Why is every house sigil in A Song of Ice and Fire made of spikes? Even the damn flower is spiky.
I am recutting more goddamned stencils. The tumblers are done. The highballs are being done. I have not touched the other part of my list.
Except the sobbing uncontrollably part. That one I totally failed at not doing.
I have a terrible, awful habit of taking on too much and saying yes when I should say no. Then I disappoint people, and feel worse about myself. This is why I’m going out of my fucking mind.
Things to do by Friday 9am:
To be fair, the sobbing uncontrollably was helped by my insistence to watch three season/series finales in a row, marathon style, while cutting the damn stencils. The Office, Merlin, Supernatural. Because I’m real smart like that. I was also sobbing due to the pain of stencils.
What’s that, stencils? You say there’s a bunch of the popular anime designs that are broken and unusable, and you have to be remade tonight? Sure I’ll do that!
I didn’t need to sleep, anyways.
Songza makes everything better, especially with 90s/00s pop songs.
It’s sort of embarrassing how many songs I remember choreography for.
Oh look. Oswald and Winston. Currently. Right now. STAHP I want to sleep.
AsylumWaiting Room of the Big Three.
it’s funny because it looks like the sherlock fandom are sane here
Sherlock bustled about the kitchen, throwing a cupboard door open and pushing aside a box of nicotine patches to retrieve two mismatched mugs. A kettle whistled plaintively in the background, like it had been trying to draw attention to itself for a while now. Setting the mugs aside, Sherlock absently pulled the kettle off the stove, poured tea into the two mugs, and carried them into the living room.
Doctor Who was sprawled over the same chair it had collapsed into last night, when it had appeared at the door muttering inanely about lost regenerations and knackered navigations systems. It made a whining noise as Sherlock tucked the shock blanket it had thrown off in the night back around its shoulders.
Supernatural was in similar straits, curled up on the floor with a throw pillow and a tattered trench coat around its shoulders and alternating between sobbing and muttering about domesticity potential.
A thudding on the stairs indicated the ruckus had finally awoke Merlin, who poked its head into the room, hair sticking up at all angels as it tied its scarf around its neck. Blinking blearily at the mess, it seemed to realize what had occurred when it picked up a discarded bow-tie from the floor, holding it between forefinger and thumb, “Is it that time already?”
“It was bad this year,” Sherlock whispered, trying not to exacerbate the already fragile fandoms under its care.
“I remember what that was like,” Merlin muttered, running a hand through its hair and pulling a cape off the nearby coat rack, “I’ll go to the store. We’re out of milk again. May as well pick up some fish fingers, custard, and salt.”
Supernatural gurgled something quietly.
“No, I won’t forget the pie.”
It’s 2am and I am lying awake in a hotel room in Cambridge, unable to get the squirrels off the treadmill in my brain. I really need to sleep because I have a full day of dealing with the public for the fourth day in a row, and last night’s sleep was interrupted.
Here’s what I have to do in the next four days:
- Booker: vest, 4 hours plus drying time (Monday)
- Ms Frizzle: buttonholes and hem, 2 hours
- Merida: 10 hours minimum, plus hair which I don’t think I can even do right now, due to time and geography constraints.
- Glass etching: 25 hours to get the 600+ done, going at a fast, smooth pace with minimal interruptions
- Ethics clearance: 3 hours, then whatever back and forth emailing needs to happen with my prof
- Readings for my course: 130 pages, 4 hours plus response, 1 hour with edits
- Research for other prof: 10 hours
- Burlesque rehearsal: 6 hours plus travel time; realistically 12 hours
- Meeting with the prof: 4 hours with travel time
- Pack 2 cars for Anime North: 2 hours
Most of these cannot overlap. So, with 84 hours available, and assuming I eat food while doing these things and not stopping, I have 77 hours of work to do. That leaves 7 hours of sleep between Monday night and Friday morning.
If anybody needs me, I’ll be in a ball, keening in the corner.
Something has to go, and it can’t be school or the glassware. I’m so stressed out my abdomen and the scar tissue in it are so tight that it’s painful to the touch.
I need a fucking time-turner.