(no subject)

I'm trying to avoid the Doom!Karma that would be invoked if I actually explained what's going on (this happens every time) but I'm currently in a work-related situation where I can't do anything about my job because I'm waiting (and waiting and waiting and waiting) to hear back from someone else about something unrelated. Until I hear back, I can't a) confirm that I do or do not have a job come May 1 and therefore, b) cannot buy plane tickets to England. Even though I actually have the money to do so.

Gnargh.

Spent quite a lot of yesterday with verlaine, who is a nice bloke and doesn't hate me after all, despite my attempts to be insecure. We saw Sin City, which was still good, though I did find myself stuck in a moment of extreme shallowness and wishing that The Big Fat Kill segment would last about a thousand hours because Clive Owen is far hotter than anyone really has a right to be. Also, I marveled again at the fact that Nick Stahl really has one of the nastiest voices in movies, far nastier than you'd think it would be based on how he looks. I'm not sure if they did any audio futzing, but his voice as Yellow Bastard is far, far nastier than it is as Junior.

Of course, thinking back to the movies I've seen him in, he's got a really wide vocal range, one where he can sound very convincing with the accent and speech pattern he's using. It's uncommon, I think, to find that in a lot of actors, who sort of get stuck in one or two voices - the equivalent of how Tom Cruise only has two facial expressions (boyishly eager and boyishly confused) which he uses for absolutely everything.

The trailers this time weren't as good as the last time I saw Sin City. I consider it a sign of the Apocalypse that Ridley Scott (!) is directing an Orlando Bloom (gag) movie. Liam Neeson and Ridley Scott cannot save this movie from the amount of suckage it will contain, simply because it has Orlando 'I can't emote, act, or think, and thank god for Johnny Depp in PotC because Keira Knightly and myself have the chemistry of a wet sock together' Bloom in it.

I found out entirely by chance that I didn't get paid last week. I love these little surprises. Then I lost one of my W-2s today, but I couldn't be arsed to panic because I didn't have time, so I found it eventually with a minimum of fuss. That was kind of a nice change, actually.

The other thing I did this weekend was a lot of writing. Like, A LOT. Like, 10K words or more. And then I decided that I hate the temporarily titled Dead Letters a WHOLE LOT and need to rewrite it utterly, change all the major characters, and basically, start over, but at least I have a plot I'm happy with, so I'm hoping that I can spend some time on that this week. On the other hand, now I know why I got to chapter three and fizzled completely on writing it for months. So it's only about 10K words that needs COMPLETE REWRITING OMG *TEAR OUT HAIR*.

I mean, this is not a case of "Well, I like this paragraph, but the next two are sort of crap...if I add these three sentences, they really work." This is a case of "You know, I hate this character and can't do anything with him like this, which means he loses his chief flaw, which means I must redesign him completely...which changes EVERY. SINGLE. THING." But it's either that or fall into the Land Of Horrible Improbability And Ugly Plot Devices, and I've been there before. It sucks.

For one thing, the souvenir stands are all run by marginally-humans, and all the shirts are your size ONLY, so you have to buy them (using your soul as money) and they suck. "I WENT TO THE LAND OF HORRIBLE IMPROBABILITY AND UGLY PLOT DEVICES AND GOT WAY MORE THAN I BARGAINED FOR. THIS SHIRT IS JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG." Or "I WENT TO THE LAND OF HORRIBLE IMPROBABILITY AND UGLY PLOT DEVICES! ASK ME HOW!" Or even "I SELL AMWAY AND I WANT TO TALK TO YOU."

*sniffles*

Ah, poor story. Alas, we hardly knew ye, but that was all right because in the end it turned out I hated you. And now, thanks to the power of positive thinking, I can see clearly and I have the wind in my sails, the bit in my teeth, and two other stories nearly done so I want to write you all over again! I look forward to meeting you in that dark alley and chopping you to ribbons! I have to power to rebuild you! Better! Faster! More coherently!

...dammit, lunch is over and I want to do some writing. Maybe I can anyway.

Oh I feel like yelling, yes indeedy

Time is an arbitrary concept, right? I could call today Oooglesday the Sacrifice-to-Bast of the month of Gleep in the year of Flying Mice in the Century of the Fruitbat and it would have as much actual meaning as Tuesday, April 12th, 2005.

It would be hard to get anything done, but that's not the point.

The point is that time is, in general, an arbitrary concept.

There is, however, one specific instance in which time is NOT arbitrary. That would be when, you ask, and I shall so answer.

When you wait FIVE YEARS to send a bill to COLLECTIONS because you DO NOT have the correct address, and even better, do not, apparently, have anyone in your billing office with the intelligence to realise that there is NO chance that the address you DO have is AT ALL even possible! That would be when!

NEVER MIND that the bill in question is for a service I NEVER received, since it's from an insurance company I was NO LONGER INSURED BY at the time of the original bill. NEVER MIND that you have, apparently, the correct phone number for my parents and COULD NOT VERIFY AN ADDRESS. NEVER MIND that I was still LIVING at the address that that phone number GOES TO AT THE TIME.

Never mind all that. The point is that I am in collections (me!) for a bill I never incurred (not physically possible, thank you all the same) FIVE YEARS AGO.

In the intervening time, I have...had TEN jobs; had FOUR cars; lived overseas for two years; gotten two more degrees; had two different medical insurance companies (one of which was a government); gotten five years older; moved four times; transported myself probably about 70K miles; visited five countries, at least five states, and many semi-autonomous regions; gotten three tattoos; published a story, etc. In short, I have lived most of my adult LIFE in that time frame.

Have I ever gotten a bill from Group Health for 25 dollars? NO.

Did I, in point of fact, GO to Group Health after March of 2000? NO. I did not HAVE INSURANCE THERE, that would be WHY NOT.

And yet. And yet. The collections agency is Most Firm that I owe them 45 dollars now. In the general, overall scheme of things, 45 dollars is fine. It's an acceptable amount to be in debt. I spent that much on birthday presents this weekend.

NOT INFORMING ME FOR FIVE YEARS THAT I HAD THAT DEBT (according only to THEM, since for the reasons above it is not possible that I incurred the debt) IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.

Tomorrow, someone dies.