Waiting

 

Nothing from the vets yet.  If I haven’t heard from them by tomorrow afternoon I’ll go round and do the Haggard and Hysterical Hellgoddess* at them, just to make sure (a) they haven’t forgotten to tell me because they’re having a busy day and (b) if they haven’t heard from the lab maybe they should do a modicum of checking up.  They could say that their client is a haggard and hysterical hellgoddess** and they’d be grateful to have something to tell her.  That noise in the background, they could say, is the client under discussion gnawing holes in the clinic’s window frames.

Hellhounds have eaten four and three-quarters meals in a row—NOT WITHOUT EFFORT FROM YOURS TRULY—and there was a certain falling-off from Chaos on the subject of dinner, but I am hoping this is just a blip and not the return of a recent much-feared trend.  Crap production is not finest kind either—not that they ever produce finest-kind but what’s happening now is a trifle ominous. . . .  I really hope there are lab results tomorrow and that they are, while probably guaranteed non-definitive, at least suggestive.

Hellterror seems as normal—although ‘normal’ applied to a bullie is a bit of a non sequitur—aside from the continued manifestation of hellhound-type un-finest-kind crap.  I’m telling myself that this is, in its perverse way, a good thing.  It proves there’s something wrong that we can seek till we find.

And I’m basically so tired I could die.  I did finally get some sleep last night, but not enough—‘enough’ at this point would probably be into triple figures—and we didn’t have lunch till teatime*** partly because I let myself lie down for a moment† after breakfast and someone stole two hours like picking my pocket.

Not that the day has been a day anyone would want more of than they could help.  It’s the 23rd of May in the south of England and we’re having sleet and hail.  Okay, you can get hail any time†† but SLEET?  Sleet on the 23rd of May in the south of England is rude.

I have indeed spent most of the day playing stupid word games on Astarte.  This is all Rima’s fault.  Everybody is cooler than I am so I tend to ask visitors what they’re reading/doing/watching/playing.  She has an iPad too††† so I didn’t even have the minor protection of noncompatibility.  She got me started on Moxie, which I’m not too bad at‡, and What’s My Word? which I’m terrible at, and I discovered Word Abacus for myself which I’m reasonably good at except for the fact that it keeps frelling crashing.  This is less annoying than it might be since it tends to crash at about the point that I’m thinking that I’m tired of being dragged up through the levels just because I have a reasonably good vocabulary and keep failing to fail.  YAAY.  I’VE JUST CRASHED.  I GET TO START OVER.  I am so not a games player.  But the constant pop-up windows asking if I want to SHARE WITH MY FRIENDS make me nuts.  NO.  I’M TIRED AND STRESSED AND BRAIN DEAD AND WASTING TIME.  THE LAST THING I WANT TO DO IS WASTE MY FRIENDS’ TIME TOO.

But the thing that really freaks me out is that Abacus says Hi hellgoddess! every time I open it up again.  Where did it pick hellgoddess up from?  I sure didn’t invite it to share that particular joke.  I do use ‘hellgoddess’ when some blasted impertinent site‡‡ wants a user name other than my email address and I actually am planning on hanging around long enough that it’s not an unreasonable request. ‡‡‡  But some frelling games company?  Arrrgh.  The permeability of the loose information out there in internet land seriously squicks me out.

* * *

* with optional thunderbolts.  Hunderbolts.  Hmmm.  I think I like hunderbolts.  That would be what a hellgoddess hurls.

** with hunderbolts

*** We literally fell through the door at the mews as Peter was making himself a cuppa, the ginger biscuits already out on the table.

† Note to self:  when very tired, don’t get dressed in the bedroom.  Where the bed is.

†† As any gardener who has ever opened their private garden to the public the day after a major hailstorm will have no trouble remembering forever.  You’re scheduled in the Yellow Book^, it’s not like you can say, tra la la, I’ve changed my mind.  Delphiniums?  What delphiniums?  Roses put up with being thrashed better than most so we had some garden left.  It’s still horrible.

^ http://www.ngs.org.uk/  There are plenty of other private-garden-openings for charity, but this is the big famous organization.  We used to open at the old house.

††† Although her cover for hers is orange.  With mine in blistering pink on the same table it was kind of War of the Kindergarten Colours.  Anybody out there with a lime-green cover for their iPad?  Come play with us.

‡ Also I like it when it says twaddle which is a trifle counterproductive since this costs you thirty points.

‡‡ I was trying to buy cheap fleece blankets on line tonight—during breaks from Word Abacus—because with three hellcritters I find I run out of bedding as soon as there is any extra strain on the system—a hellterror bitch in heat, say.^  This frelling site wanted my birth date ‘for added security’.  What the bleep does that mean?  They lost that sale.  Now I need an alternative source of cheap fleece blankets for critter bedding.

^ Ref Diane in MN’s comment on the forum, you have Great Danes.  I’m not expecting to need to put pants on something that weighs less than thirty pounds and presumably has appropriately teeny ooze-producing female parts.  Ask me next autumn or thereabouts when she comes in season again.  At the moment I couldn’t keep pants on her if I wanted to:  she’d chew them off.  She’s still in a collar rather than a harness because she still doesn’t sit particularly still for having same put on, and I therefore leave it on all day (it comes off after the last brief night hurtle).  She can’t reach the collar.  She’d chew the body band of a harness off with great dispatch.  Which is another reason—aside from her present interesting condition—that I’m not pursuing my experiments in having her clipped into the seatbelt next to the hellhound box in Wolfgang.

‡‡‡ Ravelry, for example, as some of you know.  Also the Rowan yarn site.  This for some reason amuses me.  Probably because Rowan is so earnestly fashionable.  Did I tell you that my Big Wool arrived, for my heart jumper?  It is very pretty.  And the yarn is deliciously soft.  If any of you are considering a similar purchase.