So tired.
So tired I can't see properly. I've got that wired, speedy semi-focussed vision that screws with your perspectives and distance. My shoulders are like a lump of rigor mortised meat, lumpen and cold across my back. My lower back is too tender to place against a chair successfully.

We moved. It was, and remains hell. It will be hell all week, I surmise. I don't like. I don't like one bit. I'll tell you more about it another time. Meanwhile, I'm shattered and have to go home before I collapse.

I've still got a sore throat, you know. My tonsils keep swelling a bit, going "ow" and then going down. Had lunch with deluvely deLotti, and gave her her left over things - which bloody reminds me - when the hell am I going to have the chance to use mine, eh? Kai's afraid, which puts the kibosh (er - yeah) on that one. But, I demand dancing! I demand out of my head grinning and looking at people regardless of shape, size, age and sex and thinking "You're lovely".

I've got something to do at work that might actually get done - plus, I've got to build a static couple of pages which will illustrate something else happening. Plus, you dumbass stupid fucking woman, you've got to get back to those JavaScript lessons, haven't you? Eh???
Yes, Mam, I have. Harrumph.

Yoz is back. Hooray! So I presume we will be held in thrall by the latest arrival back from that *special place*. I don't think San Francisco exists. I won't believe it till I get there. Just follow the yellow brick road...

Reading the new Rob Newman novel - surprisingly good. Will hold off blathering till I reach the end though - except, well, it's good enough to nearly miss your tube stop, there you go, that's a summing up.

Well, hello. Yes. I have been a bad girl, yes.

You know I'm wondering about this design - I think it's because I'm bored with it that I have not updated for a week or whatever it is. Suppose I broke things down in to headlines, and had… no… forget it.

Moving is continuing to be a nightmare.

Work is a hell-hole of deception, lies, stupidity and nonsense. Another person has - no, make that TWO people have resigned

And I took time out this morning to go sign up for my Stage 1 Sign Language course. A myriad of strange emotions revolving about that one. A strange mixture of assuaged guilt (I've been meaning to do it for too many years, now); smug self satisfaction; fear of the unknown; terrific excitement about the possibilities; resigned acknowledgement that it will take me ages to learn it properly and I should keep my hair on with my hair-brained schemes until I actually bloody know something… and so on.

Well, you see, one awfully patronising view of a not-so immediate future is that I become an involver, a teacher, a spreader of the gospel of self-publication and expression on an equal footing. I was sitting on the tube this morning and thinking - well , the fact of the matter is that textual phone conversing and god knows what else has already existed, well entrenched within the deaf community for an absolute age. Who knows what sort of IRC-esque systems already exist and certainly don't need Mrs Well Meaning to come along and say "Yes, well we can hear so we've done things better". Yeah, right - now fuck off and go back to self-important world.

There's another reason why I'm interested to get some deaf kids working here in the school holidays n'stuff. What difference would someone who all their lives has dealt with primarily textually and visually presented information make to ideas about design and navigation? I mean, these kids are fundamentally involved with those sorts of questions already, but they probably haven't thought about it too deeply. So I want to force the company to put me in a position where I can investigate that kind of tuff by guilt tripping them a bit. I mean, the new employment disability acts surely must apply to Virgin companies, eh?

The other thing I still want to do as an experiment - and see how people would feel about it is a mixed hearing/signing evening of comedy. Who would be best from the world of comedy to do it? Who does visual comedy with not that much spoken? What do the spoken words have in… in resonant meaning that if you weren't a hearing person, you might not fully appreciate? The more I think about it, the more I think that "the universal grinding Wheel" is probably the best comedy where there is a script but it's very spartan, and the set ups are as important as the text. Dependent on how sick deaf humour is, Simon would be very good. In fact, I think he'd be brilliant.

Anyway - a lot to learn, not just in the "how do I move my hands to say howdy" type of way.

Also. Hmm. Ok, I'm such a prude about talking about this sort of thing - not doing it, you understand, but I have no intention of going in to any major detail, since it's something between me and my sheets, frankly. But:
I need a shag. We never do. It's very upsetting. It's getting to the point when I've begun to fantasise about putting that ad in Time Out for a similarly predicamented woman. And no, I don't intend describing anything to you sicko perverted scum filth either.
(note: I often think that, but I doubt I ever would actually cheat on someone I love just for shagging purposes. I mean, really - that would be useless wouldn't it. It's a way of letting off a bit of steam though, thinking about it and whoooo-boy, does it give you nice things to visualise when you're sitting staring blankly on the tube.)