Wold you do this?

Would you work eight extra hours while you’re sick, on fifteen minutes’ notice?
Because apparently I should have.

In any case.

I have finished The Naked God, and it’s like a genie popped out of nowhere to grant me all my wishes. I really loved that book.

In other news, Albert was an Asshole Royal last night – dragging me out to his friends’ place until ten when he knows I have to be at work at six, and then fucking off to some other friends untill bloody midnihgt. He also said they phoned him to go, but I was tired, not deaf. They never phoned him. So either he went there out of his own will, or he never went there at all. And thus was out doing godknowswhat with godknowswho. He also smoked all my cigarettes.

To sum up: I hate my job, I love the book, and Albert is a pain.

Weekend coming up…working again

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.

My so-Called Life

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, I’m back.

We climbed the mountain on my aunt’s farm this weekend. It was much fun. I made it ll the way up and all the way down, and then I got knocked down by a giant dog.

I feel that this was unnecessary. Albert was most concerned, and spent an hour last night massaging my ass and my one leg, because he is just that cool. This is the view from on top of the mountain.

This is me, on top of the mountain. Feeling very proud of myself, I might add.

Some other random pictures we took up there and on the way down.

Me and Albert. He looks pretty doesn’t he?

Pretty little blue flowers. I love them…see how spiky they are?

This looks a little like a satellite picture of the Earth, doesn’t it?

Strange how it looks like it belongs there, isn’t it?

Like a rose

The family graveyard on the family farm. My grandfather and grandmother are buried there, as well as a great-uncle. Someday I hope they bury me there.

The dog that knocked me down.
Her name is Demi, and her main problem is that she still thinks she’s a puppy, instead of a quite overweight dog.

And I never did watch Shaun of the Dead. Sux.

It’s too early to be alive.

Well, now I understand why my manager was so grumpy yesterday. She’d torn her calf muscle to shreds. Nice, huh?
So I tried to phone Vikki, my Sensei-o’-Doom, to find out what she should do with it, but no joy, for Vikki does not pick up her phone.

Anyway, you absolutely HAVE to checkout this site because it’s brilliant. It’s a YA fantasy review/rec site.

Cleaned the house yesterday – Albert washed all the floors, which is fair since he puked on them. Well, not all of them, but the point remains valid. Flat is now shiny. Plus he moved the furniture around while I was at work. Looks nice.

So busy! Day from Hell!

Going home now. Sleeping for a year.

Last night

The braai did not materialise.

But on the upside, on the way to buy some cigarettes and more mix for Albert’s whisky, we met two guys who checked into the hotel where I work yesterday. We ended up taking them home, getting drunk with them and having a great time in general. They left at around 23:00, which was actually a good thing because shortly after that, Albert got mightily sick. I haven’t checked yet (and I’m not going to) but I think he repainted the entire bathroom floor Puke Green. Fortunately today is Cleaning Day. He will be cleaning it up, because my sympathy for people who are stupid enough to get that drunk is strictly limited. When you start feeling sick, drinking stops being fun. That’s why you stop drinking before that. Which also neatly avoids situations like passing out and waking up with your nails painted sparkly pink (Yes, I am a bad person )

But back to the guys. I think they were called Rowan and Chris. Chris is black, and on Friday night they and their friends got kicked out of one of our three nightclubs, because he was black. Yes, this is still South Africa. Apartheid is alive and well. Anyway, so they stopped us to ask for directions to any kind of metal club, which naturally we don’t have. So we invited them back to our place. Much fun was had by all. Chris thinks I’m some kind of genius because after three years of History of Art he doesn’t know what Pre-Raphaelite is. And despite never having studied that, I do. It’s very sad. He decided that I know everything.
Which is funny, because recently I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t know very much about anything at all. There are whole schools of knowledge that I don’t know about at all. And that’s strange, because people who meet me often think that I know many things about many subjects – and the funny thing is, often I do. But only the surface things, the things I would expect any half-intelligent human being to know. And then they treat it like divine wisdom handed down from on high – and I might be completely wrong. I’ve been completely wrong about any number of things, like the rime I thought a fat thirteen-year-old could get away with hotpants and high heels. Have we become so ignorant that the ignorant are considered wise? Because I am ignorant of so many things, and yet…some people find my intelligence intimidating.
People are weird. People are like aliens but without the things that make aliens funny. Like tentacles. I would much rather have tentacles than nose hair, actually.

I ended up cooking the boerewors in the pan – it turned out nicer than it would have if we’d tried to braai it, and putting it on bread slices. Albert didn’t have any. His loss. There wasn’t room in the tiny fridge for his leftover so I put it in a covered dish and left it on the counter. Hope the ants don’t eat it.

Albert just called. Was very apologetic re:puking all over bathroom last night, forgetting to light the fire etc. Was also v. worried, as he woke up and went ‘WTF where’s my girlfriend?’. Also worried about whether or not I ate last night. Infromed him re: location of his dinner and womanfully restrained myself from mocking the man with the hangover.

That’s my man. He might be a doofus, but he’s a sweet doofus.

So. Writing

Is a lot like sex, actually. If not done right, it isn’t worth the effort. Because I have read some bad books, and I have had some bad sex, and the two are much alike.

Both times you end up staring at the ceiling wishing it were over already.

That was my quote for the day.

I’m at work. I am not enjoying it. I am not allowed to do any writing on the work PC – but I can surf the web. And of actual work there is no sign. Because it’s almost June, and it’s cold, and who goes on holiday in the middle of winter anyway?
Ah, well, such is life. And tonight, there will be a braai, and Albert, and booze (I have some kind of sweet cream-liqueur lined up. Albert has whisky.)

And tomorrow I will be back at work, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 06:00. On a Sunday.
I hate my job.