shroud ourselves in the cosmos; let the music play

I was having a good night -- well, early morning. Finished my project, sent it in, and settled down on the couch for NCIS and tea, right? I decided to make myself a midnight snack involving cream cheese.

Except apparently my cream cheese was a casualty of Flatmate's fridge-cleaning?

My PERFECTLY FUCKING GOOD cream cheese.

And, BTW, I do remember specifically saying NO, I did NOT want her to go through my food.

FUCK EVERYTHING. I DIDN'T WANT TO BE PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW, THANKS.

FUCK.

And I scared the kitties by slamming the cabinet door.

I really should be working on that ed project right now but instead I'm kind of... de-braining via internet. Because today contained about 5 hours of bassoon-and-contrabassooning (wind ensemble + Mozart sectional + playing through Mahler so my fingers re-learn it) and it completely wiped me out. Seriously. I'm staying home from my 8-11 class tomorrow morning (so I can drag my ass to campus for rehearsal at 11 instead), and I'd better get some of this project done in that time, but I'm not holding out much hope because omg I feel like death right now, and that's after I've been at home hiding in my room for two hours doing nothing productive at all, so I have no idea when I'll be up and running tomorrow. I promise after this post I'll buckle down and work on it, I will. Because I suppose I can't really count on getting anything done on it tomorrow night after the concert, which I'm sure will effectively finish me off, following as it will on the heels of 5 hrs rehearsal + 2 hrs work.

Just took my temperature -- 97.8 degrees. Haven't taken any kind of anti-inflammatory since 5pm. Should I be worried? Or is that within the realm of daily temperature fluctuations? It seems quite low to me. Then again, I've been sitting still and my room is quite cold (but turning on the heater makes the air too dry for comfortable breathing)

Flatmate apparently just took some time to go through the fridge and actually get rid of food she doesn't plan to eat/has allowed to go bad. Asked if there was anything I wanted to get rid of with her stuff. No, because I don't buy/cook 3x as much food as I can eat and then forget about it for a month in the fridge because I buried it haphazardly under new groceries. Seriously. One shouldn't need refrigerator space that is greater than the volume of one's own body. And while Flatmate is definitely not slender, she ain't that big. (Chrissake, she's probably not even five feet tall. That itself eliminates a lot of potential volume.)

Another thing that bugs me -- Okay, I get that she has to move the seat so that her feet reach the pedals when she has to move my car, because I am 5'6" and she is 4'something-less-than-12". But does she really need to change the rearview mirror every damn time? I don't change her mirror when I move her car. I turn around and look the fuck behind me. Christ. Sometimes when I am really hacked off, I adjust her seat, rearview mirror, and steering wheel. Because I am a bitch. I really hate tandem parking. And I really hate that Flatmate's car makes obnoxious noises and that it always takes me at least two tries to throw the damn thing into reverse because her transmission is fucked.

Also my feet are freezing despite socks & a blanket, and I am motherfucking hungry because I haven't had dinner yet but I didn't want to have to interact with Flatmate while she was puttering around the kitchen and living room.

Being sick also increases my levels of aggression and misanthropy, apparently.

---

@ 23:49
Since I'm clearly not done fucking around on LJ for the night, and I still haven't eaten anything and I still don't want to work on my damn project, can I complain about the Mozart sectional today?
- Second Oboe (who I already knew to be a Big Fucking Flake because I had to be in a scholarship quintet with her for over a year) said she would be available at 5:15, but apparently she actually had a midterm. And then she didn't send an e-mail about it until about 3:30 TODAY, when three of the remaining four of us were already in a large ensemble rehearsal. Which, btw, goes until 5:00, so when that was over we pretty much went directly to the appointed sectional room and set ourselves up. (the remaining member didn't get the e-mail either, because she was on a bus on her way to campus. btw the sectional was the ONLY reason for her to go to school today.) My Favourite Oboist saved the day, though, by offering to sit in and fill out the chords when Maestro encountered her in the hallway. Honestly, we were both laughing inside because it was so classic and finally other people are realising Second Oboe's flakiness. But still. Now we'll have to go back and re-check the tuning and balance sometime tomorrow, because of Second Oboe's FAIL.
- New Master's Bassoonist is good, and I like her a lot, but she has now had a month to learn the tendencies of her shiny new Fox 601. She shouldn't still be having problems like Being Sharp All The Time. She should be at the point where she knows how to adjust her reeds to the new horn so that her setup is in tune.
- And then the ENTIRE rest of the sectional consisted of Maestro walking Faily Sophomore Flute through the bajillion things she has to do to pull her weight in an orchestra wind section, such as: tune octaves with the oboe, tune unisons with the oboe, blend with the oboe, balance to the oboe, count rests correctly, come in correctly, adjust the intonation if it sounds wrong at first, play in time with the solo piano's subdivisions, balance to the solo piano, match articulations with the rest of the section, and OH YEAH PLAY IN TUNE. I fail to see why Maestro put her inexperienced ass on this piece. SHE IS THE EPICENTER OF SO MUCH FAIL. Actually, I'm pretty sure that if he had known beforehand that it would take this much hand-holding, he would have put someone else on the part. SOMEONE WITH LESS FAIL, MY GOD.
- Also, my ears were really stuffy and it apparently made me unable to hear the upper harmonics of my notes, so I had massive intonation paranoia, but apparently the only problems I had that Maestro corrected were with my top space G, which is SharpSharpSharp. And then I overcorrected because I couldn't hear where the note was resonating properly because I couldn't hear the upper harmonics. I really hope my tone wasn't as stuffy from outside my head as it sounded from inside my head.

As a SPECIAL BONUS, I had sound sensitivity during wind ensemble, which makes me have paranoia about whether my ear infection is cleared up or not. Or maybe it's just that the trumpets who sit behind me are too DOUCHEBAGGY to aim their bells around/past my head, rather than at it. And I also apparently picked the Wrong Distance to sit from the horn-player-next-to-me's bell -- I suspect that I would have been getting a lot less SOUND-IN-THE-FACE! had I been either closer or farther away.

HOORAY!! And now it is AFTER MIDNIGHT and I AM STILL NOT ASLEEP and I HAVE STILL NOT EATEN and I HAVE STILL NOT DONE HOMEWORK but at least I am DONE FUCKING VENTING.

The kittens are demanding breakfast ever earlier. Today Ducky was in my face at 6:30. Which I guess is still better than Baxter waking me up at 4 yesterday for no reason at all. But still. (Today I did make them wait until 7:15 before I would actually get out of bed. But they were retaliating by sitting closer and closer to me, thus forcing me further and further into the crevice against the wall. When I finally did get up they effectively had me confined to less than half of my own bed.)

2:1 was harder today than any other time before. I had to take extra walking time in the middle. Plus, my iPOS was all run down this morning so it was just me and the sound of my breath and my feet, which makes it seem so much longer. And then a bird shat on my shoulder.

I feel defeated by my own life.

Also, why do we have a gallon and a half of milk in the fridge? If the old milk is bad, you FUCKING POUR IT OUT, you don't leave it in the fridge. If the old milk is fine, why the fuck would you buy new milk? FUCK I NEED TO LIVE ALONE SO MY HOUSE WILL MAKE SOME FUCKING SENSE.

My new running shoes feel good, though. Plus they are pretty.

Asics Gel Landreth. purple.

I dunno. I've been feeling shitty the past few days. fragile. not very much like a person. I've been tired and solitary and irritable and sad, kind of. completely unable to tackle my to-do list, and I've had the same one since thursday. it's taken me two hours of being awake and pretending i'm not to get out of bed every day, except to feed the kittens because they sit next to my face and cry until I do. And after all that I find that it's just too much goddamn effort to put on my running clothes and move, so I lie around for another hour, struggle through a shower, and curl up in front of the telly or with my computer for breakfast and then lunch. I can barely get myself out of the door in time to get to work within ten minutes of when I was supposed to clock in, and then I usually don't even fucking do anything for the four hours that I do work, besides fuck around on the internet and help the occasional patron.

-----
Just now:
Flatmate: *holds up a plastic container that formerly held plums* Are these recyclable, do you know?
Me: *glances* Oughta be. What does it say on the bottom?
Flatmate: *checks, as though she hadn't before* One.
Me: Yes. *hides eyeroll behind computer*

Dude, she took a class in "eco-feminism" (whatever the fuck that is. i often think that 60% of Women's Studies is bullshit. sort of like 60% of Flatmate is bullshit). She talks all about how she's into being green and shit. Why does she not know what is recyclable??? And actually, I would rather not discuss the raised rates for our cable bill right after a mediocre practise session (in which I had a devil of a time trying to ignore the music she was playing while cleaning her bathroom -- I swear it sounded like she was playing something on the stereo that has speakers right outside my door, and is that really necessary when she has a computer which she could put much closer to the bathroom (or inside it, how about that?), instead of needing to turn up the volume on the stereo right outside my door loud enough to carry to her bathroom?), kthx.
-----

Yesterday in the car on my way to work i almost had some kind of emotional breakdown. I was seriously blinking back tears during some old-guy cover of that NIN song Hurt. And then whatever else came on after that, I don't even know. It was awful. i just, I don't even know why, and my mind kept going back to last winter

and somehow i started thinking, 'it was my fault. I did this.' Like I had somehow brought it on myself that -- I don't even know, really. that J. didn't want to be with me after his psychotic break -- like it was somehow my fault for doing what I know was the right thing. or like somehow, if I hadn't gone to SD that weekend with my roommates, things would have turned out okay because I was there to notice something wrong and help him, instead of miss his call because i was on a fishing boat --

I know, it's not like I could have really done anything to prevent what happened, I'm sure, and

god. I don't even know what I'm trying to say now. It was a bad place. And then when I got to work all I wanted to do was go hide in the stacks for a while -- shelve or shelf read or shift or something, a task where it could just be me and the books and I wouldn't have to smile at people or think or anything -- but instead I was stuck behind the circulation desk all afternoon helping patrons and my eyes were tired and it was awful. And I got home in the evening and I curled up on the floor by the kittens and cried and they didn't even care. And Flatmate got home early and I had to pretend to be on and I visited John and he fiddled with my bassoon and that was okay, and his dogs were sweet and we chatted and Nick was there and that was nice too, but then I got back to my apartment and I was exhausted from it and I declined to watch Almost Famous with Flatmate and her bestie and went to bed and had a cry and fell asleep.

And I don't know why it all came flooding back at once, and this shouldn't be able to shatter me like this anymore. I should be done. I thought I was done. But I keep having these crying jags and not being able to fall asleep and then not being able to get up and I've been entirely unproductive for the past three days and I just feel so -- crushed. stomped flat. crumpled. Why can't I just be done?

With... well, just me, really. No Jimmy Fallon, no Tina Fey, no Amy Poehler, sorry. (Can you tell from that list when I have watched SNL?)

FIRST!! I have seen NO FLEAS for the past few days. VICTORY IS MINE, Y/Y???

I cooked a lot this weekend! and by 'a lot' I actually mean that I made Rice-A-Roni (but hey, at least it's on the stove and not in the microwave, yes?), I steamed broccoli (this time in the microwave, but it was fresh broccoli), I baked cheese bread (this link goes to copperbadge's recipe, because he is brilliant. I used havarti, smoked provolone, and asiago as my cheeses. I had too much salt in the herb mix, and next time I'm definitely switching the oregano for rosemary because I don't particularly like oregano, and I left it in the oven slightly too long, but the bread came out a lot fluffier than the first time I tried it (with p'tit basque and asiago) which was lovely, and anyway, my brother liked it), and I made crepes (filled with Nutella, pear slices, and peach slices. whipped my own cream, too! whipping cream + sweet vermouth (which was admittedly a little strange) + a splash of almond extract + a heaping spoonful of sugar when that wasn't sweet enough + LOTS OF ELBOW GREASE EH because I don't have an electric hand mixer and couldn't be fucked to get down the stand mixer and dirty yet another bowl okay?) for breakfast today. Plus I made myself a martini last night, and mixing is almost like cooking, yes? (I needed to finish the old gin because I bought new gin and had to justify it. don't judge me okay??)

btw, for those of you who don't know, a martini is this:
in a shaker: ice, gin (I like Bombay Sapphire but I'm too posh for my own good), "fond memories of vermouth" (I actually use a liberal splash, but I love that quote. Who said that?). And everyone says "stir, don't shake, you'll bruise the gin!" but I can't be arsed really so I stick the top on and I turn it over once or twice and then I strain into a glass (a cocktail glass, properly, but we have no cocktail glasses (they were Roomie's -- man I should get my ass some cocktail glasses, and some wine glasses) so thus far at the new apartment I have strained martinis into margarita glasses and, last night, into a coffee mug because I desperately didn't want to make even more washing up for myself after doing the washing up, then cooking, then washing up again). Garnish with olives impaled on a cocktail sword or something, I generally stick two onto a toothpick and call it a fucking night. Or if you're posh and you don't fancy olives you could garnish with a twist (of lemon peel), but honestly, who wants to make a goddamn twist? Plus I like olives.

I didn't used to like olives. Funny. I wonder when it changed?

Anyway. I had myself a bit of a Torchwood marathon this weekend, in between cooking and washing up and going to the market and attending a family function. I had stopped in the middle of the first series before Children of Earth aired in July, and now I've finished that and gotten about half-way through the second series, which is considerably less mockable than the first series. (Not mock-proof, note. Just less mockable.) And I kept getting ideas for shit, and jotting them down in my "fragments" file. So I might start writing again, god save me. Fanfiction.

No, I'm not sure I mean that the way it came out. Many good fanfiction authors are very much Good Authors In General, or at least have the potential to be should they every quit their day jobs. And it's not shameful, to have ideas and create things inspired by something you're into. It's not inferior to original fiction, but it has that social stigma, like pretty much every aspect of fandom. And I'm done denying who I am, right? I'm embracing the things that make me who I am, especially the geekery, so you know what? I am an avid reader of fanfiction. And I have been a writer of fanfiction, and I may become one again.

It's kind of crazy that Torchwood has gotten so much under my skin. I love it on a campy sci-fi level, and a Gays On TV! level, and an Actors Are Attractive People level, and a caring-about-characters level, and a fandom-makes-awesome-things level (fic, art, vids, icons) -- but then there's also the meta things: I like to read what other fans think about episodes, characterisation, themes and messages, and other fans' ideas. And I have had a lot to think about because of fandom, and because of the way I personally react to this show. It's led me to define and articulate what I think about love, what I think about relationships, and it (and even more so Doctor Who) has reminded me to appreciate the wonder of the world and the people around me. I don't think I was this consumed by Animorphs, or X-Men, or Harry Potter, or even Lord of the Rings. None of those have been so... thinky for me. Well. LotR got pretty scholarly-thinky, but not as personal-thinky. V for Vendetta and its message about integrity (Valerie, anyone?) was a step on this path, but it was nowhere near the level of personal growth Torchwood has triggered. And yet, it's a plot-holey, bad-sciencey, , campy, darker-edgier-sexier spinoff of a show that I didn't even properly watch before Torchwood sank its teeth into me. How can it have become such a phenomenon in my life?

It's very smoky in my area tonight.

The kitties were roughhousing on my bed earlier, but now they're just chilling. Baxter definitely jumped face-first into the wall a couple times, though. Uh.

Ducky (formerly Dizzy, formerly Maybe-Vasco-Maybe-Quantum) likes to sleep in the crevice that my bed makes against the wall. I guess it's probably because my apartment is hot and the wall is cold? But it worries me when I accidentally bump him or put a limp partially on top of him and he makes no complaint. What if I roll onto him in the night or something?

This morning I woke up and the kitties were curled up on either side of me, dozing and purring. It was brilliant.

I really need to practise tomorrow. I haven't since the last time I said I needed to practise. Oops.

OMG SO while driving with my family to day I heard both "Uprising" AND "Knights of Cydonia." SO. PUMPED. I was practically headbanging, with my mum and brother in the car. Honestly? Muse might be all I really need from pop music.

God I've been so tired today, and yet I've been typing this entry for nearly an hour. Priorities much? Gah.

things that cheese me off:

1. when people who i dislike already and who have been music students here for many years cannot condescend to use the drop boxes for books and cds and instead pile them in front of me saying, "return... return..." !!!!!! FUCK YOU CLARYCE GTFO OF MY LIBRARY

2. when people are idiots. srsly. this girl walks in and says, "excuse me, do you work here? can you help me make copies?" It's a copy machine. It's not even a fancy copy machine!! Fortunately, I had to help a guy who got there first and then Boss came out and I was all, "can you help her make copies (pls Boss pls)?" and she did and I didn't have to deal with it. (afterwards, Boss and I might have had the "thank you for helping her i don't know if I could have been nice because honestly it's a copy machine how hard can it be?" conversation in earshot of the girl. oops. it's not like i care, though.)

3. when Flatmate puts stuff down the garbage disposal and then doesn't run it i mean seriously who does that??? (Flatmate has a collection of kitchen habits that I find infuriating and/or disgusting. so I clean passive-aggressively. I should just have it out with her, but honestly, I either clean passive-aggressively, or not at all, so I may as well keep bottling and we will at least have a clean kitchen eh?)

4. when i leave for work early -- early!! -- and somehow, Los Angeles traffic conspires against me so that I arrive at work even later than I did yesterday. for serious. I wanted to shoot everything in the face. IN THE FACE. !!!!!!

5. to reiterate (because it just happened again): WE HAVE DROP BOXES FOR THAT. GTFO.