katiefoolery: (Busy now)
Did you ever have one of those days when words just won’t behave?  I’ve been trying to write this cursed post for the last half hour or so and it’s been rapidly driving me insane.  All I have to do is provide captions for three photos.  It’s not too much to ask.  But, oh no, the words would much rather hide just out of reach or run away giggling when they see me coming.

Perhaps they’re irritated by the fact that they’re out-numbered by the photos, because I do not intend to write three thousand words to balance out the thousand words allegedy contained by each of the photos.

Anyway, while they’re behaving, let’s continue.

The first photo is in honour of Buffy, my parents’ cat.  She came to live with us when I was about fourteen - a tiny little kitten with a ridiculously long tail.  She subsequently grew into a bloody great huge cat with a disproportionately short tail and spent her life sleeping in the sun, demanding food every ten minutes or so and chasing mice and rabbits if she happened to feel like a little exercise.  Then she moved to Beechy with the parents and embraced the concept of retirement with alarming alacrity.  She also found time to dedicate herself equally to the concepts of Not Doing Anything and Putting On A Bit Too Much Weight.  And a few weeks ago, after a very long life filled with plenty of food, creatures to chase and a little bit of travel, she died in her sleep.

Here she is, with one of her patented dirty looks.


Next up is my confidante, to whom I have been relating all manner of angsty and possibly silly stuff, as per the instructions of my doctor.  I can’t remember how long I’ve been in possession of him - most likely a longer time than I care to recall.  And he didn’t come with that little jumper - I knitted it, probably around the same time I accidentally broke his glasses and left him with a monocle instead.  He was shoved in a box in the garage for years and years and is most likely quite happy to be out in the sunlight again.  He’s probably less happy to be listening to me ranting on at him for ten mintues a day, but he's bearing up well thus far.


And finally: GRAMMAR RAGE!  A few weeks ago, it was SSO week.  Basically, it’s a chance for everyone to pretend they care about the contribution the non-teaching staff make to the school by calling us “lovely SSOs” in a patronising tone of voice and giving us little treats such as the one in the photo below.  Apparently, we don’t even warrant proper grammar.

  (Have I mentioned lately how much I need a new job?)
katiefoolery: (15 minute ficlets)
Dear 15 minute ficlets,

I only just got to know you and now you’re leaving me forever!  Before you go, let me just say a few words.

A few months ago, I was in a pretty dull place with my writing. Sure, I still did it - but where was the love?  Where was the obsession?  Where was the driving urge to find the perfect-sized paragraph or to see if I could make a shape out of a story by varying the length of sentences?

Missing in action, that’s where.  I went to uni to study writing and before I knew it, my love of words had vanished in a skirmish with writing-out-of-obligation somewhere in my second year.

I really hoped that love of writing would turn up again some day.  In the meantime, I got by somehow.  I even managed to write an entire first draft of Black Fiddle without it.  Sometimes, I thought it had come back, but it turns out I was wrong.

It didn’t truly come back until I wrote that first ficlet just a few short months ago.  You took all the obligation and expectations away and just let me write for fifteen minutes.  You let me write in whatever genre I wanted.  You told me it didn’t have to be perfect.  You didn’t mark it afterwards and make subtly derogatory comments about how you wished I’d write a proper story, instead of lowering myself to “genre”.

You let me dance about with words and get to know them in a more casual setting... and I can’t thank you enough for that.  Even though I’ll be bidding you a sad farewell in May, I’ll always cherish our time spent together.  After all, I suspect it’s already going to have a pretty major impact on my writing life from here on in.

Thank-you.  You might be “just another LJ community” but you’ve managed to point my writing life in a much brighter and happier direction.

My eternal gratitude,
katiefoolery: (Inspiration)
My iPod just died.  In the blink of an eye.  I’m still in shock.

It’s just so sudden.  Yesterday, it was working fine.  It kept me sane on the two bus trips and one train trip home, faithfully playing music to distract me from the ennui that is public transport.  Then, tragedy struck.  I pulled it out of my bag this morning to wake it up (it insists I wake it up each day, to remind it that it exists or something...) and there was no response, despite the battery being half-full when I put it away yesterday afternoon.

So I went to charge it.  Usually, if I charge it for ten minutes or so, it will remember that yes, I do have half a charged battery left!  What luck!  Stupid thing...

Not today.

Today, nothing happened when I connected the charger.  No happy little Apple symbol on the screen, no industrious little charging animation.

Just a blank screen and a Buneater staring in dismay.

“Er,” I said to the empty room.  Then I glared at the power point.  “I bet this is your fault!”

So I took the charger to another power point and met with a similar lack of response from my little pink iPod.

This time, I glared at the charger.  “I bet this is your fault, then!” I told it.  “I’m going to plug this into the USB on my computer and then we’ll see.”  Because talking to inanimate objects makes me feel better when things are going wrong...

I did just what I’d told the charger I’d do but nothing happened.  No sudden awakening from the iPod and no little alert from my computer.  In an act of desperation, I loaded up iTunes and went to my iPod preferences menu, only to be told there was No iPod attached, despite all physical evidence to the contrary.

And now I have to face a life without music on the way home.  For the next two days at least, I’ll be sitting at bus stops and riding trains with no music to distract me from the boredom of it all.  It’s just tragic.  Especially when I spent much of yesterday afternoon’s trip home planning a new playlist.  Not to mention the fun I’ve been having making up silly music videos in my head to go with the songs as I listen to them.

It’s even more depressing than the time I had to bid farewell to my elephant head slippers.

Gods dammit, this means I’m going to have to get out my notebook and actually write something in it, doesn’t it?

April 2011

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