Stopping by after a very long absence to introduce you all to Mabel:

I am OBSESSED with her and I am just showing her off to every single person I’ve ever met.

Just poking my head in after a very long absence to let everyone know that as of 3:15 today I am henceforth to be known only as Dr. Omoikiri 💪

Stopping by for a life update because it’s been a while.

• PhD is submitted and I’m in limbo for now
• still very overworked
• my worst fears have been realised. the three (3) pear trees that are in the front and back yard at this house are, indeed, the cum variety
• I’m reading A Psalm for the Wild-Built this weekend and it’s such a fucking delight. One of the best things I’ve read all year, and I’ve read over 40 books now.

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What’s new with you guys. I’ve missed you ❤️

Been a while since I dropped by. This is why:

I think we’re finally at submission day 😬

Oh no. New neighbours moved in last week a few doors down. They have been playing extremely loud edm with a very intense bass for the last 2 hours now. It’s a Saturday, it’s not late, so I don’t mind them being loud or having a party, but I just went to put some rubbish out and there’s no party. No cars or people. Just really obnoxiously loud music. Which means they’re just listening to it like this for fun…

As long as they turn it off once it gets late. I hope they do. An incredibly elderly couple live directly across the road from them and I can imagine them getting pretty distressed by it at the level that it is right now, even.

In my car waiting to head in for this official event. Dilemma. I need to do a poop really badly, but I don’t think I’d ever get over the mortification of doing a poo in a diplomats house. I would, however, like the experience of pooing in a house that costs at least $15,000,000. The toilet alone probably costs more than my car.

I had to (well, chose to) wear heels into work today because I have an official thing to do straight after to do with diplomats so I need to look professional. As I was leaving the house I thought about packing flats or slides or slippers to wear under my desk or just around our floor, but couldn’t be bothered carrying something else into work.

And let me tell you that I’ve never regretted a decision so much in my life.

So I know I always call him Mr. Omoikiri but that’s just for ease because he’s my human and he has been for a long time and we always knew we were stuck with each other for forever. But I guess he really is (soon to be) mr. Omoikiri now

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I went to visit nana in respite care today. The place she is is really nice and the nurses and the others there are lovely. I genuinely think it’s as nice as you can get with these kinds of things. The problem is that nana’s dementia means that she forgets why she’s there. Her short term memory is about 5 minutes long now, and every few minutes she asked me “when do I get to go home?” It broke my heart every time. She doesn’t remember what happened to put her there and she doesn’t understand. When she saw me walk into the common space she jumped up and said “you’ve come to take me home!!” It was all I could do to not cry on the spot. She’s also started reverting to being scared of my grandfather. He’s been dead for 30 years. He was a raging alcoholic and very physically and emotionally violent, but nana also gave out as much as she got back in the day and has never expressed being afraid of him before. But when I kept having to say to her “no Nan, this is your home now, remember? You’re here so that we can keep you safe” she’d just nod and go “right, to keep me safe from him he’s always so angry when he drinks.” So that’s interesting.

Anyway I took her to the pancake parlour and let her go to town and order anything she wanted and she was so stoked. She’s never as happy as she is when she’s got dessert.

I need and entire bottle of wine and a good cry now.

I just got an email from my supervisor saying that my thesis is almost there. About one more week of concentrated effort and then it’ll be done. Then I’ll have my final month to just proofread, check the citations, format and do all the frontmatter nonsense. I’m so happy I could cry.

I spent a good chunk of yesterday making a vanilla slice to take to dinner at mr. Omoikiri’s friend’s house tonight. Cut it all up, arranged it back in the tray. As we were running out the door, I asked him to grab the slice that was on the kitchen bench while I grabbed his drinks and my bag. Got to the front door and he’s got the slice alright. He’s also got his switch and his volleyball and his keys chucked in top of it, squashing the custard out of half of them and ruining the icing on the others.

He’s lucky he’s so hot because it took every bit of my self control to not dump his ass right on the spot.

I am a language professional. We tend to believe firmly in descriptivism. Language is fluid and you can do whatever you want with it. There is no right or wrong. Nothing really upsets me except for when people say ‘an historical X’ or ‘an horrific X’ but even then it just makes me scrunch my nose up.

But there is one thing that I cannot accept. One thing that makes stop what I’m doing and just want to scream in disgust ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU CLOWN??’

And it’s when Americans refer to pasta as ‘noodles’

Especially if they call it a ‘lasagne noodle’