully set all the fire alarms off at breakfast time. Possibly too they are very anti-cylon.
If I want breakfast I have to go over to the restaurant and eat there, which throws my morning routine totally out of whack. It's supposed to go wake up, refuel, then make self presentable. Not wake up, make self presentable, refuel.
Piss piss moan moan.
I forgot shamp/cond, although that seems to be the only thing that had to be sacrificed in the carryon-baggage mission. There aren't any supermarkets around here, which means that I can't get drunk on supermarket wine, but I did manage to find a dairy that had shampoo. It was after a long day at work pretending to be nice and I looked at the tiny selection and accidentally knocked them all over and panicked and picked up the fallen ones and bought them and so now I have man's shampoo and smell weirdly manly.
But I kind of like it. It overpowers the conditioner, which is "free me freesia" and only makes me think I'm washing my hair in Bella's blood (oddly satisfying thought, that.)
Still, my hair is fooling my nose into thinking there is a boy in the room. Hiding behind me. Being a creepster. Smelling delicious.
I ate a sandwhich and watched Six Feet Under. I read my book. I refrained from buying another one because there was no room left in my bag (I managed to fit everything into carryon, Cath! Be proud of me.) Eventually the sun had burned off enough of the fog that flights could start coming in again.
Everyone else on the plane seemed to be a businessmen. They thronged about in their suits, looking at their graphs, being cliches. I sat defiantly around in my stripy socks feeling totally weird and out of place and listening to one Laura Marling song and one Voltaire song on repeat and staring out at the mountains and being an odd little cliche of my own.
At work I'm once again sitting in my little desk tucked away in the corner of the library. Everyone else went out for drinks because it's someone's birthday and I lied and said I had to study. I do have to study, so that bit wasn't a lie, but I knew I was far too drained to manage it. Socialising. Ugh. The work people are nice and all but I'm not me around them, and it is really exhausting, not being me. I should work on that. But if I was me today I would have been hell to work with. I am Angry!Ali, and Moody!Ali, and Fragile!Ali, so it was better for everyone concerned that I kept my customer service easygoing colleage face firmly on.
The taxi driver this morning was talking about the London riots and called everyone involved "Human trash" and AUGH it fucked me off. Human trash. Uggh. Noooo. I wanted to stab him in the face (I told you, Angry!Ali) not that I am defending the rioters, I am just illustrating the point that I felt unstable to the point where NAMECALLING made me want to maim something. Just like there was too much shit and violence and broken things in the world and that last comment was just too much.
Sirens keep going past. The hospital is just across the road. Sirens all the time. And just now something went BANG just outside. I do not like.
This is one of those motels that wraps your toilet in a paper ribbon to prove to you how clean it is.
I don't think... a place should have to prove their toilet is hygienic. Also I don't think a white paper ribbon with gold writing is the best way of doing this.
There is a sign above the tea and coffee making facilities that says "NO COOKING OF TOAST OR ANY FOOD" like toast isn't a legitimate food. There is no toaster, which leads me to believe they have been under siege by hoards of holiday makers who bring their own toasters and gleefully set all the fire alarms off at breakfast time. Possibly too they are very anti-cylon.
If I want breakfast I have to go over to the restaurant and eat there, which throws my morning routine totally out of whack. It's supposed to go wake up, refuel, then make self presentable. Not wake up, make self presentable, refuel.
Piss piss moan moan.
I forgot shamp/cond, although that seems to be the only thing that had to be sacrificed in the carryon-baggage mission. There aren't any supermarkets around here, which means that I can't get drunk on supermarket wine, but I did manage to find a dairy that had shampoo. It was after a long day at work pretending to be nice and I looked at the tiny selection and accidentally knocked them all over and panicked and picked up the fallen ones and bought them and so now I have man's shampoo and smell weirdly manly.
But I kind of like it. It overpowers the conditioner, which is "free me freesia" and only makes me think I'm washing my hair in Bella's blood (oddly satisfying thought, that.)
Still, my hair is fooling my nose into thinking there is a boy in the room. Hiding behind me. Being a creepster. Smelling delicious.