Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2015-09-19 01:05 am
azurelunatic) wrote2015-09-19 01:05 am
I have a brain!
I've spent a lot of this week digging through my work inbox and strewing things all over busily and happily.
Wednesday was the emergency response team mass casualty incident drill. The idea is that you have more people hurt than you have responders. I signed up to be "hurt".
It turns out that I've missed acting. I got into character fairly convincingly, enough to rattle one of the responders enough for him to misread the card with my vital signs, and send me into the Red tent. I broke character about three times -- twice when refusing help up/down, and once giving my medical history. I chose a character with a particularly disturbing-looking hand injury, in part because of the YouTube incident.
I was aware when I got Sorted that I'd gone into the wrong category, so I allowed my character to calm down and realize that the other people in with me were in super bad shape. One of the most fun parts was the improv with the guy with the "head injury" who had lost the ability to form short-term memories. We kept asking him the same basic orientation questions.
As more people were hauled out of the disaster scene, it became apparent that there wasn't enough room in the red tent. The lady with the very very "broken arm" and I were re-assessed and moved over to Green because we weren't in any danger of dying any time soon.
After an hour, the exercise concluded and we went back in for lunch and discussion. There were some guys from the county there, who reminded us that they treat it as a crime scene, especially if someone has died.
People were peeling off their makeup. I kept delightedly poking at mine. "You're going to wear that all day, aren't you," several people asked me. That was correct.
My team expressed their slight disappointment that it wasn't Halloween and therefore my fake injury wasn't a costume. They made it clear that they expect me to trump last year's loon head. I have an idea now.
Purple was doing other things for Thursday lunch. (I had been scheduled for a thing at the doctor's Thursday morning all morning, but Other Stuff Happened.) Therefore my team got custody of me. There was silliness, discussion of cheese and cheesemongers, and two mangoes. The Dogesitter had brought one very ripe one, and the designer who shares an office with the Hulk had brought a slightly less ripe one. We all had pieces of the ripest one, and it was sweet and tangy and delicious. Haystack tested to make sure that my Monty Python references were intact.
Purple wound up working super late Thursday evening. At the point when he gave in and decided that it was time for dinner-at-work, I decided to bail; he offered to walk me out. Whereupon I learned that his hair does not knot like mine does. I grumbled enviously. We swapped beauty tips.
This morning,norabombay pointed out the lack of a bedazzler in my life.
I am sure that Aunt-Manager will brief me on exactly what I need to do with her email, but this afternoon's major shenanigan set was attempting to walk her through granting delegate access and folder viewing permissions -- from OWA. (In our infinite jest, some of the Linux users of #cupcake have commenced calling the desktop versions OWA Thick Client for Windows and OWA Thick Client for Mac respectively.)
This evening, I was complaining to Purple about something, and he expressed sympathy and a helpful spirit in the best way he knew how. Since by this point I would trust him to pick a meandering eyelash out of my eye, I took it in the spirit intended as it clearly posed no threat. Simultaneously, I realized that in fact it did touch on some very tender bits of my brain which I ordinarily guard from any sort of being messed with. He inquired why I seemed to be able to tolerate this, with a clear eye to avoiding screwing it up. Part of it is down to our history, I think. Part of it is that I know with absolute clarity and trust that it's always going to be okay for me to safeword out of a conversation with him, and no matter where he is in some pontificating ramble, the safeword-equivalent will always trump whatever he'd been holding forth on.
This was the week that Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly was visiting her parents, so dinner was just Purple and me. We wound up at Five Guys, where I ordered the burger in a bowl and snagged a very few of Purple's fries. I would like to note for the record that a meal with two people where at one point the two parties touch paired fingertips across the table briefly and then talk about their exes is still platonic and not a date. He once had a local friend who tried to mark him as her territory when he was dating someone long-distance; this ultimately ended in dumping the local friend. He mentioned that he saw something slightly similar in the case of Shawn and me. I confessed that the tendency to jealously mark territory was a tendency that I had, and that I actively worked against. He'd actually seen it the other way around -- how Shawn had simultaneously taken me for granted and expected me to be there. I told him about one really amazing statement that illustrated this concept.
Sometime After the summer of 1996, during the time when the Duct Tape Sword Guys held a game in UAF's Great Hall, Shawn was undergoing a lack of self-confidence and a period of depression. He went on at some length about how he was terrible and worthless and nobody thought anything of him, and so forth. I of course thought he was a pretty swell guy, and told him as much. "Oh," he said dismissively. "I'd already factored in your opinion with my self-confidence." Or words to that effect.
Purple was floored.
In the matter of marking territory vs. girlfriends, I admitted that there were some of Shawn's girlfriends I'd gotten on well with. "Well, you did have the same taste in men..." Purple mused.
It was a long week for everybody. We headed out with the intent of going straight home, but still wound up chatting in the parking lot. I learned that in fact the secret to his not getting knotted hair was leaving it absolutely loose; as soon as he puts something in it, it starts to snarl. We compared further notes.
It was a long week, and I'm tired.
Wednesday was the emergency response team mass casualty incident drill. The idea is that you have more people hurt than you have responders. I signed up to be "hurt".
It turns out that I've missed acting. I got into character fairly convincingly, enough to rattle one of the responders enough for him to misread the card with my vital signs, and send me into the Red tent. I broke character about three times -- twice when refusing help up/down, and once giving my medical history. I chose a character with a particularly disturbing-looking hand injury, in part because of the YouTube incident.
I was aware when I got Sorted that I'd gone into the wrong category, so I allowed my character to calm down and realize that the other people in with me were in super bad shape. One of the most fun parts was the improv with the guy with the "head injury" who had lost the ability to form short-term memories. We kept asking him the same basic orientation questions.
As more people were hauled out of the disaster scene, it became apparent that there wasn't enough room in the red tent. The lady with the very very "broken arm" and I were re-assessed and moved over to Green because we weren't in any danger of dying any time soon.
After an hour, the exercise concluded and we went back in for lunch and discussion. There were some guys from the county there, who reminded us that they treat it as a crime scene, especially if someone has died.
People were peeling off their makeup. I kept delightedly poking at mine. "You're going to wear that all day, aren't you," several people asked me. That was correct.
My team expressed their slight disappointment that it wasn't Halloween and therefore my fake injury wasn't a costume. They made it clear that they expect me to trump last year's loon head. I have an idea now.
Purple was doing other things for Thursday lunch. (I had been scheduled for a thing at the doctor's Thursday morning all morning, but Other Stuff Happened.) Therefore my team got custody of me. There was silliness, discussion of cheese and cheesemongers, and two mangoes. The Dogesitter had brought one very ripe one, and the designer who shares an office with the Hulk had brought a slightly less ripe one. We all had pieces of the ripest one, and it was sweet and tangy and delicious. Haystack tested to make sure that my Monty Python references were intact.
Purple wound up working super late Thursday evening. At the point when he gave in and decided that it was time for dinner-at-work, I decided to bail; he offered to walk me out. Whereupon I learned that his hair does not knot like mine does. I grumbled enviously. We swapped beauty tips.
This morning,
norabombay pointed out the lack of a bedazzler in my life. I am sure that Aunt-Manager will brief me on exactly what I need to do with her email, but this afternoon's major shenanigan set was attempting to walk her through granting delegate access and folder viewing permissions -- from OWA. (In our infinite jest, some of the Linux users of #cupcake have commenced calling the desktop versions OWA Thick Client for Windows and OWA Thick Client for Mac respectively.)
This evening, I was complaining to Purple about something, and he expressed sympathy and a helpful spirit in the best way he knew how. Since by this point I would trust him to pick a meandering eyelash out of my eye, I took it in the spirit intended as it clearly posed no threat. Simultaneously, I realized that in fact it did touch on some very tender bits of my brain which I ordinarily guard from any sort of being messed with. He inquired why I seemed to be able to tolerate this, with a clear eye to avoiding screwing it up. Part of it is down to our history, I think. Part of it is that I know with absolute clarity and trust that it's always going to be okay for me to safeword out of a conversation with him, and no matter where he is in some pontificating ramble, the safeword-equivalent will always trump whatever he'd been holding forth on.
This was the week that Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly was visiting her parents, so dinner was just Purple and me. We wound up at Five Guys, where I ordered the burger in a bowl and snagged a very few of Purple's fries. I would like to note for the record that a meal with two people where at one point the two parties touch paired fingertips across the table briefly and then talk about their exes is still platonic and not a date. He once had a local friend who tried to mark him as her territory when he was dating someone long-distance; this ultimately ended in dumping the local friend. He mentioned that he saw something slightly similar in the case of Shawn and me. I confessed that the tendency to jealously mark territory was a tendency that I had, and that I actively worked against. He'd actually seen it the other way around -- how Shawn had simultaneously taken me for granted and expected me to be there. I told him about one really amazing statement that illustrated this concept.
Sometime After the summer of 1996, during the time when the Duct Tape Sword Guys held a game in UAF's Great Hall, Shawn was undergoing a lack of self-confidence and a period of depression. He went on at some length about how he was terrible and worthless and nobody thought anything of him, and so forth. I of course thought he was a pretty swell guy, and told him as much. "Oh," he said dismissively. "I'd already factored in your opinion with my self-confidence." Or words to that effect.
Purple was floored.
In the matter of marking territory vs. girlfriends, I admitted that there were some of Shawn's girlfriends I'd gotten on well with. "Well, you did have the same taste in men..." Purple mused.
It was a long week for everybody. We headed out with the intent of going straight home, but still wound up chatting in the parking lot. I learned that in fact the secret to his not getting knotted hair was leaving it absolutely loose; as soon as he puts something in it, it starts to snarl. We compared further notes.
It was a long week, and I'm tired.
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Wooooooow. :(
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Yeeeeaaaaaaaaah.
I recall being distinctly miffed.
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I would have been much less angry about something like "No; you don't know the Real Me; I'm actually a lot more terrible than you think." He was very clearly considering me effectively part of himself, and was not good at providing a reciprocal level of care. The thought "what if Azz decides to stop putting up with me" did not seem to have crossed his mind.
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I can understand why that was an angry-inducing reaction.
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You know (they say, conversationally) when a loon gets angry with something, it tends to get stabby with its long, sharp, bill.
*ruffles wings, warningly, in the direction of certain parties Taking Others For Granted*
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Well, naturally! ^_^
"Oh," he said dismissively. "I'd already factored in your opinion with my self-confidence." Or words to that effect.
...and then there's that. GAH.
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For the sake of those around me, I did cover it by holding a handkerchief before I went out to sit at Purple's lunch table with a cup of coffee.
Shawn was a very colorfully bad boyfriend-equivalent.
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