Welcome

to the Gilliad.

Arrr.

…Her?

My Fella invited me to his work-related social event this evening, so I’ll be wifing it for an hour or so. It takes more energy than it should, considering that I get to be a non-entity and blend into the woodwork — or, given that it’s Motorco, the exposed-brick-and-welding; I wonder if it’s because My Fella insists on introducing me* (which is kind of him, but stressful to me) and then I have to come up with a two-second explanation of what my deal is (two seconds is all I get before eyes glaze over and interruptions start).

Fortunately, I’ll have my phone with me in an area that provides truly excellent hunting grounds for Pokemon GO, so that will help. Also, I will require all the bribes — including, but not limited to, a coffeedrink from Cocoa Cinnamon, a food-truck Korean taco (which is a thing in the world now), sexual favors, and not having to put the chickens away when we get home.

In exchange, I will be polite** and not bite.

 

 

 

*again, to people I’ve met dozens of times, who nevertheless do not remember me because I am the Ann Veal of central NC’s librarian community
**with one notable exception, whose marzipan pig-face can melt in the fires of Robot Hell.

Self-Editing

I’m not as honest as I used to be, especially on this blog.

First of all, I am reminded that people do read what I write, which makes me self-conscious.

While I am hardly a well-socialized human being, I do worry about offending people I care about, or causing them distress, through my choice of words. Because I know full well that I have a vicious streak — call it ‘wit’ if you like, if it makes you feel better about laughing — I try to keep it leashed.

Secondly, I am conscious of the fact that anything I write can be used against me: for example, I could be fired for saying or doing, but also for being.

Among those I know well, I am fairly open about (for example) my mental health issues; however, I am by no means ‘out,’ even if (as I suspect) I’m probably not fooling anyone with my sad attempts at normalcy. But disclosure is tough: every time I start to think, yeah, maybe society’s making some progress, there’s a mass shooting or media portrayal that convinces the general public that they must do whatever is necessary to protect themselves from the “crazies.”

Third, while I stand defiantly by my opinions, I am ashamed of my feelings — particularly the softer ones, because I equate them with weakness; I have also absorbed certain cultural norms about never showing vulnerability, as doing so accomplishes nothing except providing one’s enemies with ammunition.

Fourth, I do not want to want. I have deep-seated conviction that by expressing a desire, I am setting myself up for disappointment. I also believe that I do not deserve anything good.

Like, my heart’s desire has always been to write (fiction!) while raising a pack of kids. Not everyone knows this, because it’s not something I usually admit — even to myself.
After all: what makes me so special, how self-indulgent, my family worked so hard and sacrificed so much so that I could have a good life, I can’t afford dreams, why would I ‘throw away’ my education like that, I have a good job, don’t I know how lucky I am, I am the sensible one whose job it is to look out for/clean up after others, I have neither the talent nor the temperament, what if I regret it, do I have any idea what I’d be getting myself into, you can’t do TWO things, etc., etc.

And so, I wake up every morning, exhausted and frustrated, and with the agonizing sensation of knives stabbing the inside of my gut because, deep down, I know am lying to myself and everyone else. And will continue to do so.

Which is why, you see, I don’t always want to update this blog. Because nobody wants to know any of this.

 

 

school’s back in session

it’s going to be a busy semester: two courses, plus my normal FTE.

one course is strategic communication, the other is usability; i have no real experience in either, so that should be interesting.

“it was pretty gloomy”

I’m actually in a pretty good mood, tho’ I’m told my last post implied otherwise. I believed my tone to be neutral, because apparently I attach zero valence to blanket statements regarding my worthlessness — which is certainly a problem, but perhaps not the one that had folks worried.*

Anyway, sorry about that. Really, I’m not drowning in despair; I’m having saltines and ginger ale while watching Border Security: Canada’s Front Line on the Netflix — a sentence, which, now that I’ve typed it, makes me sound like I’m depressed AF, but in fact, I’m having as nice of an evening as this wretched stomach bug will allow.

 

*What can I say? I’m getting as much therapy as I can afford, tho’ it might not be enough.

what is the point of her

‘Sigh,’ said (did?) My Fella, and I said, ‘What?’

‘What? Why are you sighing?!’

‘Because you’re being down on yourself again,’ he replied, punctuating his sentence with another sigh.

‘STOP THAT NOW. Stop doing those sighs!’

To which My Fella responded, ‘Stop being down on yourself and I’ll stop sighing’ and I took that in the spirit in which (I have decided) it was intended, which is as a challenge that, like most relationship-based psychological wars of attrition, I WILL WIN OR DIE TRYING.

So, yes, I’m in the middle of one of my ‘why do I exist no really what is the point of me?’ periods. And while I know there doesn’t have to be a point of me, that life has no intrinsic meaning nor purpose, I’d still like for there to be, because the processes that create someone like myself are pretty resource-intensive and I just think there ought to be some payoff, somewhere down the line, for ruining Earth.

Otherwise, that is a raw deal: oh hey, sorry about the polar ice caps, those are over now, but hey, instead you get Gillian, who is good for mostly nothing. See what I mean?

 

 

 

The Secret Lives of Beekeepers

My Fella is a (quasi-)covert Imgurian, and it is to that site that he recently posted this update on our beekeeping misadventures.

The concise, non-illustrated version:

  • rumors of the Lazarus hive’s death were greatly exaggerated,
  • we were not as vigilant as we could and should have been,
  • and thus, the bees, having run out of space, were building comb everywhere
  • My Fella removed the excess comb and added a super
  • And now the bees have space and we have honey.

In other news, I am in the home stretch for my class — which I hope means that soon, very soon, I’ll have time and energy for this blog.

Meanwhile, back to the mines go I.

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