bending_sickle | I like smackin' 'em.* (Reply)

I had the most shitastic day, in the details, ever. Let me break it down for y'all.

Woke up 40 minutes later, aroung the time I should've been breakfasted and dressed, because while the alarm was on, the snooze wasn't.

It started raining the moment I grabbed my bag, ready to head on out. Seeing as it was only a drizzle, I got my raincoat (this is Holland, after all) and beloved baseball cap (Remember the squee?), which has served me well many a rainy day, and crossed the patio and wandered through the front house to the front door. Looking out onto the world from said door, it was the bloody divine flood just starting all over again. Chucking my bag in the hall, I went back to the room (crossing the patio and getting drenched on the way) for my rainpants. At this point, my roommate berated me for leaving the kitchen door open, "just so you know", even though I was going to re-enter the kitchen in a minute. Crossed the patio again, this time armed with an umbrella, so I only got a little more drenched. Chucked the pants onto the kitchen table, crossed the patio yet again and retreaved my rain boots, by this time cursing profusely. Finally, ladden with all these rainproof things, I went into the garage.

I got rainproofed in the garage, pulling on rainpants whilst wearing a skirt (which meant the skirt, in all it's wet glory, got bunched up around my waist and my naked legs could suffocate and prespire freely within the confines of plastic), raincoat and cap. I cursed again when I realized that I had nothing to waterproof my bag, which bore electronics and paper artifacts, but made do with a plastic bag because the hell was I going back inside for just one more thing.

I exit the garage door, lock it, mount my bicycle. The rain goes from torrential to drizzle. I bike a block. The rain stops. I curse like a well-drunk sailor. I pedal on in my rainwear, feeling like an utter moron and sweating like a pig on a treadmill

At the biology building, I walk up one flight of stairs (still feeling like an utter moron in a clown suit) then, hefting my weighty bag, reconsider and call up the elevator. It takes me down to the ground floor. I curse. A man with a giant wooden furniture thing enters whilst I confirm that no, I'm not getting out. He asks me what floor I'm going to, despite the fact that a) the third floor button is light up and b) I obviously didn't apparate into the elevator and as such must have pressed a floor button on my very own.

My sometime-office-co-worker shows up and occasionally beats the computer monitor into submission. This is annoying and distracting, so at one point I simply walk out and chill in the bathroom for a bit.

My neck, lower back, hips and knee ache like conjoined mother-fuckers. As I type, my back still aches, albeit like a bitch now.

I pack up all my tools of the trade and rainwear, no mean feat, into my bag or tied to my bag or bike. I don my boots, because there's no purse big enough in the whole world to fit them and books and a thermos. I lay my beloved baseball cap on my bike's seat (This is important.) while this is being carried out. I ride home, a lass in skirt and rainboots. I open the garage door. I note the absence of my cap. Chaos ensues.

I enter my room, strip, dress for running and eat three crackers (famished!) all at the same time as I race against human greed to return and recover my cap from the bicycle garage floor. I make it there, legs screaming, about an hour after I originally left (it takes some 20 minutes to bike there). No cap. I walk up and stand directly in front of the spot where it should be. Still no cap. Cue tears of frustration and exhaustion and misanthropy.

I then go running, sniveling, and distract myself with Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter. It goes alright, but by the time I get home and make and eat dinner, it's past 9 pm.

The only good thing about today is that I didn't get molested by that damn wasp that keeps hovering inches away from my face whenever I have lunch outside in front of the Natural Museum. Seriously and literally in front of my face. Also, talked with mom and that actually went very well. \o/ Also, Friday, so no work tomorrow, which is a good thing.

Also, please note my sudden lapse from past sense to present tense in my descriptions. I've always had this damned problem and just can't seem to shake it.

ETA: My Bloody Valentine, while also bad, is such in a good way. Ranting at stupid victims in horror movies is cathartic and Jensen is pretty (even if I like him evil, like in El Pollo Loco, more than I like him scared). The gore is cringeworthy because I have an imagination, not because the lousy CGI does a good job. Pick-axes should not got there!

ETA 2: Apparently the 3D effects are awesome, so I can't really say anything about the CGI. Maybe it's only garishly obvious because I'm not watching it in 3D.

ETA 3: Why do people equate "spent time at a mental institution" with "psychotic mass-murdering fiend"? Gah.

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