Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
This gentleman is trying to make his “Take a wild guess, do you think I’m white?” observations into news. The part that got me was the notion that Jews are not sex offenders…. Anyway, leave off attempting to read this until you are feeling strong. I want to see the data to support some of this crap, by gosh.
I’m going to have a Tshirt made up:
I have a very long to do list and very little energy.
On the good side:
Back MUCH better with lots of walking now that I’m back at work, plus I doubled up on the glucosamine and chondroitin. The effect is so fast… less than two days and the amount of joint pain I’m experiencing dropped. Also doubled up on acidophilus, and that has been great too.
People are still noticing that I’m back at work and being very happy to see me. Like, Genuinely Happy to see me.
All the appropriate software for work is now up and running (ie I have no excuse not to really buckle down).
I was supposed to go swimming last night. I went soaking instead, and it felt really good.
Also watched the Simpsons parody of 24, which was incredibly good… sometimes you forget it’s a cartoon. Wherever they were, the writers for that show are back.
Margot jumped up on the bed demanding to be petted. I love it when she does that and she doesn’t do it very often.
Gizmo is putting on weight, super feisty about being kept out of people food, and he LOVES the cat sized armchair I bought him. (I should say I bought it for any cat who would sit in it, but am particularly pleased that the Gizzer went for it.)
Things proceed apace for the memorial service for Granny, which is now next week.
Minus side:
Very much work and no compere until the middle of March at the earliest. It’s not like I’m by myself, but there is a very large eightball, and I am behind it. Although everybody said I’d hate Lotus Notes 8 I’m not really having problems with it except that it’s a trifle slow.
My folks are very slammed on both sides by the emotional air pockets of grief and the witlessness of bankers, lawyers, etc. Fortunately everybody in the family is being loving and supportive and there is ABSOLUTELY no nonsense about who gets what. It’s all very steady and rational and that’s some comfort.
Jeff’s inheritance and mine is 21 banker boxes in size plus any furniture we can haul away plus any of her crafts. Rejigging of vehicles for memorial service may happen; it all has to be out in two weeks. I’m feeling a trifle squoze.
I forgot to take a library book back.
I suspect the next little part of my life is going to be very busy. I don’t object to the change and I asked for it, but it’s a transition, and transitions can be hard.
I took Jeff to the Himalayan Peak last night. The tandoori chicken was superb, as always.
I ran ‘The War Room” for a little less than an hour. We sang songs from WWII, Korea and Vietnam. No space wars though. Pity.
And I’m back.
I bagged out at midnight, which is scandalously early for filk; but I have Tapioca with ass on my H2, which means I recorded it. I have been too scared to listen to it.
It is a charming convention, full of twists, turns, and sequin covered capes.
I think I want to do the next Conflikt entirely in steampunk costume. Gives me a whole year to prepare, don’t you know.
It should come as no surprise that Tom Smith is awesome. I got to hear him play Sheep Marketing Ploy and many other grand pieces of flurrious words and fantastical songs.
That is BASS not ASS. But I leave it anyway…
And settled at the con in Renton… have run into Runnerwolf and Admiral Naismith and many, many others, and I am so happy to be here.
The trip down was uneventful.
Squee! Now to figure out where I’m going to be every minute between now and noon Sunday.
Find passport BEFORE you book hotel.
It is with trembling hands that I type this. I finally found my passport, but ye gads, sir, I was pretty torqued there for a while.
I am starting to think about the eulogy, and it’s a standard thing to do, to push the emotional aspect of a difficult time into a task.
What I should be doing is packing for Conflikt.
Jeff took me to the Keg last night and I had the biggest filet mignon I’ve ever seen.
Yay landpeers!
Right now life is a slurry of goodbyes and re-introductions; changes in temperature, ambiance, the furnace breaks, the filk convention looms, the tooth is snaggled, Granny’s dead, I’m finally back on the ERP at work, I am up again and spinning at a great rate of knots. The distance between life and the blog is bigger than normal, and I have few venues (not none, fortunately) for venting about it. Some things are burning brightly, some are swallowed by silence and distrust of the future. The major thing is allowing myself to be happy by how genuinely pleased people are to see me. I feel like I’m home, and I’m happy.
My back hurts. Commuting subjects me to lots of interesting loading on my lower back. This is making me crabbier than normal.
One of my coworkers dreamed I was coming back to work. I don’t know whether to believe it and I’m not really worried about it either way. I’ve had one precognitive dream that I remembered, so although my sample size is small my willingness to believe is large.
Pocky. It’s what’s for dinner. I bought Robbie B lunch.
Long hours of sleep, punchuated in the morning with traffic noise. Lest my mother be upset, that typo was deliberate….. now let me wander off my rails again and think about how we can set up an Aspie friendly place for the boys to do their mourning. Because as sure as Darwin’s winnowing fan claims us all, I can think of four of my blood kin who need to go off and have their own corner to grieve in. Of such are the ways of the accommodationist, the ever blooming woman of the boundary layer, who would be, of course, me.
Probably during the week – the staff at the Cedars want to go.
Work is awesome, and will be even more awesome when I have email, ERP and a proper phone for the call center work.
I am thinking of my dad and it’s hard not to cry. It doesn’t matter how much you expect it, it is still shattering. And while shattered, you must get up, and eat, and deal with lawyers and doctors and arrange things and make lists.
The memorial is February 6th.
Guess I have a eulogy to write.
From my mother’s email.
We hadn’t thought we would be, nor had we planned it, being there only
three hours a day, but we were there for Grannie’s last breaths. There
were indignities in her last weeks, but her last moments, and her
appearance in the process and afterward, had great dignity.