Friday, December 09, 2016

Pizzagate

The fake news scandal of how facebook-fuelled ad-revenue driven fake news sites convinced white women to go with an orange groper continues with real world impact after a gunman went into one alleged child murder pizzeria and other pizza places have taken abusive threatening phone calls. The basic thrust is pizza was Clinton camp code for ritualistic child murder and these sessions happened in the back room of said pizzerias.

But I did laugh at the idea that if after phoning in abuse the caller then ordered a pizza.

"... AND YOUR BRAINS WILL SPLATTER THE WALL. NOW, I ALSO WANT A LARGE PEPPERONI..."

Thursday, December 08, 2016

Old lady bus redux

I went to help an old lady onto the bus—she had two cast-clad legs and six grocery bags hanging off her arm. She said thanks but no thanks, because I could only help by taking the bags and she explained they needed to stay on her arm for when she got off.

She then talked at me for the rest of the trip. I didn't mind, she had a lot to say and a short amount of time to say it—and yes she mentioned both the Great War and the Great Depression.

I guess I just have a great countenance that says "old ladies, please converse". 

Blame your parents

I had my remaining natural hip scanned for degradation. Yes, some of that, but I don't need surgery yet—my comfort will determine when it gets done.

In the meantime he gave me praise for doing the right thing—exercise biking being the best exercise for a failing hip because it tones the muscle that keeps it together.

He had a work experience person in and he explained to her that I had been young for my surgery and that the damage to my left hip was likely caused during gestation; by the position I lay within my mother and the way she lay as well. This damage in addition to that caused by my breech birth.

"Blame your parents," he said. 

I know my body is not my fault—it was made and developed this way. But the shit I copped from those parents for my height, weight and lack of agility made for an unpleasant childhood—and adulthood because they kept that crap up after I left home.

I sat on the bus home flitting between happiness and anger; happiness at once again confirming how fucking awesome I am and anger at the bullshit I endured, and still endure, because of my body—and people's attitudes to it. 

But I'm still here, not in spite of it but because of it; this bullshit makes me strong.

WFTW.

Monday, December 05, 2016

Walked it off

Our building's sclerotic network landed causing no end of frustration—the price you pay when all your work is done via a network. At one point I yelled at SharePoint and that, combined with a brain-hurting email, meant I had to walk it off.

So I walked it off. It didn't help that much but the break at least short-circuited the anger build up so I went back to frustrated mode instead of under-the-breath muttering and sotto "WTF?" reactions when the fucking computer didn't do what I wanted it to.

It was an insane Monday with a fuck ton of work; but the work I did was good, hearty fare whose effects will last a long time.

WFTW.

Saturday, December 03, 2016

Fate

I went to the end-of-year fete in spite of the noise and crowds because, well, it was the fucking end-of-year fete.

I medicated as much as I could then slid in to enjoy myself.

It was my fault. I should have known that the fire engine display behind me would of course display its horn. It blared, sudden and loud, in a sonic wave aimed it seemed at the back of my head.

My body entered fight (slash) flight and I yelled brightly "gotta go!" and then headed with speed for the car. I re-entered the school grounds only to be assailed by a massed choir armed with ukuleles, their assault on musical reason adding a fat dollop of panic as I made it out the front only to be re-assailed by a screaming two-year-old whose uncaring and unhurried mother was glacially pushing that child along in a stroller.

I made it to the car but until the child was gone I couldn't unclamp my ears to get to my keys to open it and get to the ear muffs in the glove compartment. 

I babbled with rage about ineffective parenting to cover the screaming before I could risk going for keys, door and muffs. 

Then I spent 20 minutes with the muffs on surfing the web on my phone while I waited for the others. 

I love the end-of-year fete; it's joyous. But to go a place with children, noise and crowds is to expose multiple triggers to a deep pull—though admittedly it was a fire siren that triggered me; I was fine until then.

That's what it is to have this; that normal life is interrupted. But you can't sit in your house with ear muffs on; the world won't let you. You have to risk these things to get as much of life in while you still can.

So that's also what it's also like to have this; to have tasted death so closely it reminds you you're alive.

WFTW. 

Thursday, December 01, 2016

Got a door fixed

Not only did I get the door fixed I got a story of how it got broke—and how to fix it for next time.

I had to sign it off with my finger. 

Later I pressed the button to see it sproing open and marvelled at my minor accomplishment.

Mikey see bad, Mikey order fix.

WFTW.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

A messenger scene

The arrival of a messenger is a literary tradition in plays going back to Grog grunting at Snark about Sniznar's message from the Beast People. Shakespeare has a bunch of them I am sure; protagonists reacting to messenger-borne news.

My friend dropped past. He told me of ill and it's the second time he's done it. It's not his fault—it was on topic—but I realise now he's the messenger in my dramedy. I would have said "drama" except while I suffer I make light of it—leg sharts and all.

As he left I got lost in a whirl of work, skipping, diving and prancing to fix the fuck out of this and to fix the fuck out of that; a perfect answer to a rotten tale.

WFTW.

Monday, November 28, 2016

An electrifying battle anthem



"Danger! High Voltage" by Electric Six.

Fingers flying

After a late start from a medical I hit the keyboard with fingers flying with just human physicality getting in my way because I could not type as fast as I could think.

I've fucked off worrying about typing noise as well. I'm in countdown mode and to work as fast as I need to I cannot be pecking a key at a time.

I finalised a project then threw it up the chain. It was one I started, got resourced then ready for implementation. A shovel ready project that could be completed in 10 minutes once the go is given. 

If I get that up then I'll have won no matter what happens next; it's a gaping hole and it has to be filled. All I need is the permish to fill it. 

That's the technocratic way; get as much done yourself as possible then give a cheery "action" at the end of an email which simply says "just say yes and I will action".

That's how to get things done; assume control then do them.

WFTW.