argh. ggh. mmf. rrr.

Guh. i am in such a terrible mood. I am feeling violent.
Dave is off in Rochester sorting out his classes. It annoys me that he did not register for them earlier. (Classes START today.) He was closed out of many of the classes he wanted to take. But if he doesn't want to do things before the last possible minute, that's his business.

I was trying to repot an asparagus fern. It would not come out of the pot. two of us could not get it out of the pot. I destroyed a trowel trying to get it out of the pot. Finally, it came out of the pot after I threw the pot at the garage (after about half an hour of struggling with the motherfucker). My hands and legs are full of thorns, because asparagus ferns have prickers. This annoyed me.

St. Joe's Catholic Institute, directly across the street, is having a football game. This means the loudspeakers are on. (It's the JV game vs. their arch-rivals, Canisius. It's packed.) Someone has an obnoxious fake police siren that goes off incessantly. They play Sousa-esque marches occasionally-- actually just one, extremely repetitively. It's gay. It's GAY. And they won't shut up.

I don't give a shit about the 47-yard line.

I made breakfast. We have a rule in the house, that I just instituted after we moved in. If you cook, the other does dishes. Seems fair. Well, so far it's meant that I've done all the dishes, as well as the cooking, because we forget and the dishes build up so I do them.
And, it means I put away the dry dishes.

It's one of those days. I can't get anything to work. I keep getting email, but it's just comment spam, and I have to go through my MT blog and one by one disable comments on every entry. This pisses me off. I want to skullfuck every comment spammer with my freshly-destroyed trowel. That is my mood.

My hands are full of thorns, and I am getting an eczema flare from all the dishes (my skin hates dish soap. I was hoping to work something out with dave whereby I did not do dishes, since I am only too happy to do all laundry and most cleaning. But he was not interested in this, and so I do dishes and have pain. C'est la fucking vie). My legs are full of thorns, and dirt.

To unwind, I am attempting to write a new chapter for the fic I updated yesterday, since I was on such a roll, but again i'm running into needing background structure work to be done that I don't want to do. So nothing fucking works. Dave's not here to distract me, St. Joe's is fucking loud and annoying (I don't give a SHIT about the fumble recovered by Canisius, i swear to GOD I will kill them all if they don't shut UP), I hate football, I hate football music, i hate people that like football, I am trying to put things away and fix things and hang things up and organize thing and nothing is working, and I'm just generally pissed off. I tried yesterday to organize the basement, but Dave didn't want to help me (he took a 2-hour nap on the couch instead), and I can't move the furniture down there on my own, so it didn't happen.

I can't think of anything to do to chill out, either. It's not like I'm going to go anywhere.

And oh, i don't even have a picnic to go to for Labor Day. Nope...

I know, in the big scheme of things, it's all nothing, but god damn it, i'm annoyed.

And no, it's not PMS, thanks for asking.

Fafnir

I forgot to mention that last night I met a dachsund named Fafnir.

Cool name for a very small dog, don't you think?

I had to look it up, I must admit-- and yes, Fafnir is the dragon that Sigurd slays to gain his treasure. (In Wagner's Ring-Cycle, the dragon is named Fafner and Sigurd is called Siegfried.)

Then Sigurd cuts out the dragon's heart to cook for his guru, so that he will have knowledge, but Sigurd tests the meat with his thumb for doneness, and when he puts his thumb in his mouth to cool it, he gains the ability to understand the speech of birds.

Huh, familiar on a few leves? Finn MacCumhal and the Salmon of Knowledge-- he cooks it for his master, and burns his thumb, and when he sucks his thumb to cool it he gets the knowledge from the salmon.

Also familiar-- "Many lords and warriors, and many fair and valiant women, are named in the songs of Rohan that still remember the north. [...] Fram [...] slew Scatha, the great dragn of Ered Mithrin, and the land had peace from the long-worms afterwards. Thus Fram won great wealth." (Appendix A, section II ("The House of Eorl", Return of the King.

(Also familiar: the way in which Smaug, in The Hobbit, is roused to anger by a lone thief. That's straight out of Beowulf. And exceedingly well-told.)
What did this man do for a living? Oh right. He was only about the most important scholar of Beowulf... Heaney's introduction to his translation is a nice little note about Tolkien as a scholar.

Anyhow, Fafnir is an awesome name for a two-pound dog.