Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Tuesday, January 28, 2003

Stray Wheeeee

Note to self: Do not take Lortab with Testosterone before bedtime.
Hydrocodone makes Pooka hyper.
Hyper is not conducive to sleep.
Had to leave bed before DG tried to smother me with a pillow.

I'm talking to the big purple Cheshire Cat on my monitor ... and I think it's answering me.

Can't sleep, clowns will eat me.

Hair has finally gotten longer again. Makes trying to brush or wash it with my shoulder all hose a real bitch. Had the temptation to hack it off again, but after some of the reactions I got last time ... I may just shave it all off, hah!

Harley has assassinated Batgirl again. Out of all the action figures and toys on the shelf above my desk, Harley has singled Batgirl out for termination.

Giger is doing ... things in his cage. I think it's the rodent version of Tai Chi from what I can see of it. Man, he's tall when he stretches up on his hind legs.


Black hole.

Dammit, out of all the injuries from the fall, my knee is the only one that looks cool. Still haven't seen a bruise come up on my arm (apparently they're hiding deep inside the muscles so they can taunt me), and only mild bruising on my face. I mean, what the hell? Here I go and do this great fall, only to not get anything usuable out of the damage pics.

Mark ... finally got your email about the project. As I am a doofus, I'd been forgetting to check that one. Yes, I'm interested. Sounds fun. I like fun. Let's talk.

My new client for the second album cover is a riot. I swear, if this guy perks and bounces anymore, I'm going to be very very scared. I mean, with "Antipathy" as the band name, he's entirely too excited. :) They're wanting t-shirts out of whatever designs I come up with for them. Must get to work there.

Though can you see my fat wounded ass in their mosh pit? Don't think so.

Why is it 4:30 in the morning?

I'd like to go to sleep now. Can someone please page the Sandman? He missed part of this house.

Still no word from Compaq. Tommorow I call and the blood-feast will begin.

Monday, January 27, 2003


Superjuiced on what can only be called Lortab with Extra Testosterone, the day is a smoodge brighter.

Finally saw someone about the fall. Woman took one peek at my shoulder. "Ew. Ow. I am NOT touching this until we get xrays."

My kind of doc.

For those of you familiar with injury proceedings and the joy of xrays (which inevitably mean you have to move whatever is hurt into the most uncomfortable positions imaginable, ie, hurt enough to make Mother Teresa say Very Bad Things), you know that their main usage is in determining broken bones.

The muscle tears (by which I mean Many) were easily visible on the film. Joint was back in place by this point, but yowsa. If it's in my shoulder, it's either torn, inflamed, or both.

I have orders for small range of motion exercises -- ONLY, and I mean ONLY with Lortab with Testosterone in my system -- and a follow-up in a week to make sure the RSD isn't dinking with the healing and causing the muscles to start cratering on me.

Whoa. Spaced out there. That's it, I'm puttin the Pooka to bed.

Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

Thursday, January 23, 2003

Fall down, go boom

My bad leg stopped working in mid-step. Just quit. Threw me sideways into the corner of the Things' doorway. Side of head and my right arm took the full impact.

Last thing I remember is thinking "Fuck, that HURT!"

I don't know how long I was knocked out. But my right arm was caught under my head, and all of the blood on my hand was dry. I figure I was out cold for a good five minutes.

Woke up to Thing 1 crying and tapping me in the head. "Mama, do I need to call 911? Mommy, please wake up." Somehow she found my cellphone and the charger to call DG. I have no idea what woke her up. Instinct, maybe. Happened too fast for me to scream.

Haven't been this nauseous from an injury since I got thrown off a horse. Really dizzy. Shaky. Felt frozen for hours. Took every blanket on the bed and then some to stop the shivering.

Top to bottom.

Line from right temple to jaw. Top cartilege hole now big enough for 3 earrings. The one in it had to be cut off. Back to it is still missing. Stone fell out because the prongs were too busy cutting into my ear. Nurse Voodoo assisted the removal procedure. Ear is really swollen. Lobe enlarged and a small cut there.

He also held my hand while DG cleaned it. Ow.

Thank you, Will.

Right arm. This is the bad one. I'm pretty sure it hit the wall first. Shoulder joint throbs and normal motion is not only painful, but nauseating. Swollen. Line of knife-edge pain down outside of arm along tricep. Possible cracked bone. Trying to wait it out in hopes of being able to move better. It is COLD here, and I can't move my arm to get dressed. Can't type with it either.

Right knee. Actually the best of the lot. I'm not sure what I hit with it. Skin is missing, like a rug burn. Hurts more than the impact bruise under it. Maybe it just kept folding and I landed on it. Puffy, but I can at least hobble with the cane.

Don't worry, Heidi. I'll get you pictures when the bruises finish blooming.

Ow. Ow.

Saturday, January 18, 2003


She earned her Nemesis nickname an hour after I took her out of the box.

Two weeks of blue screens, fatal errors, massive crashes, programs spontaneously deleting and uninstalling on boot. 16 hours on the phone with tech support. 4 complete fdisk reformats. No resolution.

I got pissed. I started digging. I solved the problem, not them. They shipped the damn machine out of the warehouse with a bad RAM chip. They replace, things improve.

Christmas Eve. Won't start. Dead. Nothing. Will not boot. Go through the hard boot, removing cords, battery, etc. Power gets TO the unit, but the unit won't use it to boot. Great. More phone time.

Send a box. Send the laptop in. Get it back, with a note that says it worked for them, oh well. They did .... NOTHING to it. Nothing.

Three hours later, it died again. Same problem, power to it, nothing happens. More phone time. Get a new box. Send it back in new box. This time, told that the heat spreader was dusty and they switched it out. Uh huh. They send it back.

Three days later, it's dead as a frickin doornail, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of a paid contract piece. Yes, it's ON at the time, and I lose everything because it died in the middle of CTRL-S.

Why, yes, it's phone call time again. I'm on hold 14 minutes while they try to get me a supervisior. By this time .... So I go through the whole sordid story, throwing names and dates and error messages and case numbers at the woman.

"Faces of Death" had nothing on this conversation. PookaMouse ROARED.

The solution?

Hurry up and wait. I SHOULD "get a phonecall" from a Quality Manager in 7-10 DAYS. Apparently only someone with a spiffy title is allowed to make any real decisions.

This is my second Compaq. It will be the last.

The first one I fell in love with. All of the problems I had with her resulted from physical damage (note to self: you still need to make that cat fur bikini for the kids). Despite bad things I'd heard about them, I had a wonderful experience.

So I bought another one to replace it when she finally died.

I'm waiting once again to hear Frisco tell me, "Shoulda bought a Mac."