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Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
...More than $5k damage estimated to the car, not to mention several days of work lost already because it's taking forever to sort a rental. As I've seen people saying, could somebody turn 2016 off and back on again to see if that would help...?

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feeling: scared scared

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On today's episode of "Mum's Adventures In Driving", she parked the car, went inside to pick up the delivery-job, and came back out to find that a guy from the company she was picking up at had backed the sticky-out-bit of the back of the company's truck through her back window.

They are allegedly going to pay for this.

I think that if they don't SHE WILL FIND THEM, ifyouknowwhatImean. She's a bit stressed.

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feeling: aggravated aggravated

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Still sewing up blanket -- edges done, now I have to experiment with ways to secure the strips to one another in the middles. This may well take another year...


I've been trying all week to wrap my head around the idea of a world without David Bowie in it. The depth of my own response has caught me by surprise: I think at least half of it's coming out of that old Brainweaselly "and here nobody even notices you when you're in the room, much less would your passing be the lead news around the world", which may be an impossibly high bar but tell that to Brainweasels; but the other half is that simple shock of having a rug that's always been there pulled out from under you, because I'm very nearly the same age as his fame and I've never known a world without his influence. A well-played life, indeed.




Did I mention that the yarn shop I hang out at as 2/3 of my Alleged Social Life is closing at the end of this month? Yeah, there may be some serious emotional displacement going on here.

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feeling: crushed crushed

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And all that remains is the assembly; once I've got the pieces woven together and sewn at the edge, I shall have a blanket that's about... um, six foot square. Yeeeeah. Surprisingly, did not have to buy any additional yarn, though my worsted-weight stash is pretty well cleaned out and I'll have to nick one skein back from Mum for the edging.

Onward to other ongoing yearlong endeavours: 2016 marks year eleven of Media Consumption lists, with year ten coming in at 146 books, and 57 films, and ten years tilting at this bloody windmill at a grand total of 965 books and 491 films. Um. Yes. If anyone cares to check the math, go ahead, I'll just be lying here with a cold cloth over my eyes. On to the second ten years:

Media Consumption List, 2016Collapse )

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feeling: well-read

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She wants to stay up to see if the wolf will bring the sun back.

A good wolf would, she insists. And it's not like I can argue with her there. It's lesson number one around here, no matter how weird her extended pack is. Never let anyone tell you that raised by wolves is an insult.

"Look, Pupcake, we can wake you up real early and it'll be almost the same, right? You don't have to try to stay up all night."

I don't know where she got that glare from. Maybe Sandra. I'll have to ask Mom. "They get to go out."

We're not quite at the developmental stage where I can even explain which part of that is the most ridiculous, when I did let her have some of Cecily's glitter for her hair when she asked. When Millennials parent, Max murmurs.

"All right for you, Grampula, maybe you noticed that I don't get to go out clubbing either."

Trev's pleading look says that he'd happily, happily stay home with her if he thought he could get away with it, or get the eyeliner off by himself either. "We'll wake you both when we get back in," he promises, with an expression to say that if he has anything to do with it that'll be in about an hour. There's more honking from down in the street, and a moment later Trev frowns and pulls out his phone; "-- She 'has her dancing feet on'," he reports, and gloomily lets himself be herded towards the door to the horrible fate of a night out of dinner, dancing, and dinner. I hope it goes okay, Cecily's looking a little eager.

Oh, well, there's always midnight mass and Chinese to look forward to, if nobody's on the run by then, and we can bring the Pup to that. I sigh and go to fetch her a bedtimey book: "Okay, so, which do you want, 'Goodnight Moon', or 'Go The Fuck To Sleep', huh? Please?"

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feeling: devious devious

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Decided to go on ahead and finish up the knitting on the blanket:
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26 strips in total, which I now have to math into one big piece; going with the weaving idea, that means trying to get them all blocked into a size that's 1/13th as wide as it is long, so proooobably about 5'x4.5" -- I've pulled out the two longest and the two shortest to see how well they can be massaged into being the same dimensions. And then I have to find the space and the time-stroke-patience to pin them all out to dry in shifts, because as you can see it's quite the area they cover and this ain't gonna happen all in one go... More To Come.

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feeling: accomplished accomplished

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And then there was the part where Mum bumped the lightswitch that's been on notice for Suspicious Behaviour for a couple of years and it made sizzly noises and smelled like melting plastic; we've declared that circuit off-limits for realsies until we can get an electrician in to assess the situation, because clearly that is not normal or reasonable by any stretch, but now we're sitting here mostly in the dark because it's one of the 3-way switches for the hallway and god only knows what it might be cross-connected to given that nothing in this place seems to have been wired up correctly in the first place. More money we do not have, more resentments we did not need.

(My suspicion, for what it might be worth, is that since this particular switch sits roughly across the line where the two halves of the building are settling unevenly, "somebody" never left enough slack in the wires for this eventuality and something's pulled loose. We shall see.)

Here, have a picture of Festive Ren to compensate. I note that he's just about stopped speaking to me at all at this point, but I'm sure that this has nothing to do with that...

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feeling: aggravated aggravated

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Yep, this is still happening. Which no one is more surprised by than me, believe me. Only two more strips of swatches to go...

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feeling: determined determined

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Day 170? All is lost. The Baroness has recovered from the poisoning attempt and roams the castle ranting at her guards to uncover the plotters. I fear this priest-hole may soon be discovered. Remember me as I was.

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They're coming.

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feeling: silly silly

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Following on from other recent expenses and disasters, last week was bookended by serious DNW:

First, on Monday I was woken up by a call saying that Mum had had a fall at work. Fortunately she remembered to grab her phone as the Nice People were helping to sort her out and get her to hospital. Nine hours later she turned up home with a spectacular black eye but otherwise surprisingly little damage for a 75YO, IE no broken bones or serious trauma besides being kind of pissed off about the general situation. Apparently while she was checking into a building for a delivery the drone behind her in line set down his box and when she turned around she tripped straight over it and went down flat on a marble floor. Supposedly, someone, somewhere within this chain of events in insured for something, so. She still looks impressively horrible.


And then, the week's other episode of "What Fresh Hell: Medical" started when I woke up Wednesday to discover that Snip had pooped on the bathmat. She's done a lot of questionable things, but that's never been one of them. And she hadn't eaten her breakfast, which was even more suspicious for this cat. Over the course of the day it became apparent that she wasn't feeling so great, horking up blobs of spit and depositing looser and looser poops in the box. So I kept her under observation, fingers crossed that the episode would pass once she'd emptied herself out, because hey, cats do get the occasional attack of Angry!Colon like anybody.

But it didn't seem to be clearing up.

By Friday the "fuck you I'm busy" face had devolved into the "I don't have the energy to tell you to fuck off" face, which is the point where it seemed like a really really good idea to say we'll figure out how to pay for it later we are calling the vet now. And, nearly $900 later, that turned out to have been the right call: Snip was so dehydrated that she'd lost three pounds -- 1/4 of her body-weight, for those keeping score -- and in addition to various stop-oozing-out-both-ends meds had to be re-inflated with subdermal fluid like a camel's hump.

If we'd waited even until Saturday morning to bring her in she might not have made it.

Snip's on the mend now after a worrying weekend of further refusal to eat; she started begging for food again by Sunday morning, although for the first few hours she only stared at her plate like gooshyfood was some sort of cruel joke, and now she's back to something like her old patterns of demanding to be fed again every time the monkeys go even vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. And she pissed on Mum's chair, which is annoying but since it means she's back to her usual self we just cleaned it up... again... and wrote it off as a good-enough sign.

This is the second time I've been in the position with this cat, and the second time with a cat this year, that I've had to look at them suffering and try to figure out "how bad" it is, is it time to say hang the expense yet, how compassionate can I "afford" to be. And it really, really, sucks.

So that was my week. You guys?

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feeling: aggravated aggravated

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