It's a slow day at the office- my boss is out at a conference, and the heavy rain is apparently dampening people's desire to leave the house. In fact, when the phone rings at 1130 I jump a little, because it's been silent all morning.
I glance at the readout as I pop my earpiece into place, taking in a breath to deliver my cheerful, "Thank you for calling!" But the caller-ID makes my stomach drop.
It's the daycare.
To her credit, the first words out of her mouth are, "Neeps is okay, but..."
The relief that washes through me almost cancels out the rest of the sentence, but she keeps talking and eventually I put it together: my child has managed to lose a fight with a hard corner, and now he has a fat lip and a torn frenulum. But he's fine.
I am less fine.
My immediate urge is to go to him and pick him up and cuddle him- but he is fine, and so I will not do that because I need to be at work. Instead I will sit here and feel guilty that I wasn't there to pick him up and cuddle him when he injured himself. I will try to fight off the poisonous little voice that hisses, soon he will learn that he can't count on you to be there for him when he's scared and hurting, when he most needs his mother...
If only I could carve Jerk Brain out like the malignant tumor it is.
In the end I do leave work early- but only by an hour. And he is all delighted smiles when he sees me (although his smile is misshapen by his swollen lip) and I pick him up and hold him and he hugs me back and Jerk Brain has nothing else to say.
10.13.2016
10.12.2016
The Vivisection
(Remember this concept?)
***
"Mordecai!" I snapped. "Stop that at once!"
The boy looked back over his shoulder at me: not startled, not guilty, just curious. Inwardly I groaned. Curious was his most dangerous mood.
"Why?" A spray of blood had spattered across his face, creating a contrasting constellation to his freckles.
"Because it's wrong." This was not an answer that ever went over well: I always started with it, anyway. Mordecai cocked his head.
"Why is it wrong? You dissect birds all the time."
"I don't dissect them. I dismember them. And I do it after they are dead," I said, sitting back on my haunches and wrapping my tail around my feet. "It makes them easier to eat."
Mordecai looked down at the still feebly-moving bird. If it had been any other boy, I'd have been impressed that he'd caught it in the first place: magpies are highly intelligent and not easily trapped. But my ward's cunning put even crafty old toms to shame. "If I eat him when I'm done," he said, "Will it be not wrong?"
I kept my face carefully blank, knowing this could set a dangerous precedent.
"No. It is always wrong for you to dissect- or dismember- a still-living creature."
He considered this for a moment. "What if I killed it before I cut into it?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
On what, indeed. For all of his five years I'd been watching over this child, attempting to unravel what made things right or wrong- a task complicated by the fact that cat morality differed starkly from human morality, and I was attempting to raise him with human morals. I wasn't always successful, since more often than not I was having to argue something I didn't necessarily agree with.
"On whether or not you need to eat. If you need to kill," I immediately saw the potential loophole and quickly corrected course, "If you need to kill an animal for food, it is acceptable to do so. But you are a little boy who is fed regularly by your parents, so you have no need to be killing. And if you are not killing something to eat it, you must not carve it up, because, as I have said, it would be a waste of life."
"But I'm learning," he said, annoyed. "And learning isn't a waste."
Damn human morality, anyway.
***
"Mordecai!" I snapped. "Stop that at once!"
The boy looked back over his shoulder at me: not startled, not guilty, just curious. Inwardly I groaned. Curious was his most dangerous mood.
"Why?" A spray of blood had spattered across his face, creating a contrasting constellation to his freckles.
"Because it's wrong." This was not an answer that ever went over well: I always started with it, anyway. Mordecai cocked his head.
"Why is it wrong? You dissect birds all the time."
"I don't dissect them. I dismember them. And I do it after they are dead," I said, sitting back on my haunches and wrapping my tail around my feet. "It makes them easier to eat."
Mordecai looked down at the still feebly-moving bird. If it had been any other boy, I'd have been impressed that he'd caught it in the first place: magpies are highly intelligent and not easily trapped. But my ward's cunning put even crafty old toms to shame. "If I eat him when I'm done," he said, "Will it be not wrong?"
I kept my face carefully blank, knowing this could set a dangerous precedent.
"No. It is always wrong for you to dissect- or dismember- a still-living creature."
He considered this for a moment. "What if I killed it before I cut into it?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
On what, indeed. For all of his five years I'd been watching over this child, attempting to unravel what made things right or wrong- a task complicated by the fact that cat morality differed starkly from human morality, and I was attempting to raise him with human morals. I wasn't always successful, since more often than not I was having to argue something I didn't necessarily agree with.
"On whether or not you need to eat. If you need to kill," I immediately saw the potential loophole and quickly corrected course, "If you need to kill an animal for food, it is acceptable to do so. But you are a little boy who is fed regularly by your parents, so you have no need to be killing. And if you are not killing something to eat it, you must not carve it up, because, as I have said, it would be a waste of life."
"But I'm learning," he said, annoyed. "And learning isn't a waste."
Damn human morality, anyway.
10.11.2016
Pissed Off Pussy
Let me be clear: I am not offended because a man used the word "pussy". Words are nothing more than sounds that we have assigned meaning to- they are not, in an of themselves, inherently offensive (or inoffensive) things. If you doubt this, all I have to do is point out that I am perfectly capable of telling someone (in a professional environment, mind you) to fuck right off by using the extremely bland phrase, "Have a great day." All I have to do is alter my tone and change which words I stress, and what should be a pleasantry becomes a verbal cudgel. Don't tell me you haven't ever done something similar.
No, what upsets me is not the vocabulary used, but rather the message sent. I am offended- nay, enraged- by the mindset that believes sexual assault is something to brag about, regardless of the terms used to describe it. Trump could have said, "Grab them by the vulva," and it would not have made one iota of difference to my reaction (although I might have been momentarily impressed that he actually knew the correct anatomical term). Why? Because he is bragging about a crime. And not a potentially harmless crime, like jaywalking in an empty street. No, he is bragging about committing a crime that straight up violates another person, an action which, in my personal moral code, is about as horrific as it gets.
Of course, he doesn't actually see women as people: he sees them as animals ("I moved on her like a bitch") or, worse, objects, things that he can do anything he wants to, because he has the power. And that's what's so wrong with him: not his vulgar vocabulary- his vile attitudes.
No, what upsets me is not the vocabulary used, but rather the message sent. I am offended- nay, enraged- by the mindset that believes sexual assault is something to brag about, regardless of the terms used to describe it. Trump could have said, "Grab them by the vulva," and it would not have made one iota of difference to my reaction (although I might have been momentarily impressed that he actually knew the correct anatomical term). Why? Because he is bragging about a crime. And not a potentially harmless crime, like jaywalking in an empty street. No, he is bragging about committing a crime that straight up violates another person, an action which, in my personal moral code, is about as horrific as it gets.
Of course, he doesn't actually see women as people: he sees them as animals ("I moved on her like a bitch") or, worse, objects, things that he can do anything he wants to, because he has the power. And that's what's so wrong with him: not his vulgar vocabulary- his vile attitudes.
10.10.2016
Early Autumn Walk
beneath my feet
a carpet of stars
shining pale pink and yellow
above my head
a ceiling of bright blue
gilded with white tracery
around my body
soaring columns
hung with marbled jade
surely this ballroom
host to a dance of stillness
is the finest in all Creation
a carpet of stars
shining pale pink and yellow
above my head
a ceiling of bright blue
gilded with white tracery
around my body
soaring columns
hung with marbled jade
surely this ballroom
host to a dance of stillness
is the finest in all Creation
10.09.2016
NaNo Approacheth
And I have no idea how I'm going to do it this year.
Let me clarify: I know that I cannot traditionally "win" NaNo this year, just like there was no way for me to "win" last year. Last year I had a baby on day four, and abandoned the tradition without a backwards glance. This year I have had over ten months to come to terms with the fact that writing 1700 words a day is just no realistic for me right now.
But that doesn't mean I can't modify the rules in such a way that I can participate.
Maybe my new goal will be "write every day". Maybe my new goal will be, "rewrite X amount of fairy tales by the end of the month". Maybe my new goal will be, "edit/add to/completely redo an old NaNo project". Something. Anything to keep one toe in the game.
I'll figure it out.
Let me clarify: I know that I cannot traditionally "win" NaNo this year, just like there was no way for me to "win" last year. Last year I had a baby on day four, and abandoned the tradition without a backwards glance. This year I have had over ten months to come to terms with the fact that writing 1700 words a day is just no realistic for me right now.
But that doesn't mean I can't modify the rules in such a way that I can participate.
Maybe my new goal will be "write every day". Maybe my new goal will be, "rewrite X amount of fairy tales by the end of the month". Maybe my new goal will be, "edit/add to/completely redo an old NaNo project". Something. Anything to keep one toe in the game.
I'll figure it out.
10.08.2016
Losing Six Inches
My hair has been getting absolutely out of control, lately. It's the longest it's ever been- long enough to sit on- and while it is lovely and definitely fulfilling a girlhood dream, it's also a giant pain in my ass.
So today I decided to do something about that.
Melanie (my amazing stylist) said, "So you're wanting to take about four inches off?"
"Four or six, whatever it takes to keep it looking healthy and full. I trust you."
Melanie decided that six inches what what was needed, and snicker-snack, off it went. (Well, snicker-snack after about an hour of applying/setting/rinsing dye).
It was incredible how much lighter my head felt!
What's even more incredible is how... short it feels. I mean I look at my reflection and I honestly feel like I have little girl hair. I run my fingers through it, or brush it, and it's like... "I have no hair!"
That, of course, is ridiculous, since I very obviously have hair that still-qualifies as "ultra-long".
And yet.
I'm looking forward to settling into the haircut, when it just feels "normal" instead of "cropped". I think it'll take about two weeks to adjust.
(That being said, it is awesome that I no longer have to be suuuuuper careful in the bathroom. Also that it's no longer dragging all over the floor any time I sit or bend over.)
So today I decided to do something about that.
 |
| PS behold my awesome socks. |
"Four or six, whatever it takes to keep it looking healthy and full. I trust you."
Melanie decided that six inches what what was needed, and snicker-snack, off it went. (Well, snicker-snack after about an hour of applying/setting/rinsing dye).
It was incredible how much lighter my head felt!
 |
| My nails are shameful. Please don't judge too harshly. |
That, of course, is ridiculous, since I very obviously have hair that still-qualifies as "ultra-long".
And yet.
I'm looking forward to settling into the haircut, when it just feels "normal" instead of "cropped". I think it'll take about two weeks to adjust.
(That being said, it is awesome that I no longer have to be suuuuuper careful in the bathroom. Also that it's no longer dragging all over the floor any time I sit or bend over.)
10.07.2016
Hula Class
Last month I signed up for a hula dance class- and tonight was the first one!
Of course, when I signed up it was supposed to be on Thursday nights, and the fact that they've changed it to Friday nights is incredibly inconvenient. But I managed to get there to check it out, anyway.
It was fun- they include language lessons as well- but unfortunately I'm not going to be able to continue. It makes me sad, because I really, really miss having dance in my life. Which, yeah- I know all I need to do to have dance in my life is, um, dance... but there's something different about dancing with others. Something a little more sacred, as ridiculous as that sounds.
But hey- another few turns of the seasons, and maybe I can try again.
Of course, when I signed up it was supposed to be on Thursday nights, and the fact that they've changed it to Friday nights is incredibly inconvenient. But I managed to get there to check it out, anyway.
It was fun- they include language lessons as well- but unfortunately I'm not going to be able to continue. It makes me sad, because I really, really miss having dance in my life. Which, yeah- I know all I need to do to have dance in my life is, um, dance... but there's something different about dancing with others. Something a little more sacred, as ridiculous as that sounds.
But hey- another few turns of the seasons, and maybe I can try again.
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