I have a crisis – possibly a major crisis, but at least an urgent crisis – on my hands and I don’t care. Or at least, I can’t concentrate on caring long enough to do much about it. It’s all His fault. Falling in love should qualify as a disease so you could get sickleave. It’s certainly debilitating.

Voice in my head: Patsy Cline, she keeps singing “I’m in love, I’m in love with a wonderful guy, that’s what’s the matter with me” which is too true for words, but then she continues “I’m in love, I’m in love with a wonderful guy, but he don’t care about me” which is – allegedly – not right, so I keep having to make her stop and go back. It would probably be easier to concentrate if she were right, actually. Not that I’m really complaining, you know, quite the contrary, really. My employer might, though.

Update: She’s started singing “she don’t care about me” now, which makes no sense whatsoever. Perhaps she’s annoyed with me for trying to correct her all day.

I want one. Just to be able to enact Punk Princess’ idea, of course. I know I have a Ken doll somewhere. I also have a Galvatron figurine, but I suspect the thought of being married off to Galvatron would distress the Bush less than being married off to Ken. But I do have the perfect wedding dress for him. Oh yes.

Consume less than one drink per hour. Your liver breaks down alcohol at the rate of about a beer an hour, so spreading out the drinking over the course of an evening will lessen the likelihood of a hangover. (From So You Wanna – the avoid a hangover section.)

I thought it was one unit per hour. Is American beer really that weak?
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I am tuning a database. Problem is, to check whether something has helped or not, I have to run the bit that runs slowly. And it still does, so I keep having to wait around for 20 minutes (yes, it’s a BIG database) to see whether I’ve improved matters or made them worse.

Never mind.

At least I have something to look forward to today (not that that’s unusual, lately) as I’m meeting Andreas (juhu! it’s been way too long) and the boyfriend (d’you think I should start calling him Martin or is ‘the boyfriend’ all right with you?) at The Dubliner for some food and a chat.

Voice in my head: Meredith Brooks – Bitch

…and I am a coffeeoholic. Or whatever. I am drinking double-strength instant this morning and I have just taken a sip and thought “this doesn’t taste anything at all”. This can’t be normal.

There is always the coffee-shop downstairs. Mmm. Double espresso. Mmm. Quadruple espresso…

Update: I think I might be in the process of giving myself caffeine poisoning. In my defense I tried ordering two doubles but I ended up with four and I was too tired to argue.

Voice in my head: John Lennon – I’m So Tired

Is it possible to be cranky and deliriously happy at the same time? If so, that’s what I am.

I am so tired I’m nauseous. That’s why I’m cranky. This is why I’m deliriously happy.

Ok, so it’s four in the morning, I can’t sleep and so I figured I might as well have a look at that piece of code I left hanging yesterday in order to go gallavanting round IKEA with the boyfriend. Except I can’t get the VPN-connection to work, so no access to the office network and no file to work on. Damn. Damn.

I think maybe our tech-support guys would appreciate it if I refrained from phoning them now, don’t you?

I guess I’ll eat something (I’m starving) and try to sleep some more (I’m tired).

Update: It turns out they’ve locked the VPN between 11 pm and 7 am in order to prevent people unwittingly (or, I suppose, wittingly) interfering with the backups and such. I can get limited access if I promise to be careful, but somehow I think I agree with Stein’s first comment that I ought to have gone back to bed anyway.

Voices in my head: 98° and Stevie Wonder – True to Your Heart

I seem to have outlawed elections. I think this must have happened when I agreed that everything would probably work better if everyone simply went with what I decided. Incidentally, that was after the economy ‘imploded’. (Jennifer Government Nation States game)

UN Category: Scandinavian Liberal Paradise
Civil Rights: Superb
Economy: Imploded
Political Freedoms: Below Average

The Queendom of Dragonium Major is a very large, environmentally stunning nation, remarkable for its devotion to social welfare. Its compassionate population of 112 million enjoy extensive civil rights and enjoy a level social equality free of the usual accompanying government corruption.

It is difficult to tell where the omnipresent, socially-minded government stops and the rest of society begins, but it juggles the competing demands of Law & Order, the Environment, and Education. The average income tax rate is 88%, and even higher for the wealthy. The private sector is almost wholly made up of enterprising fourteen-year-old boys selling lemonade on the sidewalk, although the government is looking at stamping this out.

The nation has opened its arms to an influx of refugees, all industry is owned and run by the government, gambling is outlawed, and elections have been outlawed. Crime is totally unknown, thanks to the all-pervasive police force and progressive social policies in education and welfare.

This love stuff. It’s confusing. I keep having completely different reactions to the ones I expect to have. This ‘being in company with someone all the time’ thing, for example. I mean, I hate that. Or, at least, I used to hate it. So I keep expecting to be relieved when I have an hour or two to myself, and then I find I’m not relieved at all and that confuses me.

Take yesterday, for example. As Martin has related we were at a party Saturday night (where I suspect we made a spectacle of ourselves, but whatever) and I ended up staying over at his place instead of attempting to make my way back home (and boy did I feel conspicuous going home Sunday afternoon in high heels and such, but never mind, I’m sure this is quite usual, it’s just not usually me…). After a bit of breakfast I decided I really needed to go home and take my contacts out. So I went home. And expected to get home and think ‘Ah, nice empty flat’. Whereas, on the contrary, I think I’d been home for about five minutes before I started missing him. Which is scary. It’s completely out of character and nothing like anything I’ve ever felt or thought before.

Don’t get me wrong, here, I’m not complaining. I’m loving this. It just scares the hell out of me, mostly because I want to keep feeling like this and I’m afraid I won’t. I have no rational reason to expect to stop feeling like this, except I’ve always ‘come to my senses’ and fallen out of love quite quickly before. On the other hand, this hasn’t begun anything like the previous times – that’s just the point, really – so why should it end the same way? Still. Scary.

Scary, but oh so lovely.

(And of course I ought to tell him this instead of writing it here, but then I’ve always felt more comfortable being candid in writing than in conversation – some things haven’t changed – and I have to find something to fill this blog with, don’t I? Besides, as good luck would have it, he can read.)