Kids these days don't know

I sent the video of the EnnZedd Parliament, where their marriage equality act passes, and the whole gallery stands to sing a Maori love song, to my daughter. I told her that it always sends me literally sobbing. (This is true.)

She doesn't know, I think.

I know, because I remember.

I was in and not much out of the mental health system throughout my teens. There were so many children there, isolated, quarantined, and longing for a cure, for being queer---- gay or trans. I remember misgendering the cute (it turned out) ultra-butch girl on the ward who made my heart flutter as she talked about the beauty of the syntax of Latin, and how a nurse used that as a doorway to harangue her about her gender nonconformity. I remember another nurse leading group therapy. A kid in the group talked about how his dad beat him for discovering him with another young man, and the nurse voiced his approval. The nurse was a decent man, and kind. I remember hearing how my at-the-time fiancé's dad wouldn't let gay people hold him as a baby, because of "the gay cancer." My child's godfather Donnell, my ex-husband's best friend until they lost touch in the late nineties, never came out to either of us. In 1989 and a half---- Erin's dead tone when she found out she was infertile and how she would probably never be allowed to adopt because gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, and how she had to accept that she'd never be able to have children. She has a beautiful daughter and a wife now, but Quona's dead, and never got married in a cloud of tulle and gold and outré babies' breath extending that amazing smile as ought to have happened, dammit.

So, yeah. I remember.

I remember, and I think about how I lived in a world where this--- marriage equality, legal marriage, walking down the street and holding hands with your lover, being allowed into her hospital room when she was giving birth or dying--- seemed social science fiction of the most impossible kind.

Remember that, when hope feels stupid.

Love from,
Old woman yelling at cloud.

Yet another bloody fan theory

The Santa Clarita Diet very much lives up to the hype... even though metaphorically, it deals with the trials of life with a non-neurotypical family member, it shows one of the healthiest relationships I can remember seeing on screen--- Wash/ Zoe, Morticia/ Gomez, Akbar/ Jeff, that level. The wit is, as my father is fond of quoting*, "Subtle, yet intense:" not ostentatious, but profound. I feel like merely watching it has made me a better writer on a quantum level, or at least funnier.

The one loose end I hate to see floating about and also cannot imagine the show would be improved for dealing with: SpoilerCollapse )

I like...

...anatomically correct heart necklaces. Because love is messy and honestly a little gross but so strong. (Guess what my Mother's Day gift to my daughter is.)


Yes, I owe you e-mail and comments and updates but dang. Work. Sorrysorrysorry.

Here is something I feel the schedule crew at work is being a bit naïve regarding: scheduling is currently based, I kid you not, on the premise of 100% perfect attendance and all calls being slightly under average length, as well as several people volunteering for overtime and no-one ceasing employment.

The hypothesis is that all absences are entirely voluntary and we will all feel so guilty about leaving our peers to deal with this call volume that we will stop calling out and shape up and take our talk time down (this is apparently entirely within our control). We will also feel guilty about our bosses not getting their service percentage bonus and find ways to work harder.

I'm technically fired for absences--- again--- because HR is not able to point based upon my actual schedule versus the schedule that has no basis in reality.

I'm beginning to think unionizing is not as stupid and unattainable as it sounds.

To do

Back. Need to do a LOT of stuff, though.

1. Comment on L's journal (sorry);
2. See if B is available for chatter'
3. Push-ups, Pilates, or waist workout;
4. Empty blue tub;
5. Unpack boxes;
6. Sweep bathroom;
7. Wash hand-washable dishes;
8. Make bread;
9. Write Dad;
10. Watch TLJ;
11. Shower;
12. Move boxes into parlor.