Consequences are a bitch.

We had a party on Saturday night. It was a pretty good one, even if I do say so myself. We ended up with all our beer gone, but a select slab worth of the leftovers of other people's, and it rocked on into the wee hours. It was the first chance I'd had to let my hair truly down in a while. We were happy.

Next day, I dragged myself out of bed at 10am because I had my writing workshop group in the afternoon and dammit, I was going because the bloody thing's only on once every two months. I worked all the hangover-recovery magic I knew. It kinda worked - the hangover wasn't as big a problem as the fact that I had had about zero sleep, and after sending a message to the group, I passed out from combination hangover and exhaustion and slept all afternoon.

Boy, did I feel bad about that. Normally I am a guilt-free zone - shut up, Jojo - because shit happens, but this... I felt really, really bad about it. So I emailled the group in grovelling apology. Not enough, apparently; last night one of the members emailled the group suggesting, basically, that I re-evaluate my priorities and decide whether I actually want to commit to the group. He cited two missed meetings (the first one I was in Queensland, attending a writing workshop, actually), and notable email silence on the group.

It's a fair cop. I didn't make the meetings, and we all know I'm an email flake. I'm a flake in general. It's just caught up with me on this. I am so annoyed - mainly with myself. It's a great group with a really hard but supportive critique environment, and I thoroughly enjoyed the one meeting I went to.

On the other hand, it meets once every two months, which I do not think is anywhere near often enough to actually work as a truly effective writing group. And I am more or less only interesting in the workshopping - much as I like these people, I honestly don't have time for e-babble. I don't even manage to keep up with my friends.

So them's the breaks. Now that I've vented here, I guess I'm off to resign from my writing group. Ciao tutti.

"Get up."
Me: "I can't open my eyes."
"Look, I know you're tired, but you have to get up."
Me: "No, I can't open my eyes."

That was then, this is now. So I have my eyes open, but I just sneezed seven times (doh, one short) and I look like my boyfriend just broke up with me (i.e. I've been crying for the past six hours).

Antihistamines. Stat. Don't want to give people the wrong idea.

What, did the VCE finish today or something? The park was full of teenagers toting super soakers.

Even bearing that into consideration, it was an absolutely beautiful day. Of course, I think I need to get some antihistamines before I barf up a lung.

Many things have made me laugh raucously today. Jojo told a story about a ballistic cat. A second-hand-bookshop-running (it does something to their brains, I tell you) friend of mind took the pants off her Harry Potter doll and made him prance about on his naked girly legs. An online friend used "rearguard action" in a decidedly non-military sense.

But the thing today that made me smile in that sort of smug benevolence of the viciously amused was Jojo saying: "I'm not sure if it's a man or a woman, but China Mieville..."

Yes, I can be petty too. Whoda thunk it?

I've been whistling the damn theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind all sodding weekend. I can't remember who brought it up on Friday night, but if I remember, I will have my revenge, oh yes.

Jojo gave us the Gift That Requires A Little Work To Actualise, in the form of a misburnt CD of a downloaded copy of Worms Plus that didn't actually run. Never mind; spurred to activity by his gallant lead, we found a place to download a copy that did work.

Sort of. There's no sound, and the computer sits in zen-like contemplation of its own navel for about a minute before loading the game, or the first level choice. Also, it seems to be missing the level files for the Challenge mode which is, if you know Anthony, somewhat dire. Also, the spacebar on this keyboard is slightly munted, which meant that Anthony sheeped himself in the face.

But it's Worms.

I wondered what to call my team, but then I saw the cursor flashing beside "Captain" and I immediately added "Jack Sparrow". (Pity the fangirl geek. PITY, I say.) The other three worms are "Norrington", "Miss Swann" (because Elizabeth's already in the Royalty team) and "Puppy" - because he absolutely is.

Amusingly enough, in the games thus far, Cpt. J. Sparrow has been flamboyant in both life and death, Norrington has methodically got the job done, Miss Swann has proved surprisingly vicious, and Puppy has been pathetically wiped out before getting a turn on nine out of ten occasions.

Look, this is why I hate fruit yoghurt. There's things in it. Look at that. Is that a slug or a cherry? Ew.

Smooth things should not have lumps in them. That goes double for cheesecake.

Dude. Muesli bars with white chocolate in. What new devilry is this?

Abercrombie and Fitch, egged on by PETA, bans Australian wool.

You know, I'm trying, I honestly am, but I just can't seem to summon up what you might call actual "caring" for the backsides of sheep.

Monstrous, I know. I can be like that. I even occasionally say things like "Maybe it's better that make-up is tested on animals rather than, say, humans". I might almost go out on a limb and say, "We're the top of the food-chain for a reason - two reasons, in fact. Opposable thumbs and malicious cruelty."

But I'd probably only do that if it was Friday and I was feeling kinda wicked.

The alien (or, alternatively, rogue underwire) in the washing machine was briefly in perfect unison with "You Look So Fine" by Garbage.

There is, I feel, some deep metaphor for my life as a whole in that.

Brisbane was (briefly) delightful. Such gorgeous weather being had up there. Shame about the fires.

Shame about the election too. It kinda makes me want to take the temperature of the majority of the voting public. I mean... did I miss something? I'm a conservative voter, but I still think it's time Labor had a go. And the idea of Family First holding the balance of power in anything but a sandpit is, frankly, fucking scary.

Enough of that.

All my siblings are now married, Si being the last to fall (and some had speculated he never would). But his new Irish wife is a delight, and the party was good. Anfy managed well, despite being surrounded but the whole mad bunch of the Evanses. We're an odd mob, as evidenced, I suppose, by my father making his speech while wearing the very fetching hat of his daughter-in-law. (It did suit him, though. Matched his tie.)

The bird's still out there.

There's a bird sitting in the tree outside my window. Every time I look up from the computer screen, it's there. In the same place. And when I say every time, I don't just mean now. Or today. It's been there for weeks. It was there when there were no leaves on the trees, and now it's in the midst of spring greenery.

There's no nest there. It's just perched on a branch. I think it's the same bird. One of those mynah things that have been stalking me since they made their nest in the wall beside my room at college. Maybe it's a rotational cycle of birds of the same species. The same Family. Maybe I'm under surveillance by some sort of Avian Mafia.

Stranger things have happened.

(This post brought to you by paranoia and gilmae poking me.)

Know how long it takes to download 27,955 email messages? Oh, about ten hours. It won't actually solve the problem, of course, but it's an entertaining way to spend the vast majority of your waking hours, right?

For anyone who has experienced problems with viscerate.com in the past week, the problem was that a catch-all email account had been, well, catching all emails that weren't addressed to registered users, with the result that it was full of spam. 257MB worth of it, to be precise. Given that the domain only has 300MB worth of space to play with (which, y'know, seemed like plenty back when I registered) that had been making things rather tricky.

So after trying everything I could think of from the admin panel, but being unable to empty the mailbox from there, I realised I was going to have to download all the messages. Cue the opening sentiment. And then rage at finding that no, actually, hadn't worked.

But the support staff came through, and have now emptied the mailbox. I've turned the catch-all off. We're back to 257MB of free space. It's all good.

Avagoodweekend. (I'm off to work.)