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hathycolToday is my day off of two days off IN A ROW. I have utterly no plans for today and I plan to keep it as such, although I do so wish there was some Doctor Who on to help this laziness.
Anyway. As part of My Plans To Relax On My Days Off, it started going a bit wrong on the way home on Friday. I had to zip into the agency to hand in my timesheet, and discovered that my pay was in the form of a cheque. It is a nice round amount, however, and will go nicely towards the great hole that is my overdraft. If it all goes to plan, my overdraft should be paid off by next Friday. Hurrah!
However, the traffic is still completely buggared up in Ormskirk, and this includes the end of my road. This is making life be not especially fun, especially when stuck in them on the way home. I got through the door a lot later than I meant to, but then I went off and got some sleep, as I went out yesterday. It was supposed to be a meal with Simon and me, but through one thing and another, El Parento ended coming along too. Well, fair enough, because they paid and gave lifts so there we are. I shan't complain too much. Besides, they went out afterwards, and what with Megan being out at the Comrades, it worked out nicely enough, and Simon ended up staying over, and we had a quiet evening of just the two of us.
Megan (and oh, why does it always end up being her that buggars it all up?) was due back with her friend Sandra at eleven. Mum and Dad are both very strict about this curfew, as it's newly imposed (it was earlier) and whatnot. I get a phonecall at about two minutes to eleven. It's Megan, babbling about how someone had passed out and she had to stay and look after him. I gave her five minutes to be home in, and she puts the phone down on me.
Ten minutes later (and I still have no idea what's going on with Megan) I phone Mum. About Fifteen minutes after that, Megan comes home and proceeds to scream the place down at me for grassing her up to Mum, and that her friend was ill. She told me in graphic detail about how this lad who an anti-dpressants but had drank "Not too much, just a litre of vodka and coke!" (that would knock me out, and I'm not 14 and I'm not on anti-depressants). I question, as does Simon who remained a wonderful rock of moral support, why exactly a 14-year-old on anti-depressants is drinking full stop, and why exactly it was Megan that had to look after him, etc, etc.
Cue a long rant on how I do not understand this bloke's messed up life, and how she had to do CPR, and why I'm a bitch, and so on and so forth. I question if he got put in am ambulance and am imformed he just made his own way home.
You'll forgive me if I assume that someone's crying out for attention. I have a very limited patience for 14-year-olds crying out for attention but consistently refusing to get something in the way of therapy.
Eventually, Megan went to bed having thoroughly ruined the evening for me. She's grounded for a week, though, which I am childishly happy about. Her week is ruined; what was supposed to be my vaguely relaxing evening was ruined towards the end. I had an amazingly lovely evening previous to that, too, but oh no, she does have to add a sour note.
Mum then wanders through the door, and Simon and I take our leave. Being the good humans we were, in seperate rooms and everything. Until I woke up in the morning and wandered into the spare room, but, you know, the principle is the same. Besides, considering that I poked him and then more or less fell asleep, I don't think it matters to much. It was nice, anyway; the closest I get to actually having a warm body in the bed beside me until Freshers Week. And that is a good thing.
Now Simon is gone, and I'm still feeling a bit bitter towards Megan, but there we are. I have two days off work. Tomorrow is training, but today will consist of me making some CDs of the music I have in my computer and putting it on tape. I want to drive around singing along the The Dresden Dolls and so help me, I will.
... does anyone knows a way to make burn scars go down? I scalded myself on some tea about a week ago, and now its come up with a horrible scar all across the back of my hand, possibly because I'm an idiot and scratched it when it was healing, so it's a slightly different colour and the skin is all puckered and feels a bit off. I'm actually feeling quite self-conscious about it, as it's on my right hand and it's a bit icky. It wasn't blistered or anything, so will it go away soon? (Says she with a burn scar on her left wrist that she's had since she was two and discoverd Why Ovens Aren't For Playing With.) I'm not worrying, as such, it's just a bit nasty. And the developing allergy I appear to be getting from the rubber gloves AND the washing up liquid at work isn't helping.
~Hathy_Col~
Anyway. As part of My Plans To Relax On My Days Off, it started going a bit wrong on the way home on Friday. I had to zip into the agency to hand in my timesheet, and discovered that my pay was in the form of a cheque. It is a nice round amount, however, and will go nicely towards the great hole that is my overdraft. If it all goes to plan, my overdraft should be paid off by next Friday. Hurrah!
However, the traffic is still completely buggared up in Ormskirk, and this includes the end of my road. This is making life be not especially fun, especially when stuck in them on the way home. I got through the door a lot later than I meant to, but then I went off and got some sleep, as I went out yesterday. It was supposed to be a meal with Simon and me, but through one thing and another, El Parento ended coming along too. Well, fair enough, because they paid and gave lifts so there we are. I shan't complain too much. Besides, they went out afterwards, and what with Megan being out at the Comrades, it worked out nicely enough, and Simon ended up staying over, and we had a quiet evening of just the two of us.
Megan (and oh, why does it always end up being her that buggars it all up?) was due back with her friend Sandra at eleven. Mum and Dad are both very strict about this curfew, as it's newly imposed (it was earlier) and whatnot. I get a phonecall at about two minutes to eleven. It's Megan, babbling about how someone had passed out and she had to stay and look after him. I gave her five minutes to be home in, and she puts the phone down on me.
Ten minutes later (and I still have no idea what's going on with Megan) I phone Mum. About Fifteen minutes after that, Megan comes home and proceeds to scream the place down at me for grassing her up to Mum, and that her friend was ill. She told me in graphic detail about how this lad who an anti-dpressants but had drank "Not too much, just a litre of vodka and coke!" (that would knock me out, and I'm not 14 and I'm not on anti-depressants). I question, as does Simon who remained a wonderful rock of moral support, why exactly a 14-year-old on anti-depressants is drinking full stop, and why exactly it was Megan that had to look after him, etc, etc.
Cue a long rant on how I do not understand this bloke's messed up life, and how she had to do CPR, and why I'm a bitch, and so on and so forth. I question if he got put in am ambulance and am imformed he just made his own way home.
You'll forgive me if I assume that someone's crying out for attention. I have a very limited patience for 14-year-olds crying out for attention but consistently refusing to get something in the way of therapy.
Eventually, Megan went to bed having thoroughly ruined the evening for me. She's grounded for a week, though, which I am childishly happy about. Her week is ruined; what was supposed to be my vaguely relaxing evening was ruined towards the end. I had an amazingly lovely evening previous to that, too, but oh no, she does have to add a sour note.
Mum then wanders through the door, and Simon and I take our leave. Being the good humans we were, in seperate rooms and everything. Until I woke up in the morning and wandered into the spare room, but, you know, the principle is the same. Besides, considering that I poked him and then more or less fell asleep, I don't think it matters to much. It was nice, anyway; the closest I get to actually having a warm body in the bed beside me until Freshers Week. And that is a good thing.
Now Simon is gone, and I'm still feeling a bit bitter towards Megan, but there we are. I have two days off work. Tomorrow is training, but today will consist of me making some CDs of the music I have in my computer and putting it on tape. I want to drive around singing along the The Dresden Dolls and so help me, I will.
... does anyone knows a way to make burn scars go down? I scalded myself on some tea about a week ago, and now its come up with a horrible scar all across the back of my hand, possibly because I'm an idiot and scratched it when it was healing, so it's a slightly different colour and the skin is all puckered and feels a bit off. I'm actually feeling quite self-conscious about it, as it's on my right hand and it's a bit icky. It wasn't blistered or anything, so will it go away soon? (Says she with a burn scar on her left wrist that she's had since she was two and discoverd Why Ovens Aren't For Playing With.) I'm not worrying, as such, it's just a bit nasty. And the developing allergy I appear to be getting from the rubber gloves AND the washing up liquid at work isn't helping.
~Hathy_Col~
no subject
Date: 2006-07-15 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-15 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-15 05:35 pm (UTC)She will, however, be miserable. This means that she's quiet. Hurrah! Also, she's so much in the doghouse that she has to be at least civil to everyone. I win. A bit.
I am such a bitch.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-17 02:29 pm (UTC)xx