at least i get overtime
monday i was woken an hour early by a bunch of annoyingly loud seagulls outside my house. i don't live anywhere near the water! and my day did not get appreciably better. my supervisor is going on maternity leave over the summer, and the me in the westborough office is still out on medical leave, and i'm going to have to do september and october busy seasons by myself and there is just no fucking way. i need to have a conversation with someone about how i'm going to manage, by which i mean a conversation in which i get someone to help me. honestly the one good thing about monday was that we got lunch, and it included mac&cheese which was delicious, altho to be honest i'm not super picky about my mac&cheese.
i left later than usual and went to the post office, where there was of course a line, but it actually moved pretty quickly. surprise! and i got home a little before ten, which is late for me. and everything didn't go out, but that's not my fault. and yesterday and today were unsurprisingly much more chill. today especially was VERY QUIET. i'm still way behind on expense reports, tho. oy, self, get it together.
tomorrow i'm going to florida for passover. sun, sand, matzo balls in my soup. :D i'm excited.
so notre dame caught fire, right? and the roof burned off, right? and relics and statuary and rose windows were saved, but still, the roof burned and the spire collapsed and the place is a mess. fortunately a professor at cornell made a complete 3d scan of the cathedral. this is a. technologically cool as shit, and b. potentially super helpful for restoration work.
also cool as shit, israeli scientists have 3d printed a heart. like, a complete heart. made from a patient's own cells. the heart is only rabbit-heart-sized, but if you could 3d print a heart for someone using their own cells and tissue, that would cut way down on potential rejection. and you wouldn't have to wait for someone to die so you could get their heart.
Here’s your auntie, in her best gold-threaded shalwaar
kameez, made small by this land of american men.
Everyday she prays. Rolls attah & pounds the keema
at night watches the bodies of these glistening men.
Big and muscular, neck full of veins, bulging in the pen.
Her eyes kajaled & wide, glued to sweaty american men.
She smiles as guilty as a bride without blood, her love
of this new country, cold snow & naked american men.
“Stop living in a soap opera” yells her husband, fresh
from work, demanding his dinner: american. Men
take & take & yet you idolize them still, watch
your auntie as she builds her silent altar to them-
her knees fold on the rundown mattress, a prayer to WWE
Her tasbeeh & TV: the only things she puts before her husband.
She covers bruises & never lets us eat leftovers: a good wife.
It’s something in their nature: what america does to men.
They can’t touch anyone without teeth & spit
unless one strips the other of their human skin.
Even now, you don’t get it. But whenever it’s on you watch
them snarl like mad dogs in a cage-these american men.
Now that you’re older your auntie calls to say he hit
her again, that this didn’t happen before he became american.
You know its true & try to help, but what can you do?
You, little Fatimah, who still worships him?
--"WWE", Fatimah Asghar
i left later than usual and went to the post office, where there was of course a line, but it actually moved pretty quickly. surprise! and i got home a little before ten, which is late for me. and everything didn't go out, but that's not my fault. and yesterday and today were unsurprisingly much more chill. today especially was VERY QUIET. i'm still way behind on expense reports, tho. oy, self, get it together.
tomorrow i'm going to florida for passover. sun, sand, matzo balls in my soup. :D i'm excited.
so notre dame caught fire, right? and the roof burned off, right? and relics and statuary and rose windows were saved, but still, the roof burned and the spire collapsed and the place is a mess. fortunately a professor at cornell made a complete 3d scan of the cathedral. this is a. technologically cool as shit, and b. potentially super helpful for restoration work.
also cool as shit, israeli scientists have 3d printed a heart. like, a complete heart. made from a patient's own cells. the heart is only rabbit-heart-sized, but if you could 3d print a heart for someone using their own cells and tissue, that would cut way down on potential rejection. and you wouldn't have to wait for someone to die so you could get their heart.
Here’s your auntie, in her best gold-threaded shalwaar
kameez, made small by this land of american men.
Everyday she prays. Rolls attah & pounds the keema
at night watches the bodies of these glistening men.
Big and muscular, neck full of veins, bulging in the pen.
Her eyes kajaled & wide, glued to sweaty american men.
She smiles as guilty as a bride without blood, her love
of this new country, cold snow & naked american men.
“Stop living in a soap opera” yells her husband, fresh
from work, demanding his dinner: american. Men
take & take & yet you idolize them still, watch
your auntie as she builds her silent altar to them-
her knees fold on the rundown mattress, a prayer to WWE
Her tasbeeh & TV: the only things she puts before her husband.
She covers bruises & never lets us eat leftovers: a good wife.
It’s something in their nature: what america does to men.
They can’t touch anyone without teeth & spit
unless one strips the other of their human skin.
Even now, you don’t get it. But whenever it’s on you watch
them snarl like mad dogs in a cage-these american men.
Now that you’re older your auntie calls to say he hit
her again, that this didn’t happen before he became american.
You know its true & try to help, but what can you do?
You, little Fatimah, who still worships him?
--"WWE", Fatimah Asghar