Friday, February 7, 2003 - 3:30 pm

I was suspended from work today with THIS ultimatum from my bosses. "Straighten out and become a good little corporate drone, the kind who doesn't write nasty disparaging little weblog entires about her bosses, or leave." The way my supervisor shadowed me to my desk as I went to collect my things and then leave the building leads me to believe they want me to choose the second option. The huge, smoking skid marks I left on the carpet on my way out leads me to believe that I, too I want me to choose the second option.

So then, it would appear I am leading towards choosing the second option, in which case the Recession will then become, for me, a Depression.

To make matters worse, a gang of troglodytes has camped out on the stairs in front of my apartment, apparently anxious to get a headstart on their weekend drinking. For the past half hour, they have been amusing themselves with several rounds of competitive belching, as well as with several games of "Who's responsible for that smell?" Lovely.

My biggest worry won't be figuring out how to scrape up enough money to survive (although I'd be deluding myself if I said it wasn't a foremost concern). My biggest worry will be what to tell my parents, who believe in their hearts (and who indeed, hold it to be their most sacred creedo) that ANY job, no matter how stultifying or soul-crushingly evil it is, beats NO job.

So how's my unexpectedly becoming freelance going to affect my plans for the weekend? I don't know, except to say that said plans will most likely involve a lot more heavy sighing and dancing to Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" than they would otherwise.

Barring any further disasters, I shall do my best to keep you informed of the situation...

Thursday, February 6, 2003 - 11:45 pm

I figured it had been a long time since I did anything useful, so I went and re-tweaked my Escaflowne Thumbnail Theatre Page and updated it to Episode 20. I also went and took some pictures of my latest cosplay armor project, which I hope to post tomorrow. If I have the time to do it before I go out of town for the weekend. Which I probably won't. *Sigh*.

Thursday, February 6, 2003

I was rooting through my closet the other day when I found an ancient relic dating all the way back from 1983. It was a pocket diary, one of those kind with the pages all neatly numbered and with the flimsy metal, allegedly big-brother-proof lock on the side. I received it as an exchange gift from a classmate during my 5th grade class' Christmas party. (This was in the days before the dark shadow of Political Correctness descended up on the land, putting an end to those pesky, patriarchal, in-school religious holiday celebrations.) Anyway, when January 1st of the next year rolled around, I started writing down entries in the diary based on some random topic or another, usually about the things which were affecting me at that particular point in time- (cooties, math tests, head lice, etc.) Here's a sample passage:

Tuesday, January 4th, 1983

Dear Diary,
Today I went to school and the boys got into a fight and the 5th grade couldn't go out for recess for the rest of the week and I had nothin to do with it. Well, we went to Grandma D's and went to the [drug]store. We got all kinds of good stuff. (Not drugs). Well, I missed practing [practicing] my French Horn. Well I hope to see you soon, bye.

Teri D.

Ah, sheer poetry. Already, at this early age, you can see the seeds of my urbane sense of humor and irascible wit beginning to germinate and grow. Witness my signature streak of iconoclastic rebellion forming within me as I totally blow off practicing my French Horn. (The fact that I had taken up playing the French Horn in the first place instead of, oh... an instrument that some SANE person would play, was proof enough that I was one of those iconoclastic "different-drummer" types.) I'm finding it hard to believe the rather petulant statement I made about my not going to the drugstore to buy drugs, as it seems to me pretty obvious from my haphazard handwriting, that I was heavily into SOME sort of mind-altering substance at the time. I mean, I write the way Ozzy Osbourne TALKS. I can barely understand myself.

Here's another, barely comprehensible entry:

Friday, January 7, 1983

Dear Diary,
Today I went to school and I got there kinda early. Well, I can't blame myself for having a bad day. This is 1983 you know. Well, I had a math test and I passed so I get to stay in Group 1. Well, I like this girl Tammy. She's neat. No one else likes her. Well I think that this boy's cute. His name's Tim. Well, I go to [school] patrol. I also have a teacher named Mrs. Sims.
Love, Teresa

Boy, informative AND entertaining. I can see that then, (unlike now), I had something of a social conscience and a sense of civic duty, as evidenced by my attempts to reach out to the Girl Nobody Liked and in my joining the School Traffic Patrol. I also seemed to have something of a libido, as evidenced by my attraction to the cute and mysterious Tim (whose face I can't seem to remember. So he can't have been ALL that cute, I guess. Either that or he blew me off like seemingly every OTHER boy I've ever had an attraction to.) I like how I blame my having a bad day on the fact that it was 1983. That was a valid reason, I guess. (Or at least, it was the explanation I was inclined to settle for back when I was 11. I didn't like to think about things much back then.)

The creepy thing is, is that the days of the week correspond exactly to the numbers of the months as they appear in THIS year. So the Thursday, January 6th entry was written EXACTLY 20 YEARS AGO to the day that I'm here writing about it now. Weird, eh. I'm sure it's a sign of something. (It's a sign that I liked to whine about my life just as much back then as I do now. Meaning this rut I'm in is as deep as a mile and as long as the Grand Canyon.) Ah well. At least there was no internet back then so, thankfully, you folks are spared from having to read through 20 YEARS of superfluous complaining from yours truly. That should make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go beat some sense into a few of my co-workers with a wet noodle...Or a rubber hose...whichever one makes them cry out in pain and try to avoid me for the rest of the day...

Wednesday, February 5, 2003 1:33 am

Bugger. Wouldn't you know it? My tooth is hurting. Looks like a trip to the dentist is an inevitablility I can put off no longer. (Although I may put it off for another month so I can floss my gums into shape--not so much because I fear cleaning them will cause them pain, but because I hate being bitched at my dentists for not flossing. It's bad enough I have to pay them for torturing me. I don't want to be lectured at as well.)

Good news. Dust Traveller has finally got another chapter of "Shards of Chaos" finished. Bad news. It's on his laptop, which has no extrenal floppy drive and which he is currently unable to hook up to the internet over where he lives in Japan. Bugger x 2. Oh well, I'll let you all know should circumstances change...

Monday, February 3, 2003 - 10:38 pm

Well, I finally finished uploading new fanart to the Hamlet fanart page. I also received a pretty award and a gift picture which you'll find on the Awards and Gifts pages respectively. I'd post convenient linkies to said pages, but I'm beat. I was awakened hours before my usual get-up time by the sound of snowplows noisily removing snow from everywhere except the area around my car, which I had to dig out myself. I then found that, despite the fact that 8 inches of snow had fallen overnight, that I was still expected to show up for work on time. (AND show the steely-faced MidWestern stoicism which the people who live here are expected to show whenever Nature decides to take a dump on their heads.) Thanks Nature. For nothing.

Today was extra stressful on account of my having to mail out four extremely large packages. (The items I had sold during my last round of ebay auctions.) I dragged said packages into the post office, only to find that each and every one of them slapped with an oversized charge roughly double the amount I had requested of my buyers to cover the shipping costs. Yeah. I can see the logic in that. Slapping on an extra ten dollars to the bill just because it's three inches bigger than the average package. No wonder the Post Office is losing money and business to Federal Express. (Why I just didn't use them in the first place is beyond me. Maybe I'm just lazy and set in my ways.)

No maybes about it. I AM lazy and set in my ways. I suppose that's why I still work for Soulless Corporation Inc. (That, or maybe I'm just a masochist.)

No maybes about it. I AM a masochist...

Monday, February 3, 2003 - 7:54 am

Hey, Dust Traveller! (A) How's Japan? and (B) Are you ever going to send me that Hellsing patch you promised to send me?

That is all.

Sunday, February 2, 2003 - 11:38 p.m

Something happened tonight which prompted me to ask an age-old question which, I'm sure, has been foremost on men's minds since the begining of the modern era. "Would it really fucking kill the people who manufacture coin-operated washers and dryers to allow said machines to take nickels and dimes?" As far as everyday disasters go, I can't think of any more irritating than finding yourself with all your clothing sitting damp and soggy in the washing machine and YOU exactly ONE quarter shy of a dryer load. Especially if you have nothing to wear to work the next day. I'd go around and ask my neighbors for change, but it's too late an hour to knock on anyone's doors now. (And many of my neighbors would probably just as well shoot me in the face as give me money) My only hope now, (and my only chance to escape mortal embarrasment tomorrow,) is if, by some miracle, we have a snow day. The snow's been falling steadily all day, and the weatherguys are telling us we may get half a foot. Unfortunately, I live in Minnesota, where half a foot is generally regarded as a light dusting as far as snow accumulation goes. But still, one can always hope. (Even if said hope invariably turns out to be an exercise in futility, shattered dreams, and a poetic exploration of the transient and tragic nature of human existence. Which, coincidentally, is a statement which pretty much sums up what doing the laundry means to me.)

I had meant to answer e-mail and post some of the lovely fanart I've received in the past couple of weeks, but unfortunately, my internet connection went down earlier and I've only just now been able to get online again. Once again, it seems, my plans are thwarted by technology from Planet Suck. Oh well. I'll have plenty of time for posting things tomorrow if my snow day dream comes true. Keep your fingers crossed for me, people. And think snow. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.......