noideadog: (california)
My laptop is randomly seizing up and crashing, my phone has stopped doing voice and data since some time last night, and my brain is fully engaged in negotiating with a terrorist headache that came from nowhere and won't back off. In summary, all of my communications hardware is running in degraded mode. Since this is my only phone, my only computer and my only brain for the rest of the week, and since I was hoping to spend this week learning everything my development team in Mountain View knows, it's not perfect timing. I'm prescribing myself tea, ibuprofen, grumpiness and ten hours sleep.
noideadog: (Default)
Well, what Joel had might not be food poisoning, unless it was the contagious kind of food poisoning. This evening could be better, to be honest with you, and I suspect it's just getting started.
noideadog: (meerkat)
Oh, I forgot to say: Joel ate some bad turkey about 36 hours ago, and his crowning achievement since then is that he managed to keep down some applesauce, so please send good thoughts his way. Food poisoning is not fun at all.
noideadog: (meerkat)
What I did today: made tea, whined about having a cold, ate several meals, watched six episodes of Doctor Who, thought about getting out of bed and doing something useful with my life, didn't. I am the worst New Yorker who ever lived.
noideadog: (culture)
I suddenly realised that I couldn't remember whether Angela Lansbury was the actress or the character. The question filled up my brain. I couldn't think of anything else. I almost ran back to my desk to find out.

Brain itch scratched, it was interesting to read on and learn that the actress was born as long ago as 1925, and that she was nominated for Oscars in 1945, 1946 and 1963. She's been in 99 roles so far, IMDB says. What a remarkable person.

I had a flu shot this morning, and now I have a headache and achy bones and am crabby, even though I know it's not a live vaccine and this makes no sense.

The nurse was surprised to hear that this was my first flu vaccine. I explained that they're not very common in Ireland, except for old people. "What do you do?", she asked. "You just get sick?". I suppose we do just get sick, don't we? Or has everyone else been getting flu shots for years?

Here's the thing though: I don't know if I've ever actually had influenza. You can get headaches and weariness and disfunctionality from colds too, right?; how do you know when it's a flu? Everyone says things like "oh, you'll know", in dark tones, but I just don't think that's true.

As you've probably noticed, there's an election on over here. People seem tired more than excited, but I expect that will change later in the evening.
noideadog: (coffee)
I groomed the cat, and now we have a noticeably smaller cat. Seriously, it's not natural the amount of hair and dust and fluff that comes off her every time she brushes against any surface. I had to hoover the walls.

Stu and his friend Andy are here, and we celebrated that with mediocre Italian food and too much to drink, ending up sitting on high stools at the gay bar across from my apartment, chatting up the barman. Deadly fun it was, until this morning when I broke my lifelong winning streak of never having upchucked for alcohol-based reasons. This morning was a very unhappy time for me, as was a large portion of the afternoon. I was glad I'd brought Andrews Liver Salts with me. You can't buy that stuff here, apart from in speciality Barry's-Tea-And-HulaHoops shops like this or this, and I've never found anything as effective for curing what the label politely calls "the symptoms of overindulgence". I don't know what Americans use for making their stomach a bit fizzy and happier. Americans, what do you use for making your stomach a bit fizzy and happier?

Lest you think my life is all dull, I should tell you that today I also paid our electricity bill. We got a letter explaining that we were due to be disconnected in six days, and I realised with some alarm that those bills I've been ignoring haven't been paid automatically from my bank account. I phoned up to pay, and the electricity company man said that it wouldn't affect my credit rating. I do hope that's true. I've only recently got a credit rating of any kind; I'd like it to stay pristine.

[ profile] the_antichris was here earlier in the week, and road-tested our guest bedroom. It was jolly nice to have a visitor, and even nicer that it was Chris who is, as several studies have shown, a very cool person. We went to see Boeing Boeing, an adapted french farce about Josh-from-WestWing living in Paris and being engaged to three women at once. It took me most of the first act to warm to it -- it's not a subtle play, and the characters are one-dimensional and stereotyped -- but I suddenly realised that I was watching it with the wrong expectations; once I switched over to thinking of it as something like an Abbot and Costello sketch, I loved it. It's over-the-top because it's supposed to be, and that makes a big difference.

I saw a poster for "". Someone with a windows box have a look at the trial version and tell me if it's any good?
noideadog: (insomnia)
For over a week now I've been in a frame of mind where I have to force myself to work. I'm not even that tired, just.. meh. Weak. Lazy of brain. Slow of thought. Infirm of purpose. This was my default state for most of autumn/winter in Dublin, and I'm not excited about it coming back. It's been really overcast recently. I wonder if I'm not photosynthesising enough.

I still have a sort of a cold, but it didn't turn into glandular fever, so that's good. Sometimes I wish I would just once get a proper, knockout, two weeks in bed illness, rather than these lame sort of dreary things where I'm probably well enough to go to work, and would feel guilty not doing so. Whine.

What I am excited about is going home in three days. Anyone up for a pint in Messers on Sunday night?
noideadog: (weirdofreak)

new apartment
Originally uploaded by xymb.
Here's the new place. You might think I mean "Here's a part of the new place", but no, this is a photograph of the whole lot, taken while I was sitting in the window, holding my blackberry as far back as possible to fit it all in.

There's a fireplace on the right that you can't see. The door on the left leads to a biggish walk in closet, and behind that is the entryway. On the right, at the back, that's the kitchen. I like the chunky wooden shelves. A door at the back of the kitchen leads into a tiny bathroom. It's dark partly because it was 11pm when I took the picture, and partly because it's a dark apartment. We'll get standing lamps or something.

I don't know if you can see that the walls are all exposed brick, and the floor is exposed wood, which fills me with joy and which makes Joel feel like he's living in a tenement in the 1800s.

This is either going to be the best thing ever, or a complete disaster. I still suspect the former.

I have a cold or something that's making my head and ears ache, and my brain seize up. I've been trying to work, but I can't produce any clever thoughts today. Despite recent attempts to eat healthily, I grabbed a box of mac and cheese for lunch, and hid myself in a meeting room and read a comic. I'm trying ibuprofen and diet coke now, and if that fails, I guess I'll go home.

Seize is e-before-i, which I never get right first time. Sieze. Seize.

The comic is The Secret Origins Of Jessica Jones, which is book four of the best series Marvel ever produced, and which is out of print and difficult to find. I bought it on eBay. I was saving it up until I re-read the first three again, so I'd get the maximum joy out of it, but today I feel sorry for myself, so I read it. It's as good as I'd hoped. But now I've no unread Jessica Jones left in the world. I have that empty feeling that sometimes comes after a good book. Sad.

Ugh. So irrationally depressed today. And my head hurts a lot now.

This is not going to be glandular fever. This is a regular cold. I fucking decree it.
noideadog: (meerkat)
The only really stressful parts of relocating are the parts I can't control. Cancelling utilities, selling stuff, finishing up projects, arranging flights.. all done. Not all pleasant, but done with time to spare and nothing to worry about. But trying to convince the shipping company to return calls, respond to emails within forty eight hours, or to turn up when they say they will? That stuff is not possible. That stuff is very stressful indeed.

They said "No. First thing Wednesday", when I asked for boxes to be delivered on Monday. No boxes arrived. I called an hour ago to find out whether they maybe weren't working in GMT, and they said that their driver was in Wexford. Wexford. Maybe I didn't -need- the boxes today?, they suggested. I was.. ahem.. polite and measured in my response. They say they're sending the boxes now, and that they'll arrive at 16:30. I am not entirely optimistic, but at least they're learning to communicate, even if the communication is a lie.

Grar. Honestly, this relocation business is harder than I expected. I'm a reasonably organised person (no, really), so I honestly assumed, for all my exclaiming about how much there was to do, that everything would come together, items would get crossed off lists, and that the stuff I'd do at the last minute would all be chaotic-seeming, but secretly under control. I thought it'd be easier than this.

(And I have a cold and it's kicking my ass, but that seems to be my default state recently.)

Six sleeps left, or more like twelve, since I've been napping a lot, but you know what I mean.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
Do you remember the days before blogging when maybe your friend or acquaintance or complete stranger would have a small illness, and they'd just go ahead and have it, and you wouldn't have to suffer through a blow by blow account of how it was at any particular moment?

Do you remember those days fondly?

I love the idea that my LJ people are "my friends" and "my acquaintances" and "my complete strangers". Because even though I only know you on LJ, and you might be a convincing fiction, you're still kind of mine. We're all kind of each others'. Do you know?

The tired and sick caught up with me and I was very sad and oddly scared earlier, but the right person said the right things, and that's all it takes sometimes. To make life even more like a movie, the sun has dipped low, and the room is soaked in orange light like honey, and chose Belle and Sebastian, and then Nouvelle Vague, and it's.. really.. it just is. You wouldn't believe it. It's unbearably beautiful.

And I'm not a snot elemental any more, just someone who works in the medium, and I think I can go back to work tomorrow. Life returns to normal. Thank. Christ.
noideadog: (chimney rabbit)
Still sick. Still resolutely hating everything. I'll get over both.

I'm going to Galway this weekend. My sister, Aishling, is getting married next August, and this weekend is the beginning of the dress-shopping extravaganza. We're choosing bridesmaid colours too. I've already prepared my speech about "why pastels are of the devil" and am angling (with no real expectation of success) for something tasteful in black.

My house has no food, so I'm going out now on a quest for soup. This is as interesting as it gets really.
noideadog: (culture)
Today I slept and slept, then hauled myself down to the Nuthouse Cafe for delicious broccoli and brie soup, then slept a whole lot, then kicked off "Bach's Similar Artists" on and read The Crucible[1], then slept some more. I sneezed more, but coughed less. I think I'm on the mend. Not likely to make it to work tomorrow though. And I'm tiiiired, as if I hadn't slept in days. Funny how that happens.

This evening, [ profile] rockpaperaxe and [ profile] microgirl came to visit, bringing CDs, fairy cakes and excellent conversation. I have good neighbours :-D

[1] I hadn't read or seen this before. It's extraordinarily good, but I'm not rushing out to see it in the theatre. Reading the play is harrowing enough; I imagine a good production would be unbearable. Anyone seen it anywhere?
noideadog: (insomnia)
Coming down the stairs this morning, I was met by a bright purple balloon, bobbing at head height. It's still in the hall now, silently watching through the doorway. I do hope it's not an evil balloon. I should turn some lights on in here; I think it's less powerful when it's bright.

I was on call today, but I didn't get paged. That's the best kind of on call.

I have a cold. I hate it a lot. Things I hate include

* coughing all the time
* having no energy
* not being able to think clearly
* having to stop at inconvenient times to attend to a drippy nose
* feeling cold even though the heating is on and I'm wearing two pairs of socks
* having probably given my cold to everyone in the office yesterday because I thought it was ok and then it wasn't. Sorry office people.
* hating everything

Today I achieved these things:

* I reinforced my bed. I added metal brackets to the corners, wood-glued the legs on, nailed the frame together, and replaced the ridiculous quarter-inch screws in the headboard with screws an inch-and-a-half long, which protruded from the other side and needed to be filed down. That baby's staying on. It's still not perfect -- it still shudders and creaks when I sit on it -- but I reckon I'll be able to turn over in bed without bracing for the whole thing to collapse. After several hours of resting, I re-made the bed too. It seemed so very difficult, and I was considering sleeping in the budda bag instead, but I got a little burst of energy so now I have a bed with sheets. Success.
* I watched the new episode of Heroes. And it was good. I downloaded some of the Heroes graphic novels. They're good too.
* I ate bagels and fish fingers. Nyom. I am such a gourmet.

I did not achieve these things:

* I did not change out of pyjamas
* I did not leave the house

On the whole, I think I did rather well. NyQuil and bed now.
noideadog: (shutup)
Today I have a headache so big that it's more of an entity that I am. I become a headache with a Tanya attached. I, HEADACHE!, am powerful enough to rule the world. BEWARE! The Tanya thinks to fight me with Advil, but she knows it is a futile gesture! The Tanya wonders whether this was the Dire Consequences threatened should she not drink a lot water after her massage yesterday. Which she absolutely forgot to do. I, HEADACHE!, am lucky to have found a Tanya with such inability to follow simple instructions! I KILL YOU ALL, LATER, LATER.
noideadog: (brain)
I seldom miss having cable and computer games, but, ok, today I could deal with some napping in front of Cartoon Network, or seven hours of Final Fantasy or something.

I'm not entirely not unwell. It's a bad balance: I'm not sick enough to stay in bed without being bored; I'm not well enough to do anything productive. I did manage to sweep the floor around 3pm, but I had to sit down for an hour afterwards to recover. Also, science might be broken, because it's simultaneously too warm and too cold in here.

That is all the complaining I have for now.

Edit: A very large bowl of mashed potatoes. An hour of Age of Mythology. Some sitting around and IMing people. Not my most challenging day ever, but in the end it wasn't unpleasant either.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
"Akim Kavolo works in the Kasinthula sugar fields in Malawi. The fair price he receives from Traidcraft for his hard work helps him pay for his studies. 'I hope that by getting an education and working hard I can make my dream happen'"

Questions for the group:

Does Akim Kavolo exist?
What are his studies?
Does he really have a dream?
What is his dream?
What effect does paying one farmer properly have on the Malawi economy?
How much of his fair price goes to the local mafia?
Does any of this matter? Buy the fucking biscuits, Tanya.

The internet says traidcraft is good people, which is nice. The internet is wikipedia though and wikipedia does say a lot of things. The biscuits are great anyway.

My brain is stuffed full of paracetamol and unwellness. I thought I was beating it until I realised I'd been reading the same work email for half an hour, and still had no idea what they were asking me to do. So I slept for most of the afternoon.

The doorbell rang a while back, and I nearly answered it, but then I realised that anybody I knew would assume I was in work, and call me instead. The only people likely to come to the door are the tv license dude[1], Jehovah's witnesses, people looking for money, and neighbourhood murderers. I tried to look out through the blinds in a non-obvious fashion, but then I realised that that was crazy person behaviour, so I went back to bed instead. The doorbell ringing people didn't leave a note. Does life get more exciting than almost answering the door? No it does -not-.

I'm going back to bed.

[1] I have a tv that is connected to a dvd player. I don't have cable or an aerial. I still need a tv license. That bugs me.
noideadog: (booze)
"When using this product, marked drowsiness may occur".

Hah. What NyQuil should actually say is

"When using this product, twelve hours of oblivion will occur. You will sleep without interruption; dreams will not wake you; noise will not wake you; you will not jolt awake at 4am wondering why you're awake at 4am. When using this product, you will wake up the next day feeling sprightly and well. You will not care about whatever ailment made you take NyQuil in the first place. When using this product, you will SLEEP. And it will FEEL GOOD. And you will LIKE IT."

I have another cold, my third illness this year. As someone who considers herself strong, unsickly and virtually indestructible, I'm disconcerted. I always claimed that it was a side effect of never getting sick that was the reason that I complain an -awful- lot when I do, but no, it turns out I'm just whiny. It's good to learn these things, right? Stupid sickness. Whine. Grar.

But back to NyQuil. Wonderful NyQuil. I learned from Wikipedia that Nyquil contains:

* Acetaminophen (pain reliever/fever reducer)
* Dextromethorphan (cough suppressant)
* Doxylamine succinate (antihistamine/hypnotic)

I also learned that acetaminophen is another name for paracetamol, that paracetamol is extremely toxic to cats and that dextromethorphan can produce psychological dependence. Which I can well believe, though I think it's the doxylamine succinate that's rocking my own little addictive world.

Edit: I'd forgotten this. Denis Leary is funny.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
I seem to have survived. Eleven episodes of My Name Is Earl, paracetamol, four hours asleep, five chapters of The Pope's Children, paracetamol, another ten hours asleep: these seem to be the ingredients for wellness.

When I woke up, I did a poll of how I felt (I like to imagine my brain sending out little snmp requests for things like '' and getting back a '0' and turning off an alarm.) and decreed that I was well enough to go back to normal life. My stomach reacted to this by inexplicably mading a noise like a toilet flushing, which is something it's never done before, but I'm sure I'm not turning into a mutant. ( = 0).

Now to do a whole weekend's worth of things in ten hours.
noideadog: (buttercup)
I guess I'm sick. I thought two NyQuil and sixteen hours sleep would make me all better, but I'm still broken. Headache and earache and stomach pains and muscle pains and no energy at all. I'm already bored of it. Stupid illness.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
I was listening to my iPod in Cafe Insomnia and reading the property section of the paper while waiting for my latte, and it suddenly occurred to me that I might be one of those people. But then I remembered that I was also carrying a bright orange space hopper, so I think I'm safe for now.

This morning I saw a lovely thing which was three ducks flying in formation. They swooped over the river but didn't land. Glorious, it was.

The only other notable thing of today is that my belly hurts to ridiculousness and I can't focus and I didn't get much sleep. I am girl-sick and I hate it all the hating that was ever hated. I want to go back to bed until Saturday.


noideadog: (Default)

February 2014

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