I’m on the roster at my church to do the Scripture-readings during the service. It’s something that I’m good at – and willing to improve – or so people tell me. Good diction, clear tone of speaking, proper enunciation. And this morning they gave me the flowers used as decoration during the service as a thank you.
I don’t do it for the recognition, but is always nice to know people appreciate what you do.
Well, that’s that hurdle taken: I’ve just come out – on Facebook – as non-binary. Let’s see what reactions I’ll get to that.
… I am glad I did it. Not being seen for what you are can be tiring.
It’s weird that I feel more comfortable telling relative strangers on the internet who and what I am than the people I know in real life.
Meaning: I’ve been psyching myself to tell those persons I am non-binary.
Also, my native tongue has no gender-neutral pronouns, so that’s also fun.
I am not a big crier. This is not something I brag about, it’s just part of me. Why this is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of the autism. It is what it is, in the end. *shrugs*
But sometimes, I get hit hard in the feels. Like this comic from Jenny Jinya. You might know her from her Good Boy-comic (here) about Death and left dogs, which was heartbreaking enough. But the first link, about the fate of black cats, made me sob in a quite undignified manner. It rather suckerpunched me.
Maybe because it’s not that long ago, relatively speaking that I’ve had to put our previous cat to sleep. (About 3 years ago. Like it was yesterday, really.) That’s about the last time I cried, as far as I can remember.
Or the cat’s anguish and not understanding why they had been targeted like that. I look at my cat, who has been on the street before ending up at the shelter. And then I took her home. She’s currently in front of the heating, very content with herself. She’s had a home before the street, so how did she end up there? We don’t know. Could be an accident, or she could have been turfed out. We don’t know. She didn’t get chipped until the shelter, and we have no information about her previous life. I don’t get why someone would have put her out. She is best cat. What was she thinking when she found herself on the street and had to fend for herself? How did she feel?
It might have hit me hard, the comic, because of these reasons. I try to comfort myself that Death loves cats, per Terry Pratchett.
That I will be employed directly starting next year instead of through an agency, I bought another plant, making the number I own a baker’s dozen.
Answer, yes, yes they will. Work wants very much to keep me, and so both departments have offered me a contract. In essence, nothing will change. I will keep working 16 hours for one and 16 hours for the other.
Good times!
Before I went on my leave, I took all my plants home from work, because I am an anxious person at times and wanted to be sure they would be taken care of properly. I’d rather be pissed at myself for them being mistreated than at a coworker. Thing is, I have not taken them back to work with me. In some cases, because they are still tiny and Dad and I think it’d be better if we didn’t move them around too much. In some cases, because they are too big and I don’t have the space at work for them anymore.
It’s time for an update of my plants! Behind the cut, because it’s rather image-heavy. Continue reading Time for my other children
I wear my engagement-ring around my neck, because my finger had got too big for it. It’s not something that I usually wear over my clothes, but I make exceptions.
When I was in England, and Mel wasn’t around, I was downstairs in the kitchen with his landlady, and she asked me why I wasn’t wearing the ring on my finger. I explained, and she mentioned that she’d stopped wearing some of hers because her fingers had got too small. Then she decided to try whether the ring would fit her. It happened so quickly, I guess that’s why I didn’t say no to this, and ended up bent over as she tried on the ring (she’s shorter than I am, and I hadn’t taken the chain off my neck). Looking back, who does that? And without waiting for permission, at that? It still kind of weirds me out, and this happened a couple of weeks ago.
I survived the rigors of travel. Didn’t want to leave Mel, but a dude’s gotta do what a dude’s gotta do.
And I missed my cat. More than she missed me, according to Dad. You feeds them, you pets them, you misses them when you’re away, and the little so-and-so forgets you the moment the door closes behind your back.
But then, the moment I came into the house yesterday evening, she started meowing for my attention. “Pet me! Pet me! Pet me! I haven’t had any pettings in two weeks!” (She doesn’t let Dad pet her.) She might not have missed me (or at least not let that show), but she does remember me.
Now she is lying on the bed on top of my pyjamas. All is right in her world.
I’ve had word from the homefront: it doesn’t seem that my cat has noticed that I have not been around. Typical. You feed them, you love them, and they repay you by forgetting all about you. And then act so adorable when you get back that you forget all about having been forgotten.
Okay..., this looks bad 