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Falling in love...
with Gmail!!
It's the best bloody webmail programme ever. I've just found out that I can RSS (whatever that means) to all my favourite LJ sites, so I can keep in touch with people! bounce. Not only that, it re-loads itself every few minutes rather than logging me off like my ordinary webmail does, downloads emails by itself and I can CHAT on it, and I don't have any fucking spam. AT ALL. I've never had an email I didn't want. And what's even nicer is that comments to one thread are kept in one folder, so I don't have to scroll down and down to find things relating to that thread.
And no, I'm not in the pay of gmail. I just like a good thing that WORKS. Granted it does freeze from time to time but it doesn't eat my PC's brain like Yim and Aim did. (since uninstalled, so you'll never spot me on those again)
In other news? I've got my sleeves rolled up and am writing "Novel Number 3" at last! yay for me! Tentatively called "Junction X" it's based in the early 1960's in English suburbia and deals with a repressed married stockbroker who falls in love with the boy next door. Angst alert!!!
I remember noticing how long and lean his legs looked in the black trousers that clung to his frame.
The wine had loosened my tongue, and it seemed so easy to speak of things we hadn't done before. "You seem happy enough."
"Happy?" He puffed smoke straight ahead as he stared up at the sky, "I suppose so, in a lot of ways. But contentment, now that's another thing. You were talking of an equal partnership weren't you? Don't you think, Eddie, that you can't be fully content unless physical needs are met as well as the intellectual?"
I knew the answer to that, but even with the wine I was loathe to answer it. I wanted to pour it all out, but even with him, I couldn't do it. It takes more than one drunken evening to change a lifetime's worth of instilled belief, that one makes one's bed and then lies on it. For life.
"I hadn't thought about it."
"Liar," he said.
"You don't know..." I was getting tongue-tied and annoyed, Phil had always managed to run rings around me, especially when we drinking.
"No. I don't," he said smoothly. "and neither do you." He pulled his cigarettes from his shirt pocket. I watched him, wondering at the change in him, the way his face had suddenly become so much leaner, his cheekbones standing livid from his face. He lit two cigarettes and passed one over to me. It was such a casual gesture that I reacted without thinking, taking the cigarette before I had time to think. Phil certainly didn't notice my discomposure, and I sat staring at the cigarette, secretly touching the filter where his mouth had been and wondering if he'd notice if I dropped it and asked for another. I almost didn't smoke it; it seemed insanely intimate, something no-one had ever done for me before. I realised he was still talking and so I put the damn thing in my mouth, almost fiercely, pretending I couldn't feel the dampness of his lips on the filter. But I could. I could.
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rwday had a post about it recently, but I'm beginning to think that Originalfic-verse ain't no less wanky than fandom-verse. Doesn't mean I'm going back though! *G*
Work is hell. Bitch Troll has been better to me in the last few months, I'll give her that, but she still has no idea of what I DO. We used to have a team of two solicitors, one Legal Exec, one Trainee, and two Legal Sex (me andcanarieschick. NOW we have *counts* Four solicitors, Two Legal Execs, One Trainee, one paralegal and ONE Legal Sec. (me) You do the maths. So I'm BUSY. (granted, I organise my time so I can goof off a BIT but all the same...)
Yesterday she got into "tidy up" mode, and went through all the filing cabinets and pulled out every file that needed closing. It was something I'd been meaning to do, for months, but where's the time? And now, my desk (which she moans if I have stacks of files on) is wall to wall files - with eight boxes of files lined up next to it.
THEN she said. "Oh now the hourly rates have changed, we'll (meaning me) have to write to all the current clients (about 200) and tell them the new ones."
I just looked at her.
As she went to leave she said: "I bet you feel like Cinderella, don't you, with all this work I've given you?"
I nodded, and she left. I wonder now if she meant that deliberately (e.g. I'm not going to any damn ball) and whether she realises who that makes HER.
It's the best bloody webmail programme ever. I've just found out that I can RSS (whatever that means) to all my favourite LJ sites, so I can keep in touch with people! bounce. Not only that, it re-loads itself every few minutes rather than logging me off like my ordinary webmail does, downloads emails by itself and I can CHAT on it, and I don't have any fucking spam. AT ALL. I've never had an email I didn't want. And what's even nicer is that comments to one thread are kept in one folder, so I don't have to scroll down and down to find things relating to that thread.
And no, I'm not in the pay of gmail. I just like a good thing that WORKS. Granted it does freeze from time to time but it doesn't eat my PC's brain like Yim and Aim did. (since uninstalled, so you'll never spot me on those again)
In other news? I've got my sleeves rolled up and am writing "Novel Number 3" at last! yay for me! Tentatively called "Junction X" it's based in the early 1960's in English suburbia and deals with a repressed married stockbroker who falls in love with the boy next door. Angst alert!!!
I remember noticing how long and lean his legs looked in the black trousers that clung to his frame.
The wine had loosened my tongue, and it seemed so easy to speak of things we hadn't done before. "You seem happy enough."
"Happy?" He puffed smoke straight ahead as he stared up at the sky, "I suppose so, in a lot of ways. But contentment, now that's another thing. You were talking of an equal partnership weren't you? Don't you think, Eddie, that you can't be fully content unless physical needs are met as well as the intellectual?"
I knew the answer to that, but even with the wine I was loathe to answer it. I wanted to pour it all out, but even with him, I couldn't do it. It takes more than one drunken evening to change a lifetime's worth of instilled belief, that one makes one's bed and then lies on it. For life.
"I hadn't thought about it."
"Liar," he said.
"You don't know..." I was getting tongue-tied and annoyed, Phil had always managed to run rings around me, especially when we drinking.
"No. I don't," he said smoothly. "and neither do you." He pulled his cigarettes from his shirt pocket. I watched him, wondering at the change in him, the way his face had suddenly become so much leaner, his cheekbones standing livid from his face. He lit two cigarettes and passed one over to me. It was such a casual gesture that I reacted without thinking, taking the cigarette before I had time to think. Phil certainly didn't notice my discomposure, and I sat staring at the cigarette, secretly touching the filter where his mouth had been and wondering if he'd notice if I dropped it and asked for another. I almost didn't smoke it; it seemed insanely intimate, something no-one had ever done for me before. I realised he was still talking and so I put the damn thing in my mouth, almost fiercely, pretending I couldn't feel the dampness of his lips on the filter. But I could. I could.
rwday had a post about it recently, but I'm beginning to think that Originalfic-verse ain't no less wanky than fandom-verse. Doesn't mean I'm going back though! *G*Work is hell. Bitch Troll has been better to me in the last few months, I'll give her that, but she still has no idea of what I DO. We used to have a team of two solicitors, one Legal Exec, one Trainee, and two Legal Sex (me and
canarieschick. NOW we have *counts* Four solicitors, Two Legal Execs, One Trainee, one paralegal and ONE Legal Sec. (me) You do the maths. So I'm BUSY. (granted, I organise my time so I can goof off a BIT but all the same...) Yesterday she got into "tidy up" mode, and went through all the filing cabinets and pulled out every file that needed closing. It was something I'd been meaning to do, for months, but where's the time? And now, my desk (which she moans if I have stacks of files on) is wall to wall files - with eight boxes of files lined up next to it.
THEN she said. "Oh now the hourly rates have changed, we'll (meaning me) have to write to all the current clients (about 200) and tell them the new ones."
I just looked at her.
As she went to leave she said: "I bet you feel like Cinderella, don't you, with all this work I've given you?"
I nodded, and she left. I wonder now if she meant that deliberately (e.g. I'm not going to any damn ball) and whether she realises who that makes HER.