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bother, fiddlesticks, grim determination
Monday, 5 March 2007 09:49 amYou know those days when the universe simply conspires? This is one of them.
I've had insufficient sleep because the car alarm keeps going off randomly, even when not actually set, necessitating dozing with the remote clutched in my hand like an odd and knobbly teddy bear, so I can sleepily push the button when the car, yet again, arms its alarm spontaneously and then goes off. Then I trundle up to campus and sit through three iterations of the Windows Blue Screen of Death before this bucket of random plastic and silicon masquerading as a computer condescends to boot up. Then I discover that I'm out of teabags in my office, which is driving me peculiarly crazy not only because of caffeine withdrawal, but because I could have sworn there were several left last week, and I don't know if this means my memory is even more cheeselike than usual, or if the cleaning staff have been pilfering.
Then Traffic Control phones, because my car is sitting in the parking lot randomly setting off its alarm, I suspect under the more or less psychotically delusional belief that it's being hijacked. Sod's law dictates that the car is, of course, parked six flights of stairs away rather than the more usual four. On the way up the stairs, clutching the knobbly teddy-bear and muttering imprecations under my breath, I am unexpectedly fallen on by a large, muscular young student male who turns his ankle and dives head-first down the steps above me. I escape serious squashing by fending him off with both palms planted firmly in his midriff, thus spreading the day's joys a little, but incidentally ricking my wrist. (He's fine. Darned youth). I get back to my office and have to reboot again anyway because the computer has randomly lost the keyboard.
In addition to these little woes, I have a horrible dose of PMT which is making me feel queasy, antisocial and slightly light-headed. The dear little birdies in our garden have creatively invented a way to leave purple grape-stained bird-crap on my pristine cream duvet cover. I bumped into my least favourite department member in the photocopy office a few minutes ago, and had to endure him being smugly cheerful. And 5FM are playing truly horrible rap.
However, all is not lost. All of the above, rather than plunging me into woe, is getting my blood up and engendering a mood of grim determination. I'm damned if I'll let the cosmic wossnames get to me like this. Watch out, Angela Carter. No quarter.
I've had insufficient sleep because the car alarm keeps going off randomly, even when not actually set, necessitating dozing with the remote clutched in my hand like an odd and knobbly teddy bear, so I can sleepily push the button when the car, yet again, arms its alarm spontaneously and then goes off. Then I trundle up to campus and sit through three iterations of the Windows Blue Screen of Death before this bucket of random plastic and silicon masquerading as a computer condescends to boot up. Then I discover that I'm out of teabags in my office, which is driving me peculiarly crazy not only because of caffeine withdrawal, but because I could have sworn there were several left last week, and I don't know if this means my memory is even more cheeselike than usual, or if the cleaning staff have been pilfering.
Then Traffic Control phones, because my car is sitting in the parking lot randomly setting off its alarm, I suspect under the more or less psychotically delusional belief that it's being hijacked. Sod's law dictates that the car is, of course, parked six flights of stairs away rather than the more usual four. On the way up the stairs, clutching the knobbly teddy-bear and muttering imprecations under my breath, I am unexpectedly fallen on by a large, muscular young student male who turns his ankle and dives head-first down the steps above me. I escape serious squashing by fending him off with both palms planted firmly in his midriff, thus spreading the day's joys a little, but incidentally ricking my wrist. (He's fine. Darned youth). I get back to my office and have to reboot again anyway because the computer has randomly lost the keyboard.
In addition to these little woes, I have a horrible dose of PMT which is making me feel queasy, antisocial and slightly light-headed. The dear little birdies in our garden have creatively invented a way to leave purple grape-stained bird-crap on my pristine cream duvet cover. I bumped into my least favourite department member in the photocopy office a few minutes ago, and had to endure him being smugly cheerful. And 5FM are playing truly horrible rap.
However, all is not lost. All of the above, rather than plunging me into woe, is getting my blood up and engendering a mood of grim determination. I'm damned if I'll let the cosmic wossnames get to me like this. Watch out, Angela Carter. No quarter.
 | Bunny Threat Level: Identical to yesterday, but about to rise sharply. (In tones of low menace). |
