The View May Be Dazzling: Oxygen Masks are Optional

A few weeks ago I got a delightful surprise in the mail. I subscribed to the Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, and promptly forgot I had. Since all I get are bills in the mail, the marvellous package of issue 50 made my day. The stories were exceptional, which made all of that joy (and giggling) worthwhile.

For myself, I've turned into Gene Roddenberry: can't write for sour owl poop. (Thank you Harlan Ellison). I keep false starting on a short story that I think may have a novel in it somewhere, but, sucks budgies, it's just not coming.

I've discovered I'm overly fond of the semicolon; it seems the book on grammar wasn't entirely wasted.

Or perhaps it was, I'm undecided; just because I like punctuation marks doesn't mean the rest of the world will appreciate my use of them. Okay. Stopping on that now.

Umm. Err. Where is my constant stream of bullcrap from yesteryear? It seems I have lost my way in the verbosity stakes. How frightfully dull of me.

The Royal Wedding is, by now, done and dusted, or nearly so. I tuned in to see the dress (ahem, The Dress), but aside from the light moment of seeing Wills and Kate trying not to crack up at the altar (?), couldn't have cared less. And still don't.

I did some more ironing today, yip-yip-yippee, then transferred recipes to "my" recipe book. Does that sound profitable? I thought so, until I remembered all of the other things I intended to do today. Since I'm starting a run of five in a row, I'll be a bit pushed over the next few days, but I think I'll just have a go at a bit at a time. At least the new and improved bathroom only takes a little while to clean.

That's what I'm telling myself now, but of course I'll do less and beat myself up all over again. Never mind, it will all come out in the wash. Literally, since that's what I needed to get done today.

There was some excitement in our street this afternoon. I heard sirens start up and had that automatic thought of "is that coming to our place? Naaah, can't be", as you do. Then I realise that it is in front of our place. Cue looking out the front door, like the nosy neighbour that I am (in this context, anyway), since it turned out that one of the girls next door decided to dial triple-0, just for the hell of it, and ask the fireys to come out. Nice. Yes, she is old enough to know better. Young people today.

I was thinking about my last entry (blah, blah, nothing to say) - the fun stuff that happens at work I have to leave at work. The nerd stuff (gee-I-like-this-different-method-and-actual-work) I wouldn't even bother boring anybody with, but oh sigh, the hilarious clinical notes (explosive headache after hitting brick wall with face (you think?)), names and general silliness of some of the things we get (please test this clear fluid to see if it is anything) I can't say anything about. Patient confidentiality, anyone?

Disclaimer: I made up the examples above. Of course I did. And any resemblance to anything or anyone is a complete coincidence. Really, honest and for true.

Speaking of making stuff up, and I usually do, we have a running saga on our kitchen whiteboard about three frog brothers, Bob, Clob and Shlob. Although they may have to turn into butterflies - my audience of one (yes, that would be Alex), complained about them being frogs. I did include some butterflies in the last story. In terms of story we are talking two paragraphs at most, but I stand by it being a story. Even if one of the kids from the street poo-poohed it. Sucks budgies, I say. The particular kid is twelve and my target is seven. So nerts.

(Not the same kid who called the fireys today, that was a different one.)

(Children! Everywhere! It's frightening!)

More speaking of making stuff up, and I told you I usually do, although this is only barely in the same category, I want my patterns to arrive from the US. Hurry up, International Checkout! I went mad about a month ago and made bags left, right and centre (actually...no I won't do that joke to you). I have a new sewing machine and everything. Thank you, ebay. So now I want to make myself some stuff. HURRY. UP. This toying with my emotions is not fun.

Shh, it's a secret, I'm also waiting on a sonic screwdriver for small lad's birthday. Don't tell him, okay?

In One Ear and Out the Other

While the rest of the world is commenting on the Royal Wedding, I'm watching Simon Schama's A History of Britain. The last time I watched this, Alex was a baby and propped up in front of the tv while Simon told us both about King Charles II.

I'm determined to update this blog more regularly then once every couple of months. But not that much happens to me. I go to work. I spend time with the boys. Not exactly the stuff about which sagas can be made, unless they're very boring sagas.

I've spent the last two days re-reading Dune by Frank Herbert. I've read it many times, though not for years now; I got more out of it this time than ever before. Ah, bliss. Almost as good as a warm bath.

Meanwhile William the Bastard is being promised the throne by Edward the Confessor.

Let's leave politics to other heads, since my greatest plans for today involve ironing, dinner and going off to work. Maybe less ironing than the whole three baskets worth, and possibly a less ambitious dinner than roast beef with mini-yorkies; the going off to work will be the same.

I find myself very fractious at the moment. I'm not doing anywhere near the sort of writing I thought I would be doing or at least trying to do, but then I didn't really know what I was getting myself into with very long shifts. I'll get used to them - another six or twelve months. Sigh.

Harumph. I'd say more tomorrow, but I'm not sure about having anything else to say. Twirling onwards then.

Irritations and Hats

It's in my mind this afternoon to do some kind of illustrated guide to night shift, but it would be something squelchy out of a Clive Barker novel right now, and there's no need to have people losing their lunch over a few bad dreams, is there?

I was also thinking about a guide for considerate night-shift living,because my sleep would benefit if everyone would JUST BE QUIET, but then again, I'm a tad cranky. In some cases, I would like people to stop being so quiet because creeping slowly so as to not wake me up, which already woke me up as your clodhopping boot hit the wooden floorboards, takes a lot longer than just stampeding down the hallway in the rush to ... whatever you were doing. As you were.

Ranting aside (I have more, but you go ahead), there have been no events, unless going to the maritime museum, David Jones Food Hall and faffing about at home count. We were going to the Easter show this year, but small lad started with the "I'm booooored"s and the "it's not fair"s and the refusal to do chores without a fair amount of grousing, so consider the kibosh firmly placed on top of that.

I think I'm more upset about that than he is, because I want to go on rides. Show bags have lost their appeal for me, since I'm unlikely to find a new car, gadget or immense cheque with lots of zeroes after some number greater than one made out to little old me. Obviously getting old has caught up with me and the magic of show bags has worn off. Or perhaps I'm tired of working for a living. I'll get over myself soon. Although I did rather like the extremely cheapy one we got last year full of cowboy and Indian gear, except for the immediately broken bow of the bow and arrow set. I would have liked one of those and a reason to play with it at work, because I think adults are far too adult.

I woke up all cheerful and contented, new bedding, don't know myself, it's marvellous, nice and warm and toasty, until I stood up and had the nice (sic) hangover feeling I have these days after night shift. All slightly swirly head and incipient headache. Partly because I read a book for most of the twelve hours I was at work last night (it was quiet, okay? There was no work, okay?), so my eyeballs are a bit spinny. I keep "forgetting" my glasses.

For some reason the iPad decided the logical auto-fill for forgetting as I typed it was "forget tin". I know Apple likes aluminium, but I think proscriptions about metal use are taking it a bit far.

So now I'm reclining under my nice warm doona typing this and considering the time, really do have to get up if I'm going to make mozzarella-filled hamburgers for dinner. And potato salad. And something. Or something else. Maybe I'll just give up for tonight and we can have crap. Last night I made prosciutto-wrapped chicken meatloaves with Parmesan and bocconcini polenta, so I have expended culinary effort this week, it's not like I'm throwing in the towel.

It's all just too, too risqué really.