minor grumbles

It's been over two weeks, and LJ still hasn't recovered my data.

Sunburn.

Thirty hours of not wearing earrings, and I had to punch my new pair of sleepers through my ear. Holes close way too fast!

Far too much work to do - none of which I enjoy. Meanwhile, the work I would enjoy, and am now thoroughly qualified to do, won't hire me to do it.

Still in total fic-writing funk, with no ability to get anything on paper.

Very sick of the world discussing Harry Potter movies, Prince William, and sundry other things I don't care about at all.

And again - sunburn.

*glares at the world*

(in which books from a hundred years ago are weird and fascinating)

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been re-reading the Billabong books – and enjoying them, but also laughing quite a bit. They’re so odd.

And yet, from what I’ve seen of the era, they’re exactly like pretty much every other novel written back then. (Except for murder mysteries, which are a different genre and function on entirely separate rules.)


For instance, all the main characters are upstanding and forthright chaps, who never do anything wrong, are good at everything they ever attempt, and are beloved by every person they come into contact with.



And then there’s the plotlines…

Which…

Well, just look at this.

( rundown of events )