alexwearspants: (Default)
I recieved a call from a wonderful, delightful, entertaining old friend.

I didn't answer. However, when I returned the call, explaining quickly that I was at work, a swift but grin-enducing conversation ensued.

It was fun.

It also resulted in me requesting more annual leave, but we shall see how things roll.

The soon-to-be-former housemate was informed of the imminent move. She reacted in her usual way. Unpleasantly. *sighs* She has a capacity to be kind, and to learn, and to even, occaisionally, to act morally. Mostly, however, she acts in a way that is selfish, and spiteful, and ignorant. She tries to hurt. It saddens me that she often succeeds. And it angers me that the cruel, unecessary, somewhat pathetic actions she takes are the kind that most quickly provoke a desire to retaliate in kind. It is very, very hard not to act in the same way. And even harder to remember why.

I know its not her fault. She is juvenile. But I do wish she'd pull her head out of her arse, think about someone else and take a good look around at the six billion other people in the world. I wish she'd just grow up.

See? All of the above is true, but unnecessary to say. And it's hard enough to just say it to myself, and not to yell it into her face and whisper it into the ears of her loved ones. With the supporting evidence living with her has provided. *sighs* It would be best if someone she truly cared about said it to her, and meant it. The problem is though she might have the capacity, she will never care about anyone more than herself. And I truly almost believe that.

Well, that was disgusting.

I'm excited to be packing again. As I said, I like things. And packing gives you a perfect oppurtunity to admire and catalogue and be made firmly aware, again, of all the lovely things you have. It is quite delightful.

I wonder if I shall have a housewarming party? ... Not that I think I can fit the people in. But I can try.

Aside from all that, life is fairly decent. I am, mostly, content. And hopeful. I have prospects to look forward to in the future. And that really, for now, is enough.

I was surprised how much I liked Objects In The Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They AreO. The title alone is not encouraging. And I have to admit, the lyrics are cheesy and do not immediately provide inspiration. I would not encourage listening to this song with anyone within earshot. However, with the earnest, determined way Meatloaf sings it, when listened to in a certain mood, at a certain time of night... it can be quite touching. And I was moved by it.
alexwearspants: (Default)
Well, a new house has been acquired. This is, of course, alternately fantastic and terrifying, as all change tends to be.

It also raises certain moral and ethical issues. For starters, there is the question of the housemate. Whether she knows or not is irrelevant. The problem is that she has not been informed. It is, obviously, patently, my duty to do so. It would be the kind, correct, right thing to do to inform her at the earliest possible convenience, to give her time to find another housemate or make alternative arrangements, and to account for the fact that I will be taking most of the, er, necessary household items with me. (Interestingly the fact that I will be putting her in this awkward position fills me with a certain level of guilt, even though I quite ruthlessly made sure when we first came to this arrangement that I would be properly furnished when we eventually parted ways. Of all the things I have to feel guilty about, this is the least of them, yet it niggles the most. She is, mostly, a nice enough girl - surely she should not be so inconvenienced?)

The problem is I am a coward. I do not like conflict. Well, not when it is with a dominant and unreasonable personality, when all I have to deliver is bad news with no means at hand to placate. I also have a certain amount of reason to fear retaliation, and as I work shift there is a fair amount of opportunity for offensive action on her part. I fear not so much for myself as my property. I like things. For one thing I spend quite a lot of money on them.

There is also the slight matter of schadenfreude. I know she will roll from this easily, it will be not even a pebble in her path (and yet, I am so good at misinterpreting situations...) but part of me hopes that it will hurt. I never relate to the descriptions in a certain kind of novel that elaborate on the fierce battle between passionate, romantic longing for a person and the firm, cold knowledge that it must be squashed. At least, not until I remember my own secret pleasure in the downfall of others, and how I must, at times, actually pause mid-action to stop myself blindly following down the path of my wants and remember that I am trying to do what is best. It is always so easy to imagine that innate emotional desires are little things until one encounters the actual confusion and loss of direction that is engendered when one tries to prevent one from being fulfilled. Even a blindingly obvious choice can become fraught with uncertainty as one begins to doubt one's ability to honestly pick the morally correct path.

At least this situation is providing me food for thought.

Nonetheless. As much as I loathe the concept, I must tell her. The sooner the better. If only I could tell her when she is off-guard. I can only hope for some leverage to arrive, in some form or another. I would provoke an argument, merely so that the adrenalin rush will wash away the fear and make the telling easier.

Except that would be wrong. And, if I am to do myself justice even moreso than her, I must, must let her know why I am leaving. And that is not by yelling out all the little things she does that irritate me so. It is much more of informing her, whilst in control, of what my reason is, and then proceeding with the course of action I have outlined.

I merely hope that she does not try to hide or lay claim to my precious belongings. Of all the things to suffer in this argument, material wealth should not number among the victims.

Regina Spektor is lovely. So is The Call.
alexwearspants: (cake)
A great terrible amount of things occuring in the world of Alex. A move of, no doubt, epic proportions, a family member with a debilitating illness, a new path of education and, tomorrow, Prince Caspian. How fun.

Today was spent with two of the previous generations, firstly out to luch at the (sort of) local RSL, and then home again to visit and tea and photograph. All much delight. The swelling of the belly from the all-you-can-eat still has not yet gone down, I fear, and that was after only two plates. I shudder at the state of the elderly couple next to us, who were on their fourth heaped serving by the time we left.

As previously mentioned, a new premise has been accquired, which is exciting and a little nervewracking (where will I fit everything??) However it will, I hope, at least be worth it to be free from the, ehem, clutches of the current housemate. And before it is mentioned, no, I have not yet, exactly, told her of said move. A little Dutch courage can be required in these delicate situations. And I am not, of course, the drinking sort. //pious//

Goldfish has returned from America, which is delightful. She was visited last weekend, and had much delightful news and gossip to impart. I of course, could do nothing but return the favour. I am, I should hope, a courteous guest.

It is apparently the 60th birthday of a very dear friend of mine this weekend. I can only say *raises glass* my best wishes to you.

And now, oh horror of horrors, to pack. To pack, to organise, to arrange! To pack!

This song woke me up and put a smile on my face last night.
alexwearspants: (cake)
No sleep in the past few days. None. *sighs* Or to be completely accurate, so little as to make almost no difference, except to add a cruel, almost taunting dimension to my condition.

However, it was in most respects worth it. A new Transformers (old-skool Optimus, yo) t-shirt was bought, which I promptly turned into an insanely comfortable night-shirt, and, um. Five Discworld books. In my defence, I will buy them all eventually, and ... they were half price. That is incredibly good for Discworld books. Especially as they had the good old covers. Am almost as pleased with them as I am with Unleashed and the new, pretty version of The Princess Bride. (The DVDs, oddly enough, don't carry that same measure of guilt, though you'd think they'd have more, being more along the line of impulse buys and less along the line of dearest-desires-who-I-was-fated-to-own-anyway. Although perhaps I was.)

Bojack came up and spent time with me, drove me around, and made me cake. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of friend we like to keep around here. Court and keep. In manacles, if necessary. She also went and saw something called ECW, but that was entirely incidental and in no way the cause for her visit.

A large amount of sketching has taken place, which is in no way related to the four dogwatches in a row, I assure you. I often sketch without large amounts of time in which I have no other forms of entertainment and nothing better to do. All the time.

Now if only I had been speedy enough to buy that Aldi scanner when it came up last week, I might have been able to show you some of them.

Housemate issues are getting a little tense. I am considering the pros and cons of leaving. Well, actually, I'm somewhat excited about the prospect of leaving, but that's just because it's new and seems like it will be easy. I promise you, I will back down and come crawling back as soon the slightest difficulty presents itself. I'm like that. However, I have seen some places I like the look of, and I just have to arrange a viewing for, so we shall see how events unfold themselves. Even if I leave, it will be somewhat sad, I think, as I and the Dog are, to my mild disbelief, finally bonding. In a strange way, I am trying to save him from himself. By which I mean, her. Also, the fact that he is now (sometimes) sitting and lying down on command helps. A lot. And all in one night! Mon Dieu! Bojack (who is new to the horror of the situation and has not yet learned to supress it) is indeed a latter-day Dog Whisperer.

And now said dog is depressed, so I think I will (and this is shocking, I know, I wonder how long it will last) go and see what I can do for him.

And so, I shall say good night.

I offer as a nightcap my comfort song. Don't Give Up, You Are Loved.


alexwearspants: (Default)

October 2010

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