Sam's Backup Page

I HAVE SOME LINKS FOR YOU.

Actual content from me may be skimpy in the next few days. My family is having a collective nervous and financial breakdown, and as the sole person with a stable, well-paying job, apparently I get to rescue them. It's nothing I can't handle, but calming my parents while suppressing my own rage is a little wearying.

Anyway. Here are some links that don't quite fit in Radio Free Monday for you guys!

Hey remember when I posted about Marvel branded sneakers? spiderine knows Natasha would take exception to glittering.

Some of you may have seen a random instagram email blip across my journal this morning -- sorry about that, it was an experiment gone dreadfully wrong. I do kind of like Instagram though, and you can find me there under Copperbadge. I'm sorry I don't know how to link you directly, I don't speak hipster. (I'm kind of grateful to whoever hung that sign, to be honest; it's disgusting leaving baggies of dog poop on the front step of the building, rats or no.)

And finally, my Groupon credit account is running low, so here's my semi-annual pitch. If you're not a member of Groupon and you sign up by following this link, when you buy your first Groupon I get $10 in credit. I have eaten at a lot of fancy places thanks to your Groupon credits :D Groupon is occasionally shady, and I recommend always reading the fine print, but overall I've found it a great resource for cheap entertaining, especially when guests are in town. Groupon offers coupon deals in many US states and I believe a few other countries as well...

I went to bed at 11 o'clock tonight. I don't often have nightmares, especially ones that aren't visibly about the places where my psyche's a bit tender, and I never have dreams I jumpstart awake from. I was dreaming about being at our places in Texas, and about being attacked by a crocodile.

A CROCODILE. I KNOW, RIGHT?

But it was just small enough that it had got its teeth into my left hand and was thrashing around, ripping my hand up. Like, really going to town on it. I couldn't feel a lot of pain but I did feel some -- I suspect I was sleeping on my hand or something -- and I was lying there on our front drive screaming at the police, who kept circling the block past our street but didn't see me. In the defence of the police in my head, our street is very hard to find. I get lost in our neighbourhood all the time.

Finally the thing pulled my hand off -- I want you to think about the amount of typing I do, and then re-read the phrase pulled my hand off -- and I jumped awake. I'm pretty sure I swore a lot.

So, I'm sitting here on my bed, staring at my hand where I can still feel teeth digging in, for about five minutes, taking a break before I go back to sleep. And the phone rings. Remember my phone? The one that, when it rings, is the Daleks screaming TARDIS in four part harmony? It's loud and startling on purpose, so I'll hear it.

And I answer, because nobody's calling me at half past midnight on Sunday unless something's very wrong, and that much adrenaline makes you blind to little social reminders like "check caller ID".

And it is my brother. Calling me. At half past midnight on a Sunday night. To ask me for money.

Now, the initial thing to say is, it's good that he's done this before and already knows I hate and repudiate him, because it comes as no surprise when I tell him to rot and die and then hang up (usually he has his wife call me back and leave a message about how I'm going to hell). This is a ritual; it happens every six months or so. Normally he calls when it's a decent hour in Chicago. Maybe he did the math wrong this time.

Anyway. Aside from all that, I know there's a bit of the witch in my mum and events like tonight make me perpetually wonder if there's a bit of the witch in me.

I could do with more useful premonitions, mind you.

Back to bed for me. Thank you, internet, for filling my brief need for a therapist and/or spiritual advisor.

I didn't mention this earlier because I didn't want to seem paranoid or freak anyone out but MAN. I'm now really glad that I didn't take the car out today.

POINT THE FIRST: I had a very vivid moment this morning where I thought, wow, what if I take the car out today and get T-boned in it, wouldn't that be strange? Tragic but kind of just-my-luck funny, too.

The last time I had a moment like that, it was my last day at work in Oregon, a month after I'd left school. I was prepping to move to St. Nowhere for grad school, and I thought, wouldn't it be funny if something happens to me on the bike ride to work and I never made it to my last day? And half an hour later I was in the emergency room after being hit by a car, an accident which put me off my feet for three weeks solid.

SO YEAH, THERE'S THAT.

POINT THE SECOND: You remember the insane day I had on Friday, where everyone around me was crazy or unfortunate and I was just like, in the eye of the storm? Mum had that today. First my car failed, which she was in on since she pays the membership fee for that, and then Emmy's bike was stolen (which awesome big brother made her get lock insurance? THIS AWESOME BIG BROTHER) so Lucky had to go pick her up, and then the State of Texas called Mum to tell her she was doing Thing X illegally, when she is not and has never done Thing X. ON A SUNDAY. WHAT.

AND THEN

(Oh actually this is kind of satisfying)

Mum got an email from my brother's mother-in-law. She normally doesn't tell me about them, but Bernard had got a job at some temp employment agency or something, I don't know, I don't pay attention when she talks about him. But he's been screwing up left and right and alienating their clients, so he was sacked. And his mother-in-law is "worried" because her daughter is talking about throwing him out because he hasn't got her pregnant yet.

It's not even that I'm enjoying his misfortune, though perhaps a little vengeful part of me is (I try to live by the Thirty Things, but I don't always succeed). It's that Bernard might finally be learning that ditching his family isn't going to make his life perfect, and that no, actually, he isn't the Big Bad Grownup he thought he was yet. And, if he hadn't alienated everyone who loves him, he might not be in a shitheap right now.

So, to sum up: I did not get into a car accident today, and it was a Good Birthday.

Having an estranged fundamentalist nut-job brother has had a few signficant uses in the past year, most notably as a great story to tell over dinner. Just now, however, Emmy and I raided the closet where he kept all his shitty fantasy novels and put them up on swaptree, where apparently shitty fantasy novels are in high demand. If the traders accept our swaptree offers, we will totally make out like goddamn bandits. The deal is, she keeps the books here and handles the mailing, whether or not the book is going to her or me, and I pay the postage.

In other news: PIZZA. That is all.

I just woke up from a nightmare that consisted solely of seeing Bernard saying and do socially unacceptable things he has done in real life to someone I wanted to impress.

I can't even...

Man, Tuesday is really going to suck, huh.

Hey guys, you know what would make this day complete? A phone call from my estranged fundamentalist brother!

Yeah!

It was a very short conversation.

And then his wife called me and man, I wish I could play you guys the voicemail she left, it is comedy gold. Apparently I'm selfish and unChristian, which goddamn, it took her this long to figure out?

I'm training a new temp today, which is good, because I'm totally calling in sick tomorrow.

As part of her training I ditched the desk for fifteen minutes and went to meet with the supremely hot building concierge, who wanted to tell me all about their new services and give me a chocolate bar with their web address printed on the wrapper. When I came back, New Temp gave me a terrified look.

"Two people called! One of them wanted to talk to someone but I couldn't find them so I sent them to someone else's voicemail and then they called back and finally left a message with the right person and also someone else wanted to reserve a conference room but I didn't know how to do that so I just took a message," she said.

"Uh, okay, I'll take care of it," I replied. She beamed at me.

"Your job is very exciting!" she declared.

Of the many things my job is -- satisfying, low-key, slightly overpaid -- I have never considered exciting to be one of them.

Also, Mum just sent a mass-email about departing for the airport to me, Dad-Lucky, Emmy, and Bernard and his wife.

Gee, thanks for giving my estranged brother and his creepy idiot wife my professional work email address, Mum.

Good morning world, and Happy Birthday Mama Tickey!

Mama Tickey, for those of you who are new, is my stepfather's mother, and two years ago I got to spend some real quality time with her when she took me for a holiday to Galveston, where she has a vacation timeshare. I squired her and Aunt Lily around the city and discovered the true definition of the Southern Belle in those two women. Despite not being blood related and her having a whole brood of grandchildren already, I am something of a favourite because I'm an artist and the only one, and this is not bragging, who can hold an intelligent conversation. My new cousins are...

You know, they're not even that nice, they got into a food fight the last time I was at a family meal with them. They are my age.

They're not offensive or particularly deeply stupid, they're just not very well-spoken or thoroughly educated. Which is fine, as I don't have to deal with them very often. Though I suppose they will all be there today; Lucky has several siblings and all of them have bred with varying degrees of ferocity. The party's going to be about fifty people and mexican food, so I plan to hide in the corner with a cola and only emerge when Mama Tickey wants to talk to me. Seems safest, and there's the least chance of being in the crossfire of any impending refried-beans flinging.

With her usual impeccable timing, my brother's wife wrote mum an email this morning. Way to ruin the first weekend I've had with my family since you left, Bernard. High five. Oh wait, you're an asshole, and so is your wife. So, no high five.

I'm sure it'll be fine, it was inevitable that Bernard would come up in the course of the weekend, but I'm hoping we'll all be distracted by Birthday Shindiggery.

Also, I have shown off the scar from my broken wrist and been petted and made much of, so that's all right. :D

I was right, apparently we Weren't Talking. Still, Mum came round and emailed me, as you do, and it wasn't a terrible email in and of itself but the strain of having an asshole for a son is clearly getting to her. She thought some things of me that she would not think under ordinary circumstances. And I blame Bernard, because I can.

It's not so much what she said, which we straightened out on the phone, as what Bernard's doing. But the email arrived right before lunch and I was literally shaking with anger when Coworker J showed up to relieve me. I had no appetite at all so I bought a banana and a coke from the lunchroom, because it was the least I could eat which would still keep me going.

I actually ended up walking over to the convenience store nearby and buying a pack of cigarettes. I smoke very infrequently, which is just as well because when you haven't had a cigarette in a long time, one gets you buzzy. The buzz knocked off the worst of the anger, and I'll cope with the rest. R can have the pack, I bought his brand.

I just don't know where to put all the anger when it happens. It's gone pretty quickly, but it's deeply unpleasant when it's there. Short of finding a quiet place to hide and sulk, a cigarette was the next best thing. Not that I recommend this as a form of therapy, mind you, but at least I'll be able to get through the rest of this day, which is turning out to be frankly horrific.

There's a reason February 29th only happens once every four years.

Anyway, things are sorted and that's the important part. Mum's probably still a bit ticked but she'll get over it, and hopefully all this went down for the best. I have not got time for any more of this bullshit.

Well, THAT was an interesting night.

No glass alligators, but sometime during the night I managed to get my splint off without waking up. Found it on the floor this morning. I think it's likely that this happened during the screaming nightmares, which were not apparently inspired by Mabuse at all but involved the house I grew up in and, perhaps predicably, Bernard. That was quite a game of hide and seek.

He'll be married by this time next week. Mum and I don't talk about him. Growing up, it was always Mum and me against the world, and she talked to me about problems she was having and together we figured out how to raise Bernard, which was difficult in the days before AS existed as a diagnosis. For her, in some ways, it still doesn't. But we always talked about the problems she was having and now with Bernard I just can't. Or I choose not to. The line blurs.

She respects the boundary and she has therapy and the anti-depressants seem to be working, so I don't fret about her as such; she seems to be doing fine. She has Lucky, too, and they go out to the land a lot and plan the house they're going to build there and the orchard they're going to plant. I think she feels some relief that Bernard is someone else's issue now, and probably guilt about the relief, but I choose not to feel guilt, either. He's a grown man; he's made his choices, and I've made mine. I chose my family, despite their imperfections, and he chose to run away. So fuck him.

I'm sure mostly it's decompression from the week, adjustment to having my arm back again and the resulting pain, which is not insignificant. It's not a great headspace to start my Saturday in, but I'm not planning on doing much of anything today so it hardly matters.

Fic in a bit, probably. Yes, still stuck in a Torchwood phase. I'll break away soon, promise. :D