Ugh. You know how I complained a few weeks back about having had one of those why-can't-I-sleep-I'm-exhausted nights?

Yeah, well, it's just happened again. Hooray, aren't I lucky.

I have no idea what just happened to the bank holiday weekend. I mean, I barely even had it and it's gone and I barely did a thing with it. I just sort of sat round. What the Hell is the matter with me these days? Why is it that I can have all these wonderful and grand creative aspirations and yet spend so much time sitting round doing fuck-all?

It worries me. I'm really keyed up about 'Seuche' at the moment. I love the direction that fic's headed and the new ideas I've had for how some of these scenes are going to play out. I love the fact I've finally, FINALLY hit the endgame. I even love the fact, though action scenes are a pig to write, that the buildup's finally DONE and all the setting-up I've spent the last twentysomething chapters doing is finally actually leading somewhere. And yet, despite this, I'm not writing. And it's really, really frustrating me that I'm not.

Oh well, I finished my isotype post yesterday (and posted it like... just now), so I got some writing done.

And at least I'm writing on the bus. That's something.

I'm inclined to blame the placement. I spent a good chunk of this weekend just sleeping. And yeah, goddamn it's dull. I'm not feeling like I'm getting anywhere, I don't like working with my mentor and being watched all the time (weirdly, some of this 'OMGgetoffmyback' frustration appears to have crept into the RP post - go figure that, since regrettably I'm not a sparklyspeshul Sue assassin), I just want to be left well and truly alone so I can get on with it. And one of the few other people there I really like, a first-year student, has her last day today. A-bloody-nnoying.

Sigh. Well, it's not like there's anything I can do about it. Apart from swear a solemn vow that (God willing I pass this bloody placement, of course) no matter how desperate I get for a nursing job, I will not, not, absolutely not, several times NOT take a job on a medical ward.

At least I don't have to go into work tomorrow. Maybe I'll write then?

And it's not all bad. Take the bit where I absolutely love this song I'm listening to. I have no idea why. It just does something good to me. Also, someone randomly asked for the link to That SchuKen Fic as a result of the last fanficrants post I did and it now has 600 hits and a five-star rating, which pleases me.

I'm still way too pleased about this mood icon set too. Yay, Kenness.

And something else really bad just happened again.

One of my parents' new cats - the really sleepy and adorable one who had the softest fur and sweetest nature of any cat I've ever met, and who used to cuddle on people's laps for hours - has been hit by a car and killed.

Why this keeps happening to my family's cats I don't know, when my parents live in a quiet little town, in a quiet little residential street which isn't exactly renowned for attracting huge volumes of traffic. How come my family can be so unlucky as to lose two cats this way in less than twelve months when I've seen the same kitties round those streets for years on end I don't know. And I don't know why I'm so upset to hear about this when I've only been round that poor little cat for about five weeks in total since my parents got her.

I know. Accidents happen. But God damn, they shouldn't keep happening like this. That cat was lovely. She shouldn't have died so quick. She only just got here. She should have had years ahead of her and some careless bastard stole them.

The worst thing as far as I'm concerned, apart from the bit where she's dead and I want her to come back? This happened around about Good Friday. And I've been thinking and talking about her as if she were alive for... oh, God, for at least two weeks after the poor little thing was killed. I called home on Friday and left an answerphone message asking how the cats were. Jesus, that hurts and I have no idea why that should feel like the worst bit to me, but it does.

I know animals don't have souls but if Heaven doesn't have kitties I don't want to go.

And, to the arrogant jackass who interrupted the phone call that saw me finding out about this and left me in desperate need of a hug:

You're a wanker. No, really.

There were, last time I looked, around a dozen phone boxes in the environs of Russell Square, all within a couple of minutes' walk of each other. My tying up one for 'too long' for your highly esteemed liking so I can call my parents? Not a heinous crime of heinousness when you could just, I dunno, walk a few hundred yards to another one if you're that desperate to make a phone call. I refuse to believe that out of all the dozen phone boxes around Russell Square, every single one was either in use or out of action. Or that the phone box I had ended up in was the Speshul Phone Box of Speshulness you simply had to use to make your oh-so-urgent phone call.

Therefore, Sir - you're a wanker, and an egotistical one at that if you think your goddamn phone call is so important that it's perfectly okay to yell at the person who's already using the phone through the door. The world is not run for your convenience and sometimes other people will get in your way. Who do you think you are, honey, Zaphod Beeblebrox or something?

It's called 'reality'. Cope with it.