Tycho Talk

Things are changing.

The pandemic still rages. Plenty of people have been isolating, wearing masks and all that, but not enough; Trump managed to make basic precautions into a political issue, so now the virus is romping through America like a dog through a field of flowers. When the first waves hit, they were isolated enough that affected areas could borrow staff and supplies and beds from other, unaffected areas and make do... now it's everywhere, staff are burned out, and there's nowhere to send people when your facility is full. It's horrifying. There's talk of a vaccine, but it won't be available for awhile (if it pans out) and Trump is still in office for another critical few weeks. And people are already fighting about families meeting for the holidays.

I'm still not really communicating with Dad. He got weird on Facebook recently; I'd friended one of his accounts ages ago, but got a friend request from another, and then from a third one. I didn't reply; it just seemed easier. He's sent Brö and I a couple of links to videos about shit like the Grand Canyon's majesty, but his Facebook feed on the account he's been using most recently is a morass of racist, pro-cop, liberal-insulting, and Jesus-heavy chain-memes. The last really confuses me... he never cared for any one church or religion before, and told me many times that he wasn't a Christian, just a guy who believes there's Something More Out There. It feels weirdly performative, but I have no idea who he'd be performing for.

Joe Biden is our president-elect, thank the gods. Liberals have descended into the wholly unsurprising in-fighting about how we need to be moderate so as to appeal to the most people, or we need to be progressive and work as if the other side is effectively non-functional, which is more in line with how I feel, not that anyone's asked me. Conservatives are beginning to see the writing on the wall, quietly acknowledging things if they think it suits them, or loudly refusing to if they think it will enable them to hold onto enough power to shovel enough money into their accounts before things collapse, or allow them to ride Trump's coat-tails into his next great adventure, which (if it's not jail) looks to be a rival network to FOX. I will never understand how such a transparently venal, self-serving piece of garbage swayed so many people. I get the ones who saw his popularity and hooked in to get in on the grift, but the ones who truly believe he's a great man despite all evidence of their own eyes... I just thank the same gods who delivered the election that Trump wasn't smarter, wasn't better at covering his tracks, wasn't able to avoid being so comically evil that the rest of the world and at least half of our own electorate saw him not as just a mere political opponent so much as a directly dangerous moral adversary.

My work has been suffering for months now. I'd hoped, and my boss suggested that I use my enforced work-at-home time to get my stats back up so that whenever we do have the option of going back to the office, I will have numbers sufficiently improved so that I can take the option of continuing to work from home. But my concentration has been for absolute shit. If you're not aware, for years I've had my twenty hour work week completed in two ten hour shifts on Mondays and Tuesdays. Having a five-day weekend every week has been alright, but those two days just suuuuuuuuck. The shifts were 8am to 6:30pm, and I could never manage to make being ready for work at 8am happen in any productive way when my natural sleep tendencies have free rein five days out of the week.

So, starting this month, I'm trying a new schedule. I'm working four days a week- Monday through Thursday- for five hours, from 1pm to 6pm. It'd giving my week a lot more structure, which part of me mislikes, but if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I think it's a lot better for me. It reminds me of how when I was in college I took some classes where we had no meeting times, we were just given the book and told we had the semester to read it, take some quizzes and a final test, and I did terribly at them. I could always think of something I'd rather be doing than studying for them, and ended up like they warned us would happen of taking all the tests in the last week of the semester and barely passing. Anyway, also with this new schedule, I get to keep my sleep schedule consistent every day- go to bed around 1 or 2am, wake up around 10-11am (I seem to need more sleep lately; I'm assuming due to general pandemic anxiety) every day. I've been watching with apprehension at how my body would react to this new schedule- would it like the regular sleep pattern, and enjoy the five hour shifts, or would it feel deprived of all the totally unfettered days? I've only been at it for a bit, but I think I'm liking this a lot better. Five hour shifts feel like "a couple of hours", and allowing my body to fully commit to the 2am to 10am sleep schedule has been *fantastic*. There's a lot of research that shows that we're not capable of being productive for more than about six hours at a stretch at anything, and all the sleep research I've read says to keep the same sleep schedule on work days and non-work days for the best sleep- but I didn't want to assume that this would make a difference until I'd actually been at it. I guess a few more weeks will give me a better idea, but I can already tell it's much better than it was.

So I'm trying to get my shit together in other ways now, too. I've put on a lot of weight during this pandemic, and either that, or the anxiety, or age, or who knows what has left me feeling creaky and stiff and out-of-shape badly enough that I'm starting to pay attention. I tend to ignore my body in a lot of ways beyond giving it what it wants (usually- donuts) until something goes wrong. That hasn't been a good plan, because I weigh more now than I ever have and any activity feels like a slog. I'm trying to walk at least a mile every day and have managed to stick to that every day since I started my new schedule, but I don't feel any benefits yet. I'm also trying to eat less crap, but I know from past history that doing big changes tend to backfire on me so I'm trying to transition slowly. It's not going to help that my birthday is coming up, then Thanksgiving, then Eric's birthday, then Yule... but I'm going to keep after it and at least stop the upward trend and maybe get some wind back. It's no fun to look in the mirror and feel actual disgust, and while I've never been a big fan of my appearance generally I used to be able to mostly ignore it, but I've gone up a pants size and when it starts costing me money for new clothes, well, dammit, that's the last straw.

Will update as events warrant.

Elaine came out of the woods, finally.

After working myself into a nervous wreck after the last entry, I resolved not to answer the phone if Dad called for a little while. He'd either leave a message, or he'd give the information to Eric. If he wanted to vent, he'd have to do it to the answering machine or Eric or Jesus fucking Christ- anyone else but me. He seriously needs to get weaned off the notion that I'm the only person he can talk to. It was hard to do what felt like emotionally abandoning him in his time of need, but for fuck's sake. I did not sign up for that job, and the pay was terrible.

I'm trying to fix into my head that refusing to do emotional labor for someone is not the same as abandoning them.

Last I'd heard before this weekend- Eric let me know that Dad had contacted some guy who promised to buy everything he owned and give him a big fat handful of cash that Dad would use to move back to TX. Cue four hundred red flags, and my inevitable impulse to run towards the dumpster fire and DO SOMETHING. This is, I believe, an excellent example of irony.

I took a long shower and thought about it. I can't do anything other than tell him how I feel about it. And he probably was not going to actually do this unless the doctor told him Elaine wasn't going to improve, and the doctor had done nothing of the sort. I think he was just doing it because he wanted to do something in the face of possible disaster, regardless of how stupid that something was. Irony!

But here's what was pissing me off. After all Elaine has done for our family, and if she is truly facing her end of days, it would be positively fucking unethical and cruel for Dad to take her to Texas away from her family just because he irrationally doesn't like Oklahoma. And if he left her in OK and moved to Texas- that would be unconscionable, in my opinion. He disrupted all our lives many times throughout our childhood because of his alcoholic employment problems, seems like when he's got no real reason to relocate other than personal preference, he could fucking take one for the team for once and stick it out with her until she goes on to her great reward. I resolved that if the worst happened with her, and he continued down this path, I would make a point to tell him he is being a selfish asshole. He might continue with his dumb plan but he'd be doing it knowing I wasn't going to be helping or supporting him. And he would probably stop talking to me.

Which, you know what? Not a downside. And pretty much all I could really do in that situation anyway.

Having basically solved the realistic worst-case scenario, and put a layer of insulation between him and me, I felt a whole lot better. Then things got even better! Elaine's son Brian messaged me Saturday morning and said she was talking coherently! I called the hospital and talked to her, and she sounded pretty okay! And when Dad called the next day, he sounded relieved and did not seem to be pursuing the dumb plan! I may feel the need to confront him about that at some point, but to borrow a phrase, today is not that day and tomorrow is not looking good either. Both of us seem to have a similar tendency to react to 'something might be going down' as if THE WORST POSSIBLE THING IS HAPPENING AND IF YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING IMMEDIATELY WE'LL ALL DIE. At least when I do it I can recognize that I'm being an irrational idiot. I'm trying to work on that. Whether he is or not is not really my place to monitor (and if he hasn't so far, odds are not good that he's going to start any time soon).

So I'm just going to keep saying all of that to myself, keep going to therapy, and try to stay rooted in the present.

So, Dad was a professor at a college called West Arkansas Junior College many years ago. It was called 'Westark' for short, and now it's a branch of U of Arkansas. Professors had contracts that were renewed every year. Mom was home with an annoying baby (that would be me) and was probably bored out of her mind, so Dad enrolled her in his class- she liked his lectures, they were entertaining recounts of history. Well, she turned up with uterine cancer, and had to have a hysterectomy. This was back when a hysterectomy left you bed-bound for two months because they had to slice you open like a fish, and that shit takes forever to heal. So Mom missed out on the majority of the semester while she was in recovery. When it came time to submit grades, Dad gave her an A.

Some other professor took exception to this. Evidently this guy had it out for Dad for some reason. He reported Dad to the dean, and the dean told Dad that when his contract was up, it would not be renewed. In other words, Dad was being fired, but had a semester of teaching left before he went.

Dad evidently talked to someone who offered to put a hit on the nemesis professor- $150 to have him disappear, $300 to have him beaten so severely he'd be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The second option was more expensive because of the higher risk of witnesses. It probably says something that I'm not sure if Dad didn't go with this option because of reasons of morality, or because he was unable to afford it. Anyway, he decided to pursue his own agenda of revenge, sleeping with as many ladies at the college as he could. He bagged the dean's wife, and also the wife of the dean of psychology (and clearly was proud of this). He also managed to sleep with several students. One was apparently a strikingly beautiful brunette who was married and already had a couple of kids.

As he was finishing up the semester and preparing to move to Dallas, the brunette approached him and told him she was pregnant. She'd wanted another kid, but not with her husband, and having a kid by Dad was workable. She didn't expect anything from Dad, I guess, maybe she just wanted to let him know. This was in 1971.

He saw her a year or two later; she showed him a picture of a baby, a boy, Dad thinks, and told him the baby was doing fine. That's it- he says he never saw her again. He doesn't remember her name.

The Westark yearbook for 1971 is online. Dad says if he saw her picture he'd probably remember her, so I'll probably send him the photos of the classes from the yearbook and see what happens. It's possible she's dead by now, but knowing her name would make it possible to find this lost sibling. It's not of world-shattering importance that I do this, and it's entirely possible that this lost sibling has no idea of his origin story and may not welcome hearing it, but I think it's worth a little looking into.

Here's Dad, his wife Elaine, and the late, beloved Mom. This was at my wedding to Eric; I was wearing a kimono, so Eric's sewing LARPing buddy brought a box of kimonos for anyone to put on. That was a happy day. :)




the whole list

Well, Dad had another heart attack. This makes five. I was thinking it was six, but no, Elaine says five.

She called me this morning to tell me; she was weirdly calm. I remarked on that and she seemed surprised and said she was a wreck, but she has been through this so maybe she's getting used to it. The cancer scare seemed to have evaporated somehow, which I didn't quite understand. Everyone was sure he had myeloma, then it seemed like no one's mentioned it except to say something along the lines of, well, that wasn't it, everything's awesome- until today, anyway. Aaaaand, after speaking with Elaine- basically, they're still waiting on the test results. Dad's in denial and is sure everything is fine- or at least that's what he's telling me. Elaine says she's almost certain he's got cancer, but we'll find out in a couple of weeks.

This is really helping me work on my Zen acceptance of things I have no control over. Not to make it about meeeeee. Dad's apparently already bitching about the hospital attire they're making him wear, but still and all, if you've got good vibes to spare I'm sure he can make use of them. But damn; dude's 77 and on heart attack five and bitching about his hospital gown.

My brother got a new cat.

I don't know why I got so excited when I heard he was considering homing a feline after a suitable period of mourning for his long-time friend Roach. But I did. I sent him links and pestered him constantly.

I suspect it's redirected maternal instinct. I could not give two shits for human babies, generally, but I recognized my feelings in moms who get all mushy when they find out that their friend is pregnant. Oh, it will be so awesome! Everything about kitties is so magical and delightful and adorable! I wanted to be involved in every aspect of the cat acquisition. I wanted to be there when he picked one out, and when he brought it home. Since I was otherwise occupied when the choosing occurred, I insisted on constant updates by text and photos of contenders. Would he pick a kitten, or an adult some thoughtless cretin surrendered because they got new furniture? Either would be awesome! Would it be a striking beauty, or a ugly brute with a heart of gold? Either would be awesome! You get the idea. My heart melted when I saw he was considering a FIV+ guy, and melted again when he went with an all-black girl named Moon. Whatever he picked would have been perfect. Bro¨ got the fever too; he started writing beautifully lyrical posts promising to give Moon a happy life and worrying about her safety, like any anticipatory parent.

I was able to horn in on the retrieval process- she needed to be spayed first. Eric and I went with him and Tom, and I got to tour the gorgeous new city shelter, and restrain myself from wanting to adopt dozens of cats. Oooh, look, he's had such a hard life, how can someone leave him here? Oh, she's looking at me, she likes me! Aww, that one looks like my old cat! Let's take them all home and love them!

I was content to wait with Brö while they fetched Moon, and an employee started handing paperwork over to be read and acknowledged. There was a brief moment of panic when we noticed that the name on the paperwork was Monty, and the employee eventually figured out that when Moon was taken back to get spayed, it was discovered that Moon had no uterus and instead some undescended testicles that the vet had to go find, and so the name was changed to Monty. Incidentally, this is exactly what happened with Bowie, whose gender changed a couple of times before they figured out he had cryptorchidism, aka 'wandering balls', and Moon's spay surgery turned into Monty's ball hunt- an easy one, thankfully.

Monty (who will be renamed) was let out of the cat carrier at Mount Slanty, and immediately started exploring, pouncing, and tearing around from place to place like a coked-up pinball. Being a stray there were concerns that he would be skittish around people; having had major surgery there were concerns that he would be groggy and under the weather. This was not the case, clearly.

I took dozens of pictures and endured numerous punctures as the kitten climbed up my clothes and attacked wiggling fingers. I've gushed over pics Brö and Tom have posted and enjoyed every update about the kitten's most mundane activities. I asked if I could be his Auntie and send him checks for three dollars on his birthday and we figured out that that would be 8/5/12, the same day the Curiosity rover landed on Mars.

I am sad.

Mom died 4 years ago today. I still miss her and think about her every day.

Over the last few years, I've been really starting to feel old. I have a fair bit of white hair, my face is showing my age, and my joints ache. I may only be halfway through my lifetime, but who knows, I could die tomorrow too. I wonder if I will see her, or if she's moved on and is someone else's little girl, or an otter, or a cloud. Or if it's just all darkness.

Man, I just am not into the work thing. I mean, I'm usually not, but it's worse than usual. I'd give a kidney for a month off, just about now. I'll just assume it's the weather.

Eric's paternal grandfather died. It sounded like a bad way to go. I'll spare you the details, but apparently when they took him off life support, he practically flew into the afterlife. Gods speed, Grandpa Adam. Eric declined the chance to go to his funeral... I'm disappointed, because I'm big on the ceremonial farewells and it'd be a good opportunity to travel (and a good excuse to take a few days off, see above), especially to such a beautiful part of the country (northern California) but it's his family, and he has the right to deal with this in his way. Still, sad.

The Decemberists are releasing a new album. I've listened to their songs and always assumed the singer was some scrawny Renn-faire type. But someone posted a video, and he's the bespectacled nerd of my dreams. He should have my babies. I know it's weird, but I don't want to have any babies, so if baby-having has to be a part of this transaction, he's got to be the one to do it.

That music test I posted earlier was interesting. I did terrible on the sort-by-genre section, but pretty well on all the others. Conclusion: I like music. Thanks, BBC!

I need to get going today, but just don't feel it. *sigh* Weather-blaming commencing.

I have gotten a Flickr account; I like Image Event alright but one of these days I may want to change my LJ photo account... boy, that's gonna be a pain in the ass. Well, we shall see. I also enjoy dicking around with Paint, which is like amateur Photoshop.

( Enjoy some pictures of my brother! )

Dad's home already. He went home yesterday. Dude had a heart attack Friday, for crying out loud! I'm hoping this is more a case of him being a tough old bastard than the hospital kicking him out early because that's how hospitals are these days. In any event, he's recovering nicely near as I can tell. Elaine called me and I talked to him briefly but he was drugged up to his eyeballs and sounded like he'd been on a three-day bender. But he was joking and said he loved me; what more could a daughter want?