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Today has been a day of half-formed thoughts about community and urban living.
The water stopped running this morning, and I called the neighbor down the street (who'd been so helpful during the robbery) to confirm it was out at her place, too. Then I called 311, and was told that there were multiple reports in the area, and the crew was on its way. They'd fixed it within the half hour.
In Latin class, I just about had to sit on my hands to stop trying to interject Helpful Comments during class. I translated responsibly, given the chance, and managed to shut up when it was other people's turns. (Though, dammit, when the prof asks for volunteers and no one else does, it is agonizing to not raise my own hand. Even knowing she wants someone she hasn't called on yet.) Because it's a communal sort of thing, and what I would like to hear about most, and talk about most, and focus on most in class, is not necessarily what's most useful (or of most interest) for the class as a whole.
On the bus, heading to the climbing gym, traffic snarled up around a truly nasty two-car accident. Some of the drivers were trying to whip around it, against all sense and region; some where rubber-necking; most were, as far as I can tell, just trying to get by carefully. Seven or eight people were scattered around the two crunched cars, looking dazed and unhappy and some of them on cell phones. One was a little girl of maybe three years old, held by a woman sitting on the sidewalk.
"Thank God no one was hurt," said one of the bus passengers, while everyone else muttered about the wreck, and he started to pray loudly until we reached the station.
At the gym, I left early. Too many people for this introvert.
On the bus, heading back from the gym, a woman behind me muttered to herself repeatedly. Which is fairly standard on the bus. "Where am I?" she asked. "Where am I?" She leaned forward. "Hey! Can you not hear? Where am I?"
I resisted the urge to say "On a bus," and informed her I didn't know, exactly.
She settled back down and muttered to herself--or me, I couldn't really tell anymore--for a while more. "I thought you were a man," she said, sounding indignant, as if I had somehow deceived her by having a gender-neutral back of the head. When we stopped for a while to get a man on a scooter on, she began scoffing--I really haven't a better word for the sound she was making--in an increasingly loud series, until she gave up with no one having responded.
And now I'm at home, huddling alone in my office. The spouse is grinding my FFXII characters in the next room, near enough that I can hear all the music and sound effects, and so that we can make occasional comments to each other. It's nice in here. Private. Soothing.
I like living in the city. It's a strange place, at times, but I think putting all these people in proximity tends towards efficiency and cooperation. It's better than going it alone.
The water stopped running this morning, and I called the neighbor down the street (who'd been so helpful during the robbery) to confirm it was out at her place, too. Then I called 311, and was told that there were multiple reports in the area, and the crew was on its way. They'd fixed it within the half hour.
In Latin class, I just about had to sit on my hands to stop trying to interject Helpful Comments during class. I translated responsibly, given the chance, and managed to shut up when it was other people's turns. (Though, dammit, when the prof asks for volunteers and no one else does, it is agonizing to not raise my own hand. Even knowing she wants someone she hasn't called on yet.) Because it's a communal sort of thing, and what I would like to hear about most, and talk about most, and focus on most in class, is not necessarily what's most useful (or of most interest) for the class as a whole.
On the bus, heading to the climbing gym, traffic snarled up around a truly nasty two-car accident. Some of the drivers were trying to whip around it, against all sense and region; some where rubber-necking; most were, as far as I can tell, just trying to get by carefully. Seven or eight people were scattered around the two crunched cars, looking dazed and unhappy and some of them on cell phones. One was a little girl of maybe three years old, held by a woman sitting on the sidewalk.
"Thank God no one was hurt," said one of the bus passengers, while everyone else muttered about the wreck, and he started to pray loudly until we reached the station.
At the gym, I left early. Too many people for this introvert.
On the bus, heading back from the gym, a woman behind me muttered to herself repeatedly. Which is fairly standard on the bus. "Where am I?" she asked. "Where am I?" She leaned forward. "Hey! Can you not hear? Where am I?"
I resisted the urge to say "On a bus," and informed her I didn't know, exactly.
She settled back down and muttered to herself--or me, I couldn't really tell anymore--for a while more. "I thought you were a man," she said, sounding indignant, as if I had somehow deceived her by having a gender-neutral back of the head. When we stopped for a while to get a man on a scooter on, she began scoffing--I really haven't a better word for the sound she was making--in an increasingly loud series, until she gave up with no one having responded.
And now I'm at home, huddling alone in my office. The spouse is grinding my FFXII characters in the next room, near enough that I can hear all the music and sound effects, and so that we can make occasional comments to each other. It's nice in here. Private. Soothing.
I like living in the city. It's a strange place, at times, but I think putting all these people in proximity tends towards efficiency and cooperation. It's better than going it alone.
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Though I have found, in the midst of busy-ness, that my DS is helpful; I sometimes grind through homework with a reward of a few minutes of play per page done or what not, and since it pauses on /anything/ with the lid closed, I can actually stop pretty easily. (Well, on most games. "One song on Theatrhythm" or "one fight in Pokemon Pearl" is a lot easier to dole out than anything in the Kingdom Hearts games.)
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Gaming is one of the many parts of me that's been cut away, and I miss it.
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(And I sigh a bit, because I had a DS that I was planning on sending to the next friend who could use a handheld console, and, well. Thieves. Dammit, thieves.)
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That is sad. I'd offer you my handmedown PSII to tide you over but you've still got yours.
sigh.
I hate people. Except for the people I don't hate. You know how it goes.
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The insurance covers everything that was stolen! At a depreciated cost. And there's a deductible that's about half of the total replacement cost of everything, which I suspect their total will be lower than... So, yeah, whatever the insurance does send will probably go towards replacing one of the other missing consoles, or a better laptop replacement. Which is a much better situation than many people would be in, and thus I keep reminding myself I should be grateful for that much.
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I wish I had anything useful to you, but I don't.
Grateful, yes. But also sad and frustrated. Those are ok things to feel, too. You -used- this stuff- it wasn't just for show.
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You were using it, not just occasionally, but frequently, and therefore it was an important tool. It's ok to be angry about that. Try not to feel guilty for needing and using tools. We have to keep up w/the octopi somehow!
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Yes. We do well to remember that if the octopi use tools, we had been keep tool-using if we are to keep up!
(*cough* Yes I have a cephalopod fascination. Nifty critters. Useful in keeping humanity in perspective sometimes.)
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On the other hand, maybe it's a valid form of self-defense.
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So. Then I check my omnivore dentition and go, "well, ok, I will be mindful of the creatures who feed me." ymmv.
re: the avatar- I used to have a cit line on that, must've dropped at some point in the shifting- it's from a screen at an art museum.
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