Maybe I'm an introvert
|
|
|
|
Here's what happened: I had a long summer weekend far away. The weekend did not include quiet or respite, but a plenitude of input in the forms of art and culture and music and food and friends. The trip was short and the drive was long. The drive home too. I was home Sunday evening around 9pm, and a friend stayed over until Monday morning before driving the last hour and 48 minutes to Berlin.
|
I am not really an extrovert.
|
The week happened, and the co-op is looking for autumn projects. We have a lot of people wanting to chat, but not a lot of committed project budgets. The problem is – they will all come at once, and then we won't have capacity.
|
Last night I was quite ranty. Maybe because someone I love was mansplained so horrifically. Or maybe because I lost a job because Some White Guy™ thought it wasn't fair that I had a tiny budget and he did not*. Or maybe because both these things happened in the same week, and I'm overly sensitive because I haven't recovered from my previous weekend.
|
*I actually rescinded the tiny budget, which I had only accepted in an act of solidarity. It was a grossly underpaid facilitation job, and I no longer feel the need to participate in that particular space. However, the way it all went down was indicative of my experience as a women in tech, in the coop space and in fucking general.
|
|
Maybe I'm remembering
|
|
|
|
Do you find it fascinating who you remember and when and why?
|
I was 15 or so when my boyfriend's bff, Maurice, explained to me that I can get rid of the hiccups by holding my breath for 21 seconds and swallowing three times. I spent next to no amount of time with Maurice, but I remember him and his advice every single time I get the hiccups.
|
My water question last week led to such an interesting and strange cascade of memories because several people responded. I learned that "bubblers" is (possibly) the Aussie word for "water fountains", which I feel like I don't see as often nowadays. I was reminded of summer camp packing lists and borrowing my father's canteen. I remembered drinking from other people's taps and hoses, but not that one neighbour. His name was Dale, and his daughter, Jessie, was my friend, but he was nuts.
|
This is why I continue to write to you. You wake my brain up in fully unexpected ways. Thank you for that.
|
|
|
|
