Wow
In the last week I have:
1) Spent the night with a friend as she explained the brother she buried last week actually had a psychotic episode during which he set his apartment on fire, ultimately killing himself from burns and smoke inhalation;
2) Had two great-uncles on opposite sides of the family die the same day (Monday, almost exactly 12 hours apart);
3) Been observing a bizarre incident unfold at one of my jobs, which included allegations of a patient buying and abusing narcotics, conspiring with a meth addict after dumping her stable and loving husband, neglecting her small children, and committing murder of a family member for inheritence money, culminating in my boss having a meeting with the head of the local FBI field office.
I feel these the last few days can be summarized in six words: "What is this I don't even."
Yes.
As a completely arbitrary addendum, I also spent some time vehemently rejecting a friend's suggestion I hook up with a webzine as their Female Reviewer of Genre Fiction on a number of grounds, including such facts as the zine not supplying the review materials and paying only $20 for a review (ie, less than the cost of a hardback book, effectively requiring I lose money to contribute, and $30 less than my father makes for comparable online work) and the detail that declaring myself any kind of female perspective whatsoever is probably false advertising. (And though I see what they're trying to do, I'm mildly insulted when it's assumed women have markedly different opinions on things like quality, story, and subject matter. It'd be one thing if they wanted to explore, say, specific issues the treatment of women in the works of Heinlein vs. Whedon or something, but having a female reviewer just to say you have one on payroll makes my eyes roll right out of my head.)
Now I return to my exciting life. I've got this burgeoning dog-induced contusion on my foot that I am mapping as it grows more colorful by the day. Call me crazy, but I wanna see how this shit turns out.
1) Spent the night with a friend as she explained the brother she buried last week actually had a psychotic episode during which he set his apartment on fire, ultimately killing himself from burns and smoke inhalation;
2) Had two great-uncles on opposite sides of the family die the same day (Monday, almost exactly 12 hours apart);
3) Been observing a bizarre incident unfold at one of my jobs, which included allegations of a patient buying and abusing narcotics, conspiring with a meth addict after dumping her stable and loving husband, neglecting her small children, and committing murder of a family member for inheritence money, culminating in my boss having a meeting with the head of the local FBI field office.
I feel these the last few days can be summarized in six words: "What is this I don't even."
Yes.
As a completely arbitrary addendum, I also spent some time vehemently rejecting a friend's suggestion I hook up with a webzine as their Female Reviewer of Genre Fiction on a number of grounds, including such facts as the zine not supplying the review materials and paying only $20 for a review (ie, less than the cost of a hardback book, effectively requiring I lose money to contribute, and $30 less than my father makes for comparable online work) and the detail that declaring myself any kind of female perspective whatsoever is probably false advertising. (And though I see what they're trying to do, I'm mildly insulted when it's assumed women have markedly different opinions on things like quality, story, and subject matter. It'd be one thing if they wanted to explore, say, specific issues the treatment of women in the works of Heinlein vs. Whedon or something, but having a female reviewer just to say you have one on payroll makes my eyes roll right out of my head.)
Now I return to my exciting life. I've got this burgeoning dog-induced contusion on my foot that I am mapping as it grows more colorful by the day. Call me crazy, but I wanna see how this shit turns out.