lagilman | Entries tagged with personal

After 20+ days of fucking around and fucking me over, all hail the upper management guy who told me to call him the MOMENT I got off the plane, and who then sent out not only the guy who needed to do the work on the damaged cables, but also the installation tech, and bless them for showing up and working like a (very entertaining) well-oiled partnership to get us all hooked up.....

well, everything except the printer. The printer does not want to talk to the brand new router. But we got them to them talk to each other via manual setup.

Everyone I've been owing files to? Stand by and prepare to be boarded! (metaphorically speaking, anyway).

And now, some of that inevitable self-promotion thing we creatives are forced to do, to keep the lights on and the internet flowing...

The Neo-Noir Storybundle (of which I am part) only has 13 more days before it's gone forever!  So act now to lay hands on a digital collection of ten (10!) riveting works of speculative noir fiction!

Cross boundaries and defy expectations while exploring the noir tenets. Unreliable narrator? Check. Cynical, world-weary protagonist who’s as quick with wit as a weapon? Check. Complex plots rife with reversals and betrayals? Check, check, and check. Add a dash of snark, a jigger of suspense...  

And pay what you want (with the option to send some of that to charity!)

Today has been an interesting mix of moments of satisfaction and panic, with occasional flurries of competence, and ending on a sharp spike of exasperated rage that left me with a faint aching need to hit something, except I'm too tired.

And the hound puppy down the hall is singing the song of his doleful people. I hear you, little one, I hear you. Now hush. Your people will be home soon.

Weekend at the Tasting Room, and it's club release weekend, so I expect to be busy (hope so, anyway!). Busy is always better than not-busy, unless not-busy brings with it a nap....

Realized this morning that the tank I was wearing did not quite match the cut of the bra I was wearing, resulting in a bit of peek-a-boo of the undergarment. Which normally would be a case of don't-give-a-fuck, but I was going to be public-facing in a managerial capacity, so yeah, it mattered.

Solution? Grabbed one of the ticky-tac dots we use to keep the rugs in place, cut it in half, and hey-presto, emergency dress tape!

I feel like my former theater wardrobe mistress would have been proud.

It is Yom Kippur. I am not fasting (health reasons) and I have to work (there’s nobody to take my shift for me), but I am very much aware of what day it is, what the High Holy Days are, and what it means both to my greater community, and to myself, personally.

In the Jewish tradition, confessing to a sin and repenting does not immediately anoint you with forgiveness. Words are not enough, be they between you and another person, or you and your understanding of God. It is the point of where you recognize and acknowledge that you did wrong, and begin the effort to carry that wrong no further. But it is future actions that earn forgiveness, not merely mouthing the word of repentance.

(read more at the link: http://www.lauraannegilman.net/5304-2/)

For reasons, I just came face to face with realization of how long it's been since I took an actual vacation. And by "vacation" I don't mean "total relaxation" but "any time that was not at least 70% working."

Three years. The only time in all that that could even be considered a vacation was the road trip to Yellowstone, and that was at LEAST 80% of me being "okay, what do I need to do/see/learn for the book?" rather than "hey, this looks like fun."

No wonder I'm so damn run down.

And my plans for a birthday trip have been tabled once again, for the combined reasons of work-needs, finance, and political uncertainty, yay.

There's a lot taking a "mental health day" can do. But only for so long.

I am always conflicted about Memorial Day.  It feels like it should be more of a solemn observance still, not about picnics and sales.  But that horse is not only out of the barn, he's so far down the road we can't see the dust by now.

But whatever you're doing to celebrate in the US today, remember to take a moment and remember those who died in military service (be it in war, peacetime defense, or that grey area in-between).

And IMO, the best way for politicians to honor the military dead would be to lay fewer wreaths, and spend more time working to ensure we have FEWER we must honor, going forward. 

Originally posted at http://www.lauraannegilman.net/oh-hai-there-its-me/

Hey there. Between this cold that continues to linger, trying to get some writing and editing projects finished up, US politics (and a bonus of happier French politics), and the winery getting ready for our Spring releases this week, I've...not been a very good little blogger. In fact, I've been slacking on a lot of things, and I intend to catch up on all that in the next few days.

Stop snickering. I mean it! *stomps paw*

Meanwhile, Spring has arrived in Washington state - we've still got the occasional rain, but more and more often the days are sunny and warming, with just a nip of cool still remaining in the air. It's exactly the kind of weather than makes me want to go hiking... and I can't, because of this cough that's still lingering, making me more prone to sacking out for an hour on the sofa. But there will be hiking, and hike-blogging, too. Soon....

So, anyway. Not dead (yet). Getting better, even. Ignore that hacking cough behind the curtain....

Oh, and I'll be in Pittsburgh next weekend, at the Nebula Awards Conference. If you're there, or just in town, drop by and say hi!

Among things unpacked tonight: a box of stuff from college (old papers and memory-boxes), and... the manuscript of my first serious attempt at writing a fantasy novel, back in 1989.

⊙﹏⊙

I haven't girded myself enough to do more than poke and shriek at it, yet.  If I can, I  may, for giggles, share it with Patreon this month....

I also found a huge pile of paperwork from... 1997-2008.  I think the IRS would agree it's time to shred those.  Oy.

A year ago, I got a not-unexpected phone call, and - days after having come back from NYC - turned around and went back.

There are endless iterations of Time, and none of them seem to be consistent. A year should not be both so short and so long.

L'maan tizk'ru ("So that you shall remember")

If my boundary stops here
I have daughters to draw new maps of the world
they will draw the lines of my face
they will draw with my gestures my voice
they will speak my words thinking they have invented them

they will invent them
they will invent me
I will be planted again and again
I will wake in the eyes of their children's children
they will speak my words.

(from the Mishkan T'Filah, for the house of mourning)

What frustrates me about too much of the world (and specifically the American populace, since that's what I'm dealing with) is that there are SO MANY ways to get involved in the world, to try and change things for the better, and yet people are still "well, I'm upset, but I'll post about it, or make a comment somewhere else, and that's enough."

No, it really isn't.

Change isn't a passive event.

"Oh, but doing X would cause problems, it's difficult, it's inconvenient."

Dog knows, I've been guilty of that myself, more than once.

Yeah, shit's annoying, it's inconvenient, it's scheduled at a bad time, or it causes traffic jams.

Protest is supposed to be disruptive, and upsetting. It's meant to force everyone out of passive acceptance and drive us to ask "what is this anger about? How can we fix it, so there's less anger "- and so they will stop being inconvenient, yes.

And yes that means forcing ourselves to act, not just the people who haven't thought about it before, or were standing in opposition. Good intentions and righteous anger don't do shit on their own.

/vent

And I was originally going to make this a private post, but you know what? No. I feel like yelling this from my porch.

Crossposts: http://suricattus.livejournal.com/1994191.html

reposting this from my Tumblr account

Since there seems to be some outraged confusion among Anons and Nonnys, let me clarify.

If you support the Trump/Pence/Bannon regime’s attempts to isolate, persecute, and otherwise remove basic civil and citizen’s rights from entire groups within our society, based on who they are rather than dealing with individual behavior on a case by case basis, yes I do think you’re behaving in a shitty and morally bankrupt manner, I find you personally distasteful, and I consider preventing you from carrying out your agenda(s) to be a moral obligation of a civilized nation.

And history’s got my back, on this one.

Crossposts: http://suricattus.livejournal.com/1992646.html

This afternoon I logged off and took two hours to hike in a nearby state forest, up and down narrow, winding dirt trails. There will be a blogpost coming from that, as soon as I gather all my many thinky thoughts, but for now I just need to say

1. woodpeckers are ridiculous
2. people who dirtbike on rooted trails are probably nuts
3. I strongly suspect people who live without greenspaces are slightly more insane (and in a worse way) than the rest of us.
3a. by 'greenspace" I do not mean "never going anywhere with a population of more than 107," but "having access to places where you can be surrounded by greenery and dirt for a few hours." So don't get cocky, isolationists.
4. Hiking for two hours, even on non-mountain trails, is kinda exhausting. Especially when it's under 50 degrees (layers keep you warm, but only so much).

Crossposts: http://suricattus.livejournal.com/1988249.html

Any year in which I can say that my father dying - not unexpectedly, but of sudden and unexpected causes - wasn't the most emotionally gut-wrenching thing to happen is, to put it mildly, a year I have no interest in revisiting.

That's not to say it didn't have good moments.

I've written a lot. For various reasons, little of that has seen publication (yet) but I can feel my skills readying to level up, and that's always a positive. Scary, but a positive.

I started working at two new wineries, and have learned a huge amount about wine-making, winery-running, and yes, about beer, too. And I've done it in company of interesting people with utterly different backgrounds from my own.

I started dating again, after a self-imposed 'figure my shit out' moritorium. That's been...interesting.

And life here in the Pacific Northwest continues to feel like home, in a way I'd hoped-for, but not entirely trusted, when I took the leap and moved out here two years ago. I'm not going to say this is where I'll be henceforth and forever, but I can't see myself budging any time soon.

So I guess I'm ending 2016 a little sadder, a little wiser, and a more than a little more tired. But I'm also surrounded by good people, faced with interesting challenges, and supported by a community both physical and virtual who are ready to march with me into the battles of 2017.

In the past, on this last day leading into First Night I have made a wish for us all, that the very best of this year past be the worst that we face in the new. This year, I leave you with a different wish: that in 2017 we find that we are better than we feared, stronger than we'd hoped, and more compassionate than we'd ever dreamed.

*raises glass* To our health and our well-being, physical, mental, emotional and financial, from this house to yours.

And now I am off to see out the old with new friends, and tomorrow I will have old(er) friends to my home to see in the new. It seems apt...

I am sorry (not really) to report that there are no photos of me last night as the pirate queen, swashbuckling in red silks and black leather boots, dagger (sheath) at my hip and a black pearl (of course) around my neck.

Dancing to 80's music, drinking microbrews, and swinging at a black widow spider piñata filled with chocolate, booze and condoms. As one does.

Social lives are exhausting. I might want to try one again in a month or two....

Yesterday I went to visit a friend who has been hospitalized for more than a week with a yet-undiagnosed illness (they're ruled out most of the truly terrifying things, but not-knowing takes its own toll). I was reminded, quite starkly, of my own week's+ hospitalization nearly 20 years ago, and my recent stint in the hospital with my dad, at his life-end.

There are many things you don't think about, or don't consider urgent to have done, until you're stuck in a hospital bed. Life decisions that you might not be able to make, in an emergency.

Think about them now. Get them in writing. Get them witnessed/notarized, and then make sure that people know where this information is on file, in case you're not able to tell them in an emergency.

Yeah, we think we don't need any of this, not until we're older. Except emergencies and catastrophies don't GAF how old you are.

Today would have been my dad's 85th birthday.
Raise a glass (or mug) if you would, please.

You did not go gentle. But you went with grace.

So that happened.

A memorial to my dad, and all those I have lost, and a reminder that nothing that matters is ever truly lost.

Also, I am reasonably sure my tattoo artist never had a writer in his chair before, because he was bemused by my constant questions about the process. Hey, never know when it might be needed for a story, right? Waste no chance to learn something new….

Inspired by recent events, and recent observed discussion about the use of the word queer. All thoughts my own; not a political manifesto.

Growing up a kid in central NJ in the 70′s and 80′s - being a sexually (in)active teenager when AIDS became a known thing - I heard pretty much every term there was for non-straights. I had friends who were gay, who were lesbian. I had friends who were ace, but didn’t have a term for it yet. I had friends who were bi, and felt brutally tossed around by their own bodies and brains in ways they didn’t have a handle on, didn’t have a baseline for yet.

I heard every slur that could be thrown at them, and saw them, over the decades, reject or own those terms. Find the ground under their feet, even when they could see the end coming closer (I’m still losing friends to AIDS, I am still not resigned).

And in all that time, in all those years, I heard friends call themselves queer.

Queer: unusual, odd, eerie. Peculiar.

“Queer” was a term that, to me, meant “strong.” A refusal to be shoved into a box, be it a closet or a coffin, without a fight. A refusal to sit down and accept someone else’s expectations or assumptions. A beautiful word. An encouraging word.

Personally, I hate the term ally. An alliance is a political construct, a temporary collision of mutual interests. You are my sisters, my brothers, my siblings. That is not temporary, that has nothing to do with me or my interests. You are, and that is enough. And while I hate the word and the world that has forced you to be so strong, I love the fire within you that forged that strength, and the word that was your anvil.

Well, not entirely back yet (I'm still in NYC) but the funeral is over, and while I could continue to sit shiva at home this weekend, I think my dad would have rolled his eyes and said "three days is more than enough, get on with it."

So this is me, getting on with it.

Back to Seattle in the morning, back to deadlines and obligations and cats and Life.

I know I've been least in sight recently, or light in content. There's been a reason for that.

Some of you, over the years, have heard the stories of my dad, the medical Energizer Bunny. Heart attacks? Pshaw. Parkinsons? Keep on truckin'. Gout? Okay, no more organ meats, whatever. Coronary blockage? His heart adapted. Hernia? Sew it up and move on. But at 84 my dad has finally met the roadblock even he can't get around: cancer. Specifically, metastatic osteosarcoma.

And we discovered it purely by chance - a combination of post-hernia surgery swelling and high fever landed him in the ER, and a chain of events led to oncology getting involved. And three weeks later, here we are. As I said to a friend, it's like treading water after a wreck, and waiting for the sharks to come. You know there will be sharks, you just don't know if it will be a hammerhead, or a great white.

So. If I've not responded to your email or phone call, or missed a deadline (or had to bail out on something), it's not that I don't love you. But I'm going to have to beg your indulgence for a little while longer.

(Ironically, I'm currently editing a manuscript that opens with a cancer diagnosis. I know an editor's supposed to pick up all sorts of knowledge, because you never know when it will be helpful, but the timing on this was a little sharp.)

Comments are closed on this. I know y'all want to offer your sympathy, but right now I'm just going to take it as a given. :-) If you're a close enough friend to have my personal phone number, feel free to call.

Profile

Laura Anne Gilman

My Website

September 2018

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
						1
2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15
16	17	18	19	20	21	22
23	24	25	26	27	28	29
30

Syndicate

Page Summary

Style Credit

Style: Neutral Good for Practicality by timeasmymeasure

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Page generated Jul. 3rd, 2025 09:04 am

Where Personal and Professional Life Collide...

My life in 8 words: Organized chaos, by preference. Exhausting, but never boring

Entries tagged with personal

Oh holy shit hi I'm back!

Friday's on my mind...

hah!

Yom Kippur 2017/5778

oh.

On this day....

oh hai there it's me....

unpacking a life being lived...

yizkor

A moment to vent...

taps mic

Walking with Ents

2016

I am sorry (not really) to report that....

Somber Thoughts

August 10th

We Are Infinite.

the fire that forged you

Back

...and nobody had any fun at all.