Can’t say it feels much different from being 21… My birthday was on the fourth. So far my twenty-second year is not going well. Still can’t write, have barely enough money to breathe etc. etc.
In other news, am having much fun at work, and am still alive. It’s my sister’s birthday today, and she is going to kill me because I haven’t gotten her a present yet.
I made a huge mistake, and I think I’m about to lose my job.
Going to be at work this weekend. Just like last weekend and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that…
Well. So, Albert might have a new job. Yayness is me, as this will mean that I will once again be able to sit down. Boredom does strange things to that man.
So, last week, I was off for two days. I come back, and there is no internet. Oh, how I suffered! Working Sunday late shift in a hotel with no internet? Not fun. And then, on Monday…no internet. Still. Picture me sitting in front of computer, burning incense for the Internet Gods.
BERNICE: Oh, Lords of All Knowledge, wherefore hast thou forsaken me?
THE INTERNET: Because you just said wherefore in cold blood. Also, don’t you have work?
BERNICE: Work? What is this work? Why do you use these big words that hurt my brain, O Internet?
INTERNET: Because you are an idiot. Go away, and try to do some actual, y’know, work?
BERNICE: I will now ponder the meaning of these wise revelations from the Internet. Ommm, awarreeeya, gangalosh, rrrrammarooooja….
PEOPLE AT WORK: Is she going into withdrawal? Do we need to call an ambulance?
The internet got fixed just before I knocked off on Monday for another mysterious two days off (I suspect that they just didn’t want me to have the weekend off because there’s a big conference coming in and we all know how much I love conferences 
)
And now, finally, I have internet. Yay for something to do at work!
Oh, yes. And CSS, the company Albert was working for…no longer exists. As of Tuesday, he’s officially unemployed. First thing my mom said? ‘You know you can always move back home, honey.’ I love my mom, but sometimes I could murder her with a sock and two peanuts.
And yesterday I broke my father’s computer. Well, not exactly broke broke. It just…doesn’t work anymore. And it’s kind of my fault. And my flash, which contained the newest draft of my book, all my Maya fic, a lot of dribs and drabs that I’ve written over the years…corrupt. Completely skrood. I’m going to have to format it if I ever want to use it again. All that lovely data…Lady Luck’s a bitch.
In other news, Gabriel? Very good. For a given value of good. My personal value of good is basically: Does it have Teh Eye Candy?
The answer here is a resounding YES! Everyone is hot, from Gabriel the tattooed arcangel to the fallen angel-cum-hooker (pun srsly not intended). Best yet? Gabriel has glowing blue eyes just like the Fremen from Dune! *cue fangirly love-fest*. Plus I think the same actor might have actually played in Dune. As Paul Atreides, actually. Let me know if anyone knows for a fact that that’s not true.
Well, it’s Sunday. And I am bored like you wouldn’t believe. I have decided the fates are playing a horrible trick on me. I am sitting at work and surfing the Internet, and I am bored. That’s not right, surely?
Anyway, I watched Conan the Barbarian the other day. The suckiness was duly embraced, and I laughed so much I thought I would actually die.
Am going home. Love going home.
Will drink much coffee and be very lazy. And also, will try to install Rise of Nations. Damn game refuses to work! Grrrr.
So today started out terribly.
As you all know, I’m blind as a bat. So when my glasses are not where I expect them to be…well, I tend to start freaking out.
This morning, they were not only not where I expected them to be – they were, in fact, nowhere to be found.
I woke up Albert. I made coffee (and if you think making coffee by touch is fun, think again). We moved the bed a grand total of six times. We interrogated the cat. We checked the garbage and the stuffing of the PC chair.
Alas, for the glasses were nowhere to be found, and Merlin waxed pretty much the opposite of verbose.
Eventually, though, the glasses were found. Yes, the quest ended in joyous success.
And I was twenty minutes late for work, but Sheron was already there so that didn’t matter much.
And tomorrow, there will be siblings, and computer parts, and all things wondrous. Yay!
*Much Later*
Have had bad day. The other girl lost my pen, which I had to buy because they don’t supply us with stationery that works, and then I got shat upon for saying she had to buy me a new one. While I’m expected to buy back a flashdrive which someone stole out of the office, and nobody says a word.
I really really hate this job.
Writing is like a psychotic boyfriend, now that I think about it. You know the type – your parents love him, your sisters adore him, your friends think he might be ‘The One’ for you. And none of them notice the way you walk hunched over all of a sudden to keep your heart from breaking, and the bruises that are the reason why you suddenly wear a lot of make-up.
Writing is a lot like that. Sometimes, when it’s good, it’s very good. But when it’s bad, it’s worse than anything you can imagine.
I haven’t been writing for a year and a half now. It’s like being in heroin withdrawal, with the added bonus that your drug of choice doesn’t work anymore. I still love writing. I still love the feel of a character or a story inside of me, waiting to come to life. I imagine that that’s what being pregnant must feel like.
I just can’t do it anymore. I am filled with ideas, pregnant with them…but when the time comes to put them on a page, I just can’t do it. I write perhaps two pages and think to myself ‘what utter shit. Nobody will ever read this!’ and it’s true. Because somehow, somewhere, I seem to have lost the confidence in myself that made it possible, even when I despised myself and wanted to die, to write and get myself out of there. Writing was my lifeline back then, lifting me out of myself and taking me to places where I could be whoever I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do. And it doesn’t work anymore.
Because since this thing happened to me – this thing that turned my art against me – writing has been my pain. Not my drug against the agony of life, but the cause of it. And that’s never happened to me before.
And I still want it. That’s the worst part. Maybe I’m just too stubborn for my own good, unwilling to give up on the idea that I will be a writer, or maybe I’m meant to get through this and go on writing, someday even something worth reading.
And that’s why writing is like a psychotic boyfriend. You know he’s only going to hurt you. You know he’s bad.
You know that ever time he says ‘it’ll never happen again,’ never is really only ‘until next time’ because it will happen again.
And you still go back.
Because despite what the world wants you to believe, there are more important things than being happy. And art is one of those things.
I made a brochure for work yesterday. It was brilliant and wonderful and CORRECTLY SPELLED – which might sound like nothing to brag about to you, but in good old S of A, that’s a pretty unusual sight.
It took me hours to get it just right, because they had to have it right the hell now and wouldn’t give me time to, y’know, think, and kept making me change it when I was almost done…they drove me mad.
Know what they did then? They sent it to the printers, and then had them change the whole thing. What I did was stunning. Clean, classical lines, not too much fuss, goes perfectly with the hotel. Pictures placed where they made sense.
The printers covered the whole thing in orange, so that the text is hardly readable. The moved the pictures to the top of the page, where they are completely out of context. It’s gross.
But hey, that’s their problem. They’d just better not ask me to do their bloody brochures again.
I’m not in a good mood today. I am tired, and grumpy, and my head feels as though a herd of elephants are doing the flamenco in it.
On the plus side, in twenty minutes I’m going shopping with my mom, which is always fun. I love my mom, btw.
And on the other upside – I’m getting a new, big, hard drive for Elvis (Elvis is my laptop. Shut up.) and also some more RAM. Yay!
I feel better already!
Off shopping now! My relief came early.
Quote for the Day: “It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them.”
Pierre Beaumarchais
As epitomized by my manager, who will argue to the death to defend her wrong-headed opinions about things she doesn’t know a damn thing about.
And so does talking to stupid people. My sister-in-law is in the hospital. They think she might have had a mini-stroke. Am very worried.My brother is obviously freaking out, but she will be fine.
Almost time to go home for my weekend off, which will include: visiting my Small Sibling, Visiting my Large Aunt, Sleeping Late and Not Working. Hahahahahahahahah! Soon I shall be back, with pictures of all these very strenuous activities.
I can’t wait.
In the meantime: ‘Idle hands are the Devil’s playground.’ He’s gonna go ape on mine this weekend.
I think I shall watch Shaun of the Dead. Funniest zombie movie ever.
Welcome to my blog. Here you will find pretty much anything that interests me, as well as gratuitous details on the life of a single mommy in South Africa.
