Archives for category: more than a little bit of bitching

Yesterday… fucking hell.

The details don’t much matter, and the decision to have the Anxious Adventurer move out was already made (planned for April, after winter weather is not a serious risk). I had hoped we’d all coexist relatively peacefully in the meantime. Yesterday evening was revealing, and unfortunately nonnegotiable boundaries were violated (and had been for some time, although I was not explicitly aware of it, yet). I’m disappointed, and honestly still rather angry. The plan is still locked in, that hasn’t changed. How I feel about this third human being under my roof has changed –  a lot. I sigh to myself, annoyed to be sitting here dealing with that bullshit at all.

Well shit. I really wanted to make things work comfortably well with the Anxious Adventurer coming to move in with us. There are a lot of potential advantages to shared living, and our society places value on family.

Wanting something isn’t enough

I am disappointed that this won’t work long-term, and my Traveling Partner admitted that the downsides and inconveniences outweigh the value for him, too. I know the additional emotional labor, for me, has outpaced the day-to-day advantages to having an additional family member in the household. This shit is hard. I keep asking myself if I’ve done my best, and wondering if I have failed to be… something. If we were each different people dealing with different issues, this totally could work. I keep thinking about that, too. Am I depriving my beloved Traveling Partner of the opportunity to be close to his son? I think I’ve been persistently encouraging and supportive, coaching where I could…

I’ve struggled with having less privacy, with being required to do too much emotional labor, with the lack of personal space, and the frustration of trying to cohabitate with someone who showed up wholly ignorant of some commonplace life skills, and basic manners, but I am not looking forward to the practical requirements of the changes ahead; more g’damned work. I’m simultaneously very much not sorry this will soon be over, and also deeply regretful and disappointed that it didn’t work out.

…If you invite a feral animal into your home, you mustn’t be surprised when it shits on the carpet, but you also don’t have to let it stay if it won’t learn new ways…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Human beings being human. Communication is complicated. Moving into a strange household in a faraway place where the manners and expectations are new is challenging. I knew going into this that it would present some variety of difficulties, but figured we’d work them out together, as families do. Like an orchestra with musicians looking at different sheet music than the players alongside them, there was little harmony and a lot of wrong notes. I’m fucking over it. I’m annoyed with myself for being as angry as I am. It’s not reasonable to blame a feral animal for not being well brought up. I just also don’t want to deal with the associated bullshit.

We each make choices. The Anxious Adventurer made his. He chose poorly, in my opinion, and in spite of steady support, encouragement, coaching and guidance. I sigh in frustration and disappointment. I don’t wish him ill, but I do wish I weren’t dealing with these circumstances at all. I remind myself how close April really is. I lived in a tent for almost a year with 15 guys, most of whom i barely knew, a couple of whom I actively disliked, and it was…fine. I can endure 60 days more of this crap, too. It will pass.

Once he’s gone, I have no doubt there will be things I miss. He’s my Traveling Partner’s son, and I hope he visits in the future – I just don’t want to live with him, at least not right now, and I don’t think I can persuade myself to trust him again. If nothing else, he needs to take some time and work on the man he wishes to become, and I really can’t help him with that (and he does not know how to accept help yet). Sitting here this morning, listening to the rain falling, and waiting for the sun, I don’t even want to try to help him further than I have. It’s not a useful way to spend my time.

A new day dawns, full of promise and opportunities, but we’ve each got to make our own choices, and do our own work.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel settled with myself and my decision making. I feel comfortable in my skin, and accepting of the person I have grown to be over time. The journey is the destination. There is further to go on this path. We each walk our own mile, each having our own experience. I do hope the Anxious Adventurer finds his way.

I turn my attention to this moment here, now. The rain falls steadily. I watch the predawn twilight become the dawn of a new day, and in spite of the dreary gray of this rainy morning, I’m filled with eagerness. I am having brunch with the Chaotic Comic this morning. She shares some of the communication challenges of the Anxious Adventurer (as do many others in their general age group). There is a key difference that limits my irritation with those challenges in our friendship; I’m not having to live with them. My friend is also more receptive to discussion, and more open to considering suggestions for potentially useful changes and able to speak up to explicitly reject suggestions she does not favor. It feels like a conversation – because it is. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s a comedian and “yes, and…” is an important part of improvisation, a learned skill.

We become what we practice.

… Still… I do wish I could have made things work, for my Traveling Partner and his son. I’d have liked to provide a firm foundation for them to deepen and build on their relationship, and I’m disappointed to have failed. I sit listening to the rain and considering what I could have done differently, myself, but it mostly isn’t about that. I can’t do that work for someone else, only for me. I’m walking my own path.

I sigh to myself and make room for gratitude. I have much to be grateful for, even within the context of this disappointing and aggravating shared living experience. I’ve learned some things about myself. Having some help was… helpful. I truly needed it, so many times. I breathe, exhale, and let my anger go. It has served its purpose and only gets in the way, now. Brunch soon, and a chance to begin again.

If you are an American citizen, maybe don’t be a racist sh1thead, and you won’t have to endure the bitter fruits of our racist colonizer forefathers. We live on stolen land. Humanity is potentially already on borrowed time. It matters very little to our dead ancestors, now, but how we treat each other certainly matters to the living. Personally, I’d much rather see our government give broad, compassionate amnesty to every immigrant in the nation, along with a clear reasonable path to citizenship than see masked government thugs in our streets harassing, assaulting, kidnapping, and murdering human beings whose sole crime was crossing a fucking line on a map. Our hands are not clean with regard to matters of territory,  even within our own borders.

… And in case you hadn’t noticed, these government goons are violating the rights of citizens, too, and yes, even murdering them. How do you reconcile that with your values and understanding of our civil rights? Asking for everyone who thinks this shit is pretty g’damned terrible and inexcusable…

G’damn, I wish America didn’t have so many petty assholes and racists in it. We didn’t do right by the indigenous peoples of this continent, and we are failing the immigrants who risk so much for the dream of becoming American. Do better America.

I sigh to myself, wondering where this path leads. We are facing a new cold war era, it looks like. This saddens me deeply. We had come so far as a global society, but rather stupidly we’ve allowed fascists and authoritarians to move into power again, and here we all are. Be more careful with your vote, people, for fucks sake, this crap actually matters! Pay attention.

Yes, I’m angry about this stuff, no I won’t shut up about it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and pull myself back to this moment, right here. It’s hard sometimes; I want so much to be able to do more. 

Waiting for the sun.

I get comfortable in my Traveling Partner’s truck, here at the trailhead. I’m waiting for the sun, or at least enough daylight to make out the trail ahead of me. It’s a familiar trail and a mild morning. I’ve got my headlamp, somewhere down in my purse, I just don’t feel like walking in the dark this morning, and my time is my own, for the moment. Hopefully my beloved gets to enjoy sleeping in. I’m in no hurry.

I spend peaceful minutes meditating, watching the sunrise-to-come slowly touch the horizon with streaks of a hue I have no word for. Something between tangerine and magenta, and striped with clouds that want to be lavender, perhaps, but are a grayer hue entirely. Well above the horizon, almost overhead, spots of cerulean peek playfully through the clouds, hinting at blue skies to come. The view isn’t ideal for photograhs; it is obscured by signage, and the highway and power lines cross my field of vision, but I look past all of that and watch the colors and clouds shift with the evolution of dawn into day. Nice morning for it.

Today I’m not alone. Already the parking outside the gate is filling, and space is limited. This hour, this weather, it’s a near certainty these are birdwatchers and photographers, rather than casual walkers or noisy friend groups. It’s fine. I don’t prefer to share the trail, but that’s probably a pretty common sentiment in this group. 😆

Perfection isn’t part of the experience.

The main gate opens with a groan and clangs into place. The trail, and this moment, await me. It’s already time to begin again.

I am recalling the excitement of buying a new album, after hearing something I really like that is new to me, or something from a favorite artist, that I haven’t yet heard. It’s often not the “big hit song” or the single on the airwaves that stays with me, memorable, favored, over-played for weeks. It is more likely to be some unexpected “hidden gem”, that speaks to me in a more personal way, found only because I listened with an open mind to more than what was obvious in front of me. I think about that for some little while.

It’s also true that a great many injuries don’t show on the surface, or leave an obvious visible scar that makes it plain that damage has been done, and may linger. These things sometimes erupt as strange quirks of character, or poor behavior, or coping mechanisms that outlive their usefulness. I think about that for awhile, too. It is sometimes very helpful too look beyond the obvious and to listen more deeply.

I have time for my thoughts this morning. I’ve definitely got a fucking cold (again), but I woke after many hours of unsatisfying sleep feeling restless and irritable, with a stuffy head. All I could think about was getting to my feet, out of the house, and onto the trail, just so my head might clear as I walked. I definitely did not want to hang about the house coughing and blowing my nose while everyone else is trying to get some sleep. I probably won’t actually walk…it was the noise of heavy rain falling that woke me I think, and I’m certainly sick.  I should not allow myself to become soaked or cold, and I can wait for the sun, enjoy a cup if coffee and write while the rain falls. Anyway, my sinuses drained and my head cleared some minutes after I started down the highway toward the trailhead. If I get a break in the rain after the sun rises, I might still walk; I always miss it when I don’t.

These are pretty stressful times, and it is hard watching America – part of it – working to become a fascist authoritarian dictatorship or dystopian oligarchy. It apparently makes me ill. Self-care is even more important in terrible times. This is also a hopeful moment in our history, seeing so many organize and protest and speaking truth to power. Wow. This too, all of it, will pass. Even our elected officials and their billionaire handlers are 100% mortal. No one lives forever. Evil governments do fall. I didn’t march or join a protest this weekend, though I considered it. (It would be irresponsible to bring contagion to a protest.) I wrote letters to my representatives, and emails. Complete inaction doesn’t feel like a good choice to me, not while we’re watching democracy burn, and the legitimate progress made since the dawn of the atomic age is being eroded with every injury to a citizen by armed, masked,  government thugs.

… And if someone tells you they are in favor of this administration’s policies because they are against all that “woke” shit? Ask them to define, in simple terms, what they mean by “woke”. I’ve been finding this simple question very revealing (and it tends to force people to consider the reality of the cruel policies being implemented with their support). Don’t let petty nastiness go unremarked upon – point it out and ask why it seems acceptable. Instead of laughing uncomfortably at cruelty, jokes, or mockery at someone’s expense – ask why the teller thinks it is funny.

What we see often depends on what we’re looking at – or for.

I sip my coffee feeling some better than when I woke. It’s still raining quite hard without letting up. A gray rainy dawn has arrived. I look out across the highway at the farm fields that in years past have been a shallow seasonal lake this time of year. This rain is welcome, we need it, but I wonder if it is too little, too late? It may be a very dry summer ahead. I think about camping and wildfire risks. (Yes, it’s a metaphor.)

The rain slows down some. The marsh trail tempts me in spite of the muddy soggy trail I know awaits unwary footsteps. I eye my rain poncho and my cane, conveniently next to me. I sigh to myself and wonder if it is a good time to begin again?

I’m sipping my coffee – still too hot to drink – and thinking about writing. I’m not really writing quite yet, no ideas. I had a thought yesterday afternoon…another yesterday evening…and as I drifted off to sleep last night, a great idea for a title came to mind (I don’t remember it now). It’s that kind of morning. I am “an empty vessel” this morning. This is rare for me. I nearly always sit down to an empty page, and simply write. Another person might reach for some app or write a prompt for an LLM… I just sit sipping my coffee and letting my thoughts, such as they are, guide my fingers.

I am a human being, writing for other human beings.

I am generally employed with companies that are “AI forward” in some significant measure. AI is the new “revenue engine”. Investors and shareholders want to see “AI” in the quarterly presentation decks and annual meetings. They don’t necessarily understand it, or have any idea what “AI” really means in any given context. Companies sometimes take advantage of this, using the language and terms of AI in marketing materials, but without changing anything in their product, services, or app. In this environment, most people pay lip service to the AI hype, whether or not they are impassioned “true believers”. In my own role, I consider myself fortunate; it’s part of the job to take a skeptical view, to find the flaws, to be watchful and cautious, and to reduce risk. I rarely use AI in my work, instead I scrutinize it in the work of others. This suits me, and I enjoy it. I am not an AI fan, and I am not interested in hype. I maintain sufficient proficiency with AI to be able to detect the problems – and I’m focused on those. Can AI do fast work? Sure. It’s superficial and rather same-y, though, and it makes a lot of mistakes (and it absolutely makes shit up and cites references to work that does not exist) and has no comprehension; it does not have an “understanding” of a single word it produces. Worse still, as it works it degrades the working skills of the users who seek its services. Human primate intelligence does not benefit from the use of AI tools.

Brain rot is a real concern

I absolutely do not use AI to write. I like writing. I like seeing words creeping across the page that have come from my own thoughts, to the page by way of my skillful hands on the keyboard. I enjoy the rhythm and the sound. I enjoy the sensation of communicating and of “being heard”. I have born witness to writers using AI and seen the damage to their ability to write unassisted, as time goes on. Creators who create without AI risk giving up much if they capitulate to using it. Thanks, I’d rather not. Creators who exclusively use AI to create are not actually creators at all (imo) – until and unless they learn to create on their own, in the medium of their choice, without an AI crutch. Few seem to – although I don’t know why they would bother, if the point is “make some money”, and the AI slop they generate does so for them.

I sip my coffee and reflect on progress and technology, and whether humanity has a shot at long-term survival in the face of our foolishness, violence, and short-sighted greed. I suspect we do not, and that saddens me. We’re pretty interesting creatures – seems a shame to put ourselves on the path to extinction, but we may be honestly too stupid to be good planetary stewards who work together as a global culture towards a greater good for all. We are too easily divided and controlled by petty bullshit. There are too many greedy billionaires (I realize how redundant that is, as I write the words), too few wellsprings of real wisdom and goodness, and the rest of us are kept distracted by the seeming urgency of earning a living day-to-day, too busy to look up from our present task to see whether the world really is burning, or do much to change that, once we discover that it is.

I wonder where this path leads?..

I sigh to myself. The week is already almost over. If I focus on work, it feels very much as if this time has been empty and rather pointless, to me personally. There is more to my experience (and my humanity) than my work (meaning my “gainful employment” with one corporate overlord or another). I write. I paint. I laugh. I feel. I explore. I contemplate. I enjoy walking beaches and forest trails. I like the sparkle of glitter, and of seeing the lights of cities from a great height. I enjoy a walk with no destination. I like a drive from wherever I am to some distant horizon. I enjoy a few minutes of idle conversation with a stranger – and I like walking away from it, into some lovely solitary moment. I read and I think, and I seek out things to see. I write poetry. I paint sunrises and moments by the fireside. I have deep discusses with friends, solving nothing in a practical way, but deepening our connection. I love deeply, and enjoy a profound partnership with my beloved Traveling Partner. (Isn’t my capacity for love more important than my capacity for staring into spreadsheets day after day?) I have endured much, and I continue to be and to become. I am one human being, being human. No AI needed (or wanted).

There’s a work day ahead, and I amuse myself by recalling a favorite way of demonstrating AI flaws (I find), which is using it to summarize big group meetings. For anyone who was at the meeting (and paying attention), the tells and flaws are obvious; AI is sometimes (often)(commonly) very wrong about what was said, who said it, and what the “take aways” from the discussion are. It doesn’t reason or comprehend, so it doesn’t actually “understand” what the salient points of a discussion were. It’s just playing fill in the blank and counting up words. AI is “stupid fast” – meaning that it is both stupid, and also very fast. Idiomatic language, accents, and variations in individual clarity of speech result in some hilariously “off” transcriptions of conversations. It would be quite humorous, if it weren’t so terrifying that in spite of these limitations people are using these tools and making decisions that affect real people with the slop turned out by AI. Yeesh. Do better, people. The survival of humanity likely depends on you being smart enough to preserve (and develop) your own cognitive skills and tools, your ability to reason and make good decisions, and your actual sentience. Choose wisely. Take the time to learn to do the things you want to do, instead of trying to cheat your way through life and work with fucking “AI” (it isn’t intelligent, at all).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all that go and sit enjoying my coffee here in a real physical space, listening to the sounds of voices in the background (real people busy with real things). I exist in this physical real place. Don’t you? (What are you doing to improve it? Anything? The clock is ticking…) I smile a good-morning to the barista who greets me in passing, and waggle my fingertips at her as something like a wave, without lifting my hands from the keyboard. Actual human primates observed in their natural environment. I chuckle, aware that we are not necessarily “domesticated” creatures, and that our behavior can be wildly unpredictable, even dangerous. Funny that we adopt such airs of grandeur and dignity, so often – we can be vicious, vile, messy, and prone to casually spreading disease. I sigh to myself, hoping to do a little better at being the person I most want to be today, compared to yesterday. Incremental change over time is effective, if slow. I become what I practice; there’s no choice there, it is what it is. The choice is in what I choose to practice.

What are you practicing? Will that help you become the person you most want to be? The journey is the destination. Is it time to begin again?

Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.

I slept poorly. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I slept well and deeply until sometime after 02:00. My Traveling Partner was awake, in the other room, coughing. The coughing woke me. I went back to sleep, but from that point my sleep was shallow and interrupted, and I didn’t get much rest. I’m not even bitching, I’m just mentioning it as I sip my morning coffee and try to sort my thoughts into some kind of coherent bit of consciousness. I’m not “groggy”, exactly, just…disconnected and stupid. I’m feeling cross and out of sorts, and the morning is off to a somewhat poor start, but only because of the state of being in which I find myself. In the most practical ways, it is an ordinary Monday morning.

The font and type size look weird to me in the visual editor this morning, and I fuss with trying to figure out if they are actually different somehow, or if I “never noticed before”. There seems to be a lot of that kind of misleading bullshit going on these days; changes being made without notice to users on all sorts of apps and platforms. Updates pushing new integrated AI in a coercive involuntary way. Updates that impair user freedom and control over purchased hardware and software. Other similar shenanigans seeking to harvest just a bit more data (or money) from users. Having the cognitive quirks that I do, I definitely do notice. I dislike that I find myself trying to talk myself out of seeing what I think I’m seeing. That irritates me. I let it go altogether, because in this instance it does not matter at all that the font looks like a different one, and the type size appears smaller and more compact.

I sigh to myself. I’m vexed by pain this morning, on top of fatigue (they are ultimate related; I am less able to manage my pain when I am fatigued, and likely to feel it more intensely). I sit more upright, hoping that good posture will give me some relief.

…G’damn I’m in a shitty mood this morning…

I have The Clash “Know Your Rights” stuck in my head. In spite of making committed efforts to stay away from “the news”, I can’t help knowing that the masked government thugs besieging Minnesota have murdered another citizen, an American, a patriot, a legal-to-carry gun owner with his “paperwork in order”. His apparent crime? Well, apparently that’s not a requirement anymore, at all. The assault on our rights grows, and if it weren’t so incredibly terrifying (and depressing) I might find some measure of humor in the fact that this shit is coming from a Republican administration. It’s not about Republican and Democrat, it never has been, it is about power and greed on both sides of the aisle. Sometimes the scales tip briefly in favor of “the people”. Don’t expect it to last when it happens.

…Oh, yeah, really dreadful mood…

I cue up my playlist for trying times. I add a couple more tracks to it. I definitely don’t want to listen to pop songs or muzak this morning. My heart aches for fallen heroes, and those among us willing to speak truth to power – and pay the price. Dark days, America. Get your shit together before you lose everything.

My phone rings. Unexpected at 05:30. I answer it reflexively; I have been caregiving for a couple of years, and any time I step away from the house, I feel uneasy and alert for some need that may arise that requires me to hasten home. The voice is familiar, but I don’t place it immediately. An old friend from my years on active duty, calling to let me know he’s reached a breaking point, himself, an just… can’t. My heart pounds. (G’damn, surely he’s not calling me to tell me he’s going to end his life? I don’t think I could bear it.) No, it’s not that bad, but it’s a big enough deal that he wanted to tell someone, and somehow that someone is me. He’s moving to New Zealand. “As far as I could go away from here, before someone burns it all down,” he says. He asks me if I think he’s overreacting? I don’t think he’s overreacting at all. I might do something similar if my circumstances permitted it, and just yesterday my Traveling Partner and I were talking about maybe selling our lovely cozy home and going…somewhere else. Quieter? Fewer neighbors? More space? All of that, and a few other things besides. Maybe we will… I find myself wondering how many citizens have emigrated out of the United States since the first Trump presidency, and whether that has accelerated since he was re-elected?

My work trip to San Francisco unraveled, doesn’t much matter why, and I’m not alone in it. The winter storms have thrown transportation into chaos. Can we agree that a late January travel date for a work event was predictably short-sighted? lol

I’m realizing it is likely to be the sort of day on which I am prone to discontent and finding fault. That’s not going to be a particularly pleasant experience. I sigh to myself and ask the question “are you going to stew in it, or are you going to make a change?” It’s an important question and wants an answer. I feel myself set my jaw, full of resistance and irritation, like a kid asked to clean their room on a beautiful day. I don’t want to have to be bothered with being accountable for where I am with my experience, right now. I’d rather be peeved and pick at my grievances as if they are wounds. Ridiculous. Now I am both the woman in a bad mood, and the woman irritated by a woman choosing to be in a bad mood. lol Layers of irritability. It’s pretty silly, but acknowledging that isn’t getting me off the hook for the work involved in changing it – or the choices or practices required to do so. My black mood feels justifiable and vindicated…but it’s honestly just a bad mood. I’m in pain and I didn’t sleep well. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that.

Another sigh. Another sip of coffee. I ask myself where would I be and what might I be doing if I had the means to go anywhere at all and do anything I cared to do? Moments fill my recollection; morning coffee on the shore, or near a beach, or out among the trees in some silent ancient forest, or a quiet cafe in the 1st arrondissement in Paris… I like to enjoy my coffee with a bit of a view and some solitude in the morning. In that sense, generally speaking, I’m pretty much already doing that thing, eh? I sip my coffee grateful for the moment of perspective, even feeling a tiny bit less cross. I guess that’s progress.

When what we’re doing doesn’t work, doing something different just might. I think about that, and enjoy my coffee before the work day. Soon enough, I’ll begin again. It’s not world-changing stuff, but if I can improve this experience in some small way, that’s still an improvement.