A Star Trek Fic Rec and Pre-emptive Bus Rage

I need to get on the ficcing stick. I had the best of intentions yesterday but was sidetracked by a shiny Star Trek rec by whitemunin. I've never read Star Trek fic in my life, but the writing was so fabulous that I didn't care. Holography by Pat Foley is long and multi-volumed but worth the read for its detail, world-building, layered characterizations, and exploration of Vulcan culture. I'm thrilled to have followed the link from the fangirl_tour. However, after four hours of breathless reading, my eyeballs were throbbing like thwarted boners inside my skull, and my head was pounding. Damn myopia. So, I never wrote a word.

I'm waiting for the cable man to come collect my late payment. Actually, I've been waiting for a week. I'm $140 in arrears, and they usually bust a nut for any collection over $100, so I'm mystified by his tardiness. I bet he turns up on Monday, half an hour after Roomie has left to pay it in person at the billing office. I'll be alone--and most likely naked because I forego clothes unless I have guests--hunkered in the bathroom and waiting for him to leave, a fugitive in my own house.

Yes, I know it's my own fault for not paying on time. My payment history has been abysmal since they closed the payment center in the mall and left the only face-to-face payment center in the boonies on the outskirts of town. Prior to the closure, I was a golden customer with a perfect rating. Now I'm the schlep they'd cancel if they didn't want my money. I feel awful about it because I know it reflects poorly on me, and I've always been a people pleaser. but frankly, I don't feel safe making the trip to the payment office.

The bus has a good chance of being a rolling rattle-trap manned by a Gulag 19 trainee with hemorrhoids, and the lift has a good chance of malfunctioning and leaving eighty of us stranded around a blind curve. Even if the bus is styling and the driver is courteous, the stop is a clump of bushes through which Roomie must push me while I clutch the armrests in a white-knuckled grip, clench my ass cheeks, and pray that I don't hit a rut and catapult through the air and over skin-shredding gravel.

Still, if he doesn't turn up today, I'll have to bite the bullet and go on Monday morning.

~sigh~