The project leader of our 'game' is a prime example. I can't write the main plot any further until I get his clearance, because he onstensibly is also helping write the thing. He doesn't, but he wants to be supervisor. Fine and fine, but it cannot possibly take a week and a half to check your e-mail and reply. Apparently it takes some people AGES to reply about matters that were understood to be kinda to very urgent. Don't even get me started on Cold War doing this. Just to remind you, Cold War is a person--at least I think she is.

I just don't get it in general. I check my mail half a dozen times a day. I give quick replies because that's just how things are done.

Among other things would be Erin not getting back to me this week yet. She'd said she would, but she's really flaky about e-mail. That I accept. What frustrates me is that I left a time-sensitive sympathy gift in her psych mailbox. You know, naturally assuming people check their mail every few days. That was wednesday. Said gift is still fine, but I had to e-mail her about it and ruin the surprise. Otherwise, come monday, it wouldn't be good.

Update: so she replied and said she'd check tomorrow, can't wait, etc. Apparently one of the office staff emailed her to check her box at her earliest convenience. She'd been confused. But I guess this unconfuses things. Hopefully it'll still come off as a nice gesture.

It's not a mammal. At least.

I suppose there's a lot of stuff I'm waiting to hear back about, and I think the sum total of being patient for all these things makes impatience for everything all the easier.

Brian sent me a string of micro-management e-mails today. Did I take out the trash, did I turn in the sign-in check sheet, did I etc. I guess I understand vaguely, but the tone is almost a little nagging when it shouldn't be. Maybe I'm reading too much into it.

All I've done this week besides one proliferation assay is data entry on the social support questionnaire. These things are ludicrous. People pick up to 24 others that are important to their life, then rate them on a 1-5 scale for 8 questions. I thank God not every one of them fills up all 24 slots. But a lot do. If someone pinned me up against the wall with a knife to my face, I could probably come up with 24 people I currently know. But would I consider them all important? No. Yet somehow neighbors and cousins show up on these things regularly. I haven't spoken to my father's side of the family in nearly 6 years. Probably won't at all until my father dies. Granted, I'm guessing a lot of people are more tied to their families than I am, but I've just never heard of cousins being a big part of anyone's life.

It just strikes me as weird.

It's especially annoying because one excel sheet can't accomodate some people. I only have so many columns, and they're taken up by a pre-defined number of 'friends,' 'siblings,' and 'extended family' that I think the typical college kid will have. If someone just happens to have 20 extended family members (!?!??!) listed, though, I only have about 8 slots on my main excel file. I have to pull out another excel file to stick the rest in.

Needless to say I am getting bored/want more undergrads working on this. But with both of them spontaneously deciding to vacation on the same week and then some mysterious death in someone else's family, I need to cover a few of their shifts. Understandable in both cases, but not convenient.

Lots of things lately haven't been convenient.

Hearing an air horn siren go off for 45 minutes at 4am is a good example. It was mildly stormy out, but nowhere near tornado gusts. And if they were just testing it out, then fuck them. I'd already had trouble sleeping because I had to banish something from the house. It's a recurring extra-planar creature that's taking a passionate interest in just kinda being around. Not doing anything, just waiting. And watching. I had it last night and finally put some wards up. Good call, but I couldn't go to sleep on account of being charged up like a Christmas tree. Sleeping pills didn't much help either. The air raid siren was icing on the insomnia cake.

Went to the Inferno last night. First time in a few weeks for a wednesday. I did the drinky drinky dancy dancy thing, but somehow I was more bothered this time. Was it the general lack of people dancing except just me sometimes? Was it chilling by myself because the few people I know basically ignored me? I'm not sure. The first 6 months at any club venue as a regular are the longest. Unless you get an advocate who can give you cred and introduce you. I got lucky and befriended Astrophysics Guy the first night I went by myself, but sure enough I've only seen him once in the 4 months since then.

It is a lonely thing to go to a club by yourself. But I like the atmosphere and dancing enough to do it regardless.

I finally buzzed all of my hair off. It feels fantastic. I don't have to think about it anymore. A few people have said they like it, but most don't comment. I really like it myself, though, which is good--considering I'll likely buzz until I die. I'd like to just shave off all the hair, but I'm waiting on that for a few ticks.

Funny thing happened on the way to the Inferno last saturday. I'd just moved and, unexpectedly, I could not find my usual club pants. I searched the whole house. Three times. Nothing. Brian and his wife were headed out to drink, but he mentioned I could try Walmart to find black slacks.

Shopping at The Great Satan had not occurred to me. I quickly grew to like the idea, even if the directions Brian gave were kinda vague. I had to phone him a few times to re-adjust this way or that, but I did finally find the store. I'd never shopped at this place before. Any Walmart before. It is best described as a godless land, neither under the reign of Heaven, nor Hell, but a fluorescent Limbo. Amongst other beasts were pairs of pants. I had to try out the 30 x 30's after the 30 x 32's proved to be too long. The far too young lady assisting me into dressing rooms seemed flirty. I could not about-face on that because I did not face it to begin with. N and O are together in the alphabet for a reason.

And thus I picked up 2 pairs of fully synthetic, kinda skeezy soot black slacks and a belt. I could yet save my night to the Inferno. But no! Another problem! For in my haste to find pants I hadn't bothered to look for my boots. And the boots were somehow missing too. I got a tad desperate. I looked over at the black converses with brown rims on the side. I saw socks ready for action. And it was then I put sock and shoe together, went out, and busted ass dancing with a pair of converse sneakers. And the synth pants were much easier to bend in than my usuals.

Shopping at The Great Satan. Apparently a good call.

Later on I found out that Abby, Brian's wife, had accidentally put out several trash bags in the backyard. Among them was the hypothetical missing bag of stuff I'd been wondering about. Shoes and pants and rainbow gumdrops, all come back to me. We laughed about it.

So that was a happy ending.

Maybe I should end on that note.

Naw, one more thing. My gran recently was diagnosed with uteran cancer. Given that she's in her 70's, it's functionally like an appendix. And just like an appendix her doctor removed it. She's healing fine, recovering, and apparently the cancer didn't spread anywhere else. Mom (rightfully) got on my case for not calling sooner than today. But I finally did and yaked about academics, moving, blah blah blah.

Mom still hasn't seen any cash from Preston/Scott's estate because that whole mess is still being handled. Mike, Scott's son and default beneficiary (since the stupid fuck didn't sign his will giving my mom supervision over the trust), has assured her that he'll live up to his father's wishes. The guy can be a dick, but he does strike me as honest.

I'm not sure what Mom is going to do for work, but she's mentioned she's finding something soon.

Thankfully I'm almost entirely financially independent now. She pays for my cell phone, given that she has a family plan, but I haven't needed to ask for money in months.

And back to data entry of surveys I go, followed by going back home, watching Brian's Chappelle Show tapes, picking up some, then going to bed at an obscure hour.

I look good in mirrors now. This pleases me greatly. It vaguely borders on narcissism, but when you've been overweight most of your life you really can't help it.

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