Still Alive

Well... I'm still alive, that's something.

My writing is going... it's actually going pretty much nowhere. I write a line or two a week before I wander off to do something else. You don't get much result that way. But I live in hope that the summer will help it along. One can hope anyway.

I've had the urge to write a horror story again. It's not my strongest side (especially since I am so easily scared) but it's fun. I've been thinking a lot about what scares me and how I could use that in a story.

What scares me is; 1. Religious people, 2. Soldiers, 3. Large groups of police officers, 4. Large groups of agitated people, 5. Zombies.

So basically, people who don't think for themselves and don't question the leader (or don't think at all as in the case of 5.).

Now, that hasn't been done before in half a billion other stories. Noooo

Maybe I can write about Religious Zombie soldiers working undercover as police officers?

It would at least be a bit original.

(no subject)

I miss writing fanfiction.

I have barely written a word since this summer. Every time I try... I just end up staring at the page. I find myself putting all my hope on the second half of February. That is when everything will get better. Not only do I finally (FINALLY!!!!) lose some work hours, I will also get a visit from syndelar. I can see us sitting in a basement café in Stockholm, huddled together in front of my netbook with tea and too sweet cakes slices, writing.  I can hardly wait. I'm holding out for that jump start I so desperately need.

I want to write fluff. I want to write angst. I want to write something deep. I want to write something dumb. I want to write something long and slow and emotional. I want to update my stories. I want to start something new. I want to lose myself in a story. I want to feel the rush of characters taking shape. I want to press save, lean back and know that I'm done.

Hold your thumps for me. I just might need it.
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(no subject)

It's probably a sign of being overworked when you wake up in the middle of the night feeling like you're going to throw up and you first thought is "Oh please, please, please let me have caught a stomach bug so I can stay home with a clean conscience"

The last couple of weeks have been rough. Three of my old people, who I liked a lot died last week. One of them was barely fifty years old. You try to be professional but the loss is like a dark mass hanging off your shoulders. To make things worse, our schedule planner is away and the new woman is... making things very difficult. I haven't had two days off in a row in almost three weeks and this week I was supposed to work seven days in a row. The daily schedule has been insane, leaving us running like rats trying to keep up (doesn't work). Then someone at the economy department decided to cancel our parking spots and our office since they couldn't be bothered to find out what we we using them for (seriously?!) and we didn't find out until we started getting parking tickets. Now most of the cars won't start since we can't plug in any heating in the -25 degrees we have been blessed with the last couple of days. There are also three new people learning the job which make things a lot more stressful for the rest of us since they can't keep up with the tempo. One of them has been calling me non stop for three days, and I do mean non stop about everything from being lost to asking how to change light bulbs (I'm not even kidding). To do an impossible job and being nice to people who are annoyed with you for something you can't control while someone is calling you about twenty times a day can be very trying.

I'm covered in cold sweat, I feel absolutely awful but I am so very happy about it. So very, very happy.

To misquote one of my favourite characters "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four hours of sleep and now a Stomach flu. Oh, it's Christmas!"

Just another day

If anyone had asked me today what my job was, I would have answered –torturer. Because believe it or not, that feels like what I’ve been all day.

The day got off to a bad start as soon as I got my schedule.  The first thing I notice is that my first visit that should have been at 8.30 was at 7.15, the next thing was my second visit that should have been at 9.30 was at 7.45 and that my third visit that should have been at 10.00 was at 8.30. The rest of the visits went on pretty much the same. This means that no one was very pleased to see me that morning.

The first man was not very happy to be woken up so early and wanted to go back to sleep. He has a problem with falling asleep and often spend his nights staring at the ceiling. So understandably he doesn’t want to get up just after seven in the morning when he fell asleep around five. He tells me that he doesn’t want any help and that he’s fine. I tell him to get up, eat breakfast and take his medicine. He tells me he will do it later. I tell him to get up. In the end, I win but it’s not a sweet victory.

The second visit is an old woman who switches between being the happiest person on earth to the saddest in seconds and back again, over and over again. She is not happy to see me so early in the morning. She wants to go back to sleep so that she can die. I tell her to get up and get into the shower. She curses me out and then moves on to cursing god for killing her only child. I tell her to get up because she wet the bed and she needs to shower.  She starts crying, denying that the bed is wet and that she has never asked for my help and that I should leave. I force her into the shower. If anyone had been standing outside the bathroom door they would have believed that I was killing her in there for the amount of crying/begging/screaming she did.

The third visit is one of my favorite old women, someone I really don’t want to be even close to mean to. She just wants help with her socks and to go back to sleep. I tell her to get up. She does but it feels like a knife to the chest.

I have a colleague with me for the fourth visit, a pretty sick old woman who really should be in a home instead of living at home. She wants to keep sleeping but luckily she likes us and doesn’t protest when we pull the cover off her and start helping her up. This is where everything goes wrong. One of her feet hurts. We know it, we can do nothing about it. She puts her feet on the floor, her hands on her walker and we help her up. She screams in pain and she wants to sit back down. I tell her she needs to stay on her feet. She’s crying in pain. I tell her to walk. She tells me that it feels like fire under her feet and that she’s going to fall. Even knowing how terrified she is of falling, I tell her she needs to walk forward, away from the bed. She tells me she can’t. I tell her to walk. This goes on for almost an hour and a half before we get her into the wheelchair.

The fifth visit is the first one who doesn’t think I’m there too early, mainly because I’m now almost an hour late. This man is the same man who I mentioned in the last post. He’s in a happy mood, sitting in his armchair watching football. He doesn’t want any help but if I could make him some hot chocolate that would be nice of me. I tell him to get up and get into the bathroom so that I can clean him up. He tells me he can do it himself. I tell him to get up. He tells me his lungs hurt and he doesn’t want to get up right now. I tell him to get up. He tells me he doesn’t want to. I tell him to get up. This goes on until he does. It’s easy to see that whoever was there that morning didn’t do their job properly. He tells me he’s cold and that he wants to sit back down. I tell him to stand and take his clothes off. He tells me he’s too tired. I tell him that he has to keep standing. He tells me that it hurts when I clean him. I tell him that the pressure wounds on his hip are bleeding and covered in shit and that I need to keep cleaning. He tells me he can’t go on. I tell him he has to. This goes on until he’s clean, had his clothes changed and his chair cleaned and disinfected.

This leaves me with ten minutes left of my lunch break.

The first visit after lunch is to a woman who gives one of my colleagues a stomach ache just from thinking of her.  I have the key to her door but I really don’t want to use it. I ring the door bell. She doesn’t answer the door. I ring the doorbell. She doesn’t answer the door.  I call her phone. She hangs up. I ring the door bell. She doesn’t answer. This goes on for almost ten minutes before I reluctantly unlock the door.  I don’t get further then that because she has tied a rope to the door handle. She shows up in the hallway, pissed off as hell. She’s angry that random people have her key and dare to walk in and out of her home against her wishes. She is not happy to have me there. I lie like a mother fucker, not a word of truth passes my lips for the next fifteen minutes. By the end I’ve gotten her medicine down her throat and she thinks I’m her friend. She will know I’m not by the time I’ve called her daughter and told her about the rope.

Thankfully the rest of the day got better from there. I got a couple of visit canceled and spend the rest of my time with that favorite old woman of mine, eating cookies and playing cards.

Unfortunately it doesn’t weigh up the mind numbing suffering I’ve put people through today because I had to. This is what happens when three people are sick and the original schedule planner is on vacation.

Urg, I need some tea and a foot massage. 

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    tired tired

(no subject)

Warning: This entry contains whining.

Just need to get this off my chest before I go to bed.

I was working the evening shift today, meaning that I start at one in the afternoon and get off at ten in the evening. Since mornings and I don't like each other very much, these are my favorite work hours. I was having a pretty good day, driving around to check in with the old people, helping them out and making sure they were all right. Everything was going fine until the last visit.

This old man in question, is a interesting character. He's an old sailor who have seen larger part of the world and raised his three daughters by himself. You can tell that he's been a real charmer with a killer smile and a way of sweet talking you like he knows you're going to give in. Unfortunately he is also one of the most stubborn and in denial men I have ever meet. And he's not even demented.

So even before I get there I know it's going to be hard work. As I park the car outside his house, my phone rings. It's one of my coworkers who's asking how it's going and I tell her that I just have the old man left. "Is it okay if I leave then?" She askes me. I'm not much of a fan of running off early, especially not at the evenings. Not so much for the "you are payed to do this job" as "you don't leave people behind." It's the unwritten rule that you always stay to make sure that everyone makes it back okay. But we are three people working and I know that she has small kids that won't let her sleep in tomorrow so I tell her to go ahead.

I go into the house and as soon as I open the door I can smell that this will not be fun. The whole place stinks of shit. The plastic gloves goes on right away.

The old man is halfway onto the floor, having slipped out of bed while trying to do god knows what. He's tangled up in blankets and plastic bed covers. There is shit, piss, chewing tobacco and what I hope is jam all over the place. He tells me that he just wants help back into bed so that he can go to sleep. Yeah, like that's going to happen.

And here the war starts. He claims to be a full grown man who can make his own decisions and I can't force him to do anything. Technically he's right but I can be a bitch if I have to and I make a great impression of the iceberg that took down Titanic.

But there is a lot to do. The man needs to be moved, cleaned off and changed. The beddings needs to be changed, everything he has touched with his sticky and alarmingly brown fingertips needs to be cleaned. The duvet needs to be washed so it doesn't start to smell too bad, he needs something to eat and the medicine needs to be sorted. And while this is going on, his crazy cat who's in heat is running around all over the place, literally climbing the walls and pushing over burning candles that the man has spread out all over the place.

I could use some back up.

So I call the third person who's working. And get his voice mail. This only means one thing. He's gone home early too. To say that I'm a bit annoyed is to state the obvious. I'm on my own but I get the job done. Not going to give you any more details but I can tell you that it wasn't pretty in any way.

Tired as hell, I get back to the office, lock up everything, document everything out of the ordinary and turn off all the lights. Then I put on every single piece of clothing I have to prepare for the walk home. It usually takes me about forty minutes to get home but today is something special. It's windy and -18 degrees. It's not so cold it hurts to breath but it's close. To make things worse the two people who left both drive by my house on their way home. I was not in a happy place as I started walking.

Half way home a though hits me like a fist of ice.

Did I turn off the stove?

I can remember making the old man hot chocolate, I can remember pouring it and washing the pan. But I have no memory of turning the stove off. There was a lot going on, the cat was jumping all over the place, the old man kept calling me over to do everything from getting him blankets to moving flower pots, not to mention all the things going through my head.

I'm 99 percent sure I did do it, even if I can't remember doing it but I'm not a 100 sure and I don't trust myself. I turn around and go back to the office, get the keys, drive over to the old man's house and let myself in. There I can se for myself that of course I turned off the stove. I make small talk with the old man and get the pleasure of taking out the lovely trash bags that I had forgotten to bring with me the last time. Yes, because that was just what my evening was missing.

Fifteen minutes passed midnight I finally get to close my front door behind me. I'm cold, hungry and so tired that I'm sure that there's so many spelling mistakes in this that I will be embarrassed to re-read this tomorrow.

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    tired tired

(no subject)

I admit that I've never been much of a Tolkien fan. I've read plenty of fantasy books in my life but The Lord of the Rings were never a favourite and I believe that the only reason I made it through all the books was because I was stuck in a small car with my family in Norway for a week. I found the books to be slow and filled with pointless facts (don't even get me started on the forests. I have never hated imaginary trees so much in my life) that made me want to stop reading.

But while they are slow and partly pointless, they are also the father of all fantasy and no one can deny that they are beyond epic. When you get passed the annoying parts, the story is really fantastic and the effort that man put into his books is mindblowing.

And then there was The Hobbit.

This was one truly horrible book in my opinion. I found it to be childish and a huge waste of time. I really hated this book and when the Lord of the Ring movies started coming I said sure, read the books but don't bother with the prologue, it sucks.

So obviously I wasn't all that interested when they started talking about making a movie out of this book. I couldn't have cared less in fact.

But that was before I realized that they were going to cast Martin fucking Freeman as Bilbo!

the hobbit bilbo baggins

Please excuse me while I go bat shit crazy fangirl while waiting for this movie.
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    crazy crazy

(no subject)

If it seems like I've fallen off the face of the earth, it might not be far from the truth.

Nothing terrible has happened, I've just... not been able to gather up any energy/inspiration/time to write.

I probably mentioned it before, but last spring I got 20% more work hours for a job that was already sucking my energy out. Don't get me wrong, I really like my job but there is so much to do and the stress is a silent killer.

Then, in a brilliant move I decide to get another job on the side. A very fun one but one that eats my days off.

I tried this for months before starting to realize that it couldn't go on. I have hardly written a word since last spring or seen a lot of my friends and family and my whole life revolves around work. And soon the snow will be here and everything will get twice as difficult.

So I have decided to cut back those 20% again and reclaim my life. In November, I will be back and hopefully I will make a grand entrance with a lot of fanfiction and perhaps even my very own first ever original story.

I can hardly wait!
  • Current Mood
    pleased pleased

(no subject)

So I'm back again. Not all that happy about it. Work starts on Monday again.

First I spend a week in Greece with dear ex-roomate and substitute mother kaaern04  where we spent our time doing a whole lot of nothing, eating too much expensive ice cream and in my case, buying to many cock related souvenirs. It was just like the good old days... only with more sun, free time, beaches, prepared breakfasts... okay so it wasn't really anything like the old university days. So reeeeelaxing.

What I learned on my trip.
1. Don't forget to tip the housekeeper. They deserve tip, lots of it.
2. If you search long enough, you will find the erotic books you want. You might even find them on sale.
3. Finding a present for Kaaern04's mother is impossible.
4. Wind is the best. At least in Greece.
5. Dr Who rocks all worlds. Donna needs to be destroyed but Marta should have a temple somewhere.
6. Sunscreen!
7. Children should come with a mute button.
8. A massage on the beach is the ultimate luxury 
9. Don't buy food at airport if you don't have to. So expensive :(
10. Always eat cake if you can.

Then I spent a week in Pula, Croatia with the amazing syndelar and we had so much fun you wouldn't believe it. That week went by far too quickly. We went fangirls over everything and everyone with a cock (and one Martini glass dancer without). We even started writing this GW story that I just know is going to turn out so good.

What I learned on my trip.
1.Never book a trip from flygstolen.se unless you enjoy waiting in line over the phone for almost two hours.
2. Sherlock in any form is beyond words and needs to be worshipped, preferably with porn.
3. People in clubs in Pula don't dance. No, seriously. There is no dance floor. Culture chock was scary. Syndelar promises that Pula does not represent the rest of the country... but it's still scary.
4. You can walk on the road in Croatia and this is fantastic if slightly dangerous.
5. Never trust a driver from Pula.
6. Chocolate for breakfast is the bomb.
7. Dancing all night and getting home around six in the morning is not good for creativity.
8. Tentacle porn for the win. Always.
9. Children should come with a mute button.
10. I'm too middle class to travel business class. I spent two hours trying not to laugh some kind of movie star in the face for being such a cliché.

So to go from the warm weather and the careless existence with great company to Swedish summer with rain and work around the corner is not all that fun. Real world here I come. I am not pleased.

Well, time to go to bed. But remember. Whatever you do, don't blink.
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