Very safe

My sister hit me last night. It was totally uncalled for.

I was taking off a sweatshirt before getting into bed, and she chastised me for doing it without my seatbelt on.

This completely ignores the fact that I couldn't take my sweatshirt off if I was buckled in. And I was holding onto the superpole to get it off.

I am usually not too dumb.

Love my co-workers

I am slightly annoyed with work these days. Nothing major at all. I am not unhappy, I like my agency, the people and my work, and I believe in the mission. Unless I am offered a high-paying job as a test dummy for a masseuse, I am not going anywhere.

It's possible that some co-workers heard that in my voice yesterday at a staff meeting but thought it was fear.

In their defense, I never talk during staff meetings, and my question/comment about what I'd do in an active shooter situation may have been more words strung together than some have ever heard out of me.

Basically, I was bemoaning the lack of a strategy for me if the unthinkable happened.

I came in today, and I got a strategy. I  was told where to go, and several people said they'd look out for me or that they had to protect me. Not hearing well, I couldn't tell if any of those promises contained sarcasm, like if my sister were making the statement. "Of course, we have to protect Matt."

I even was told "don't fret."

I was much less annoyed at work.

Just give me one

God-fucking-dammit, I thought as I was falling out of my shower chair.

I added the eff-ing because it was so eff-ing annoying.

I had slipped getting out of bed but somehow kept my footing and managed a dainty pirouette with my Superpole. The only problem was I wound up on the wrong side of the pole, so it went me, pole, wheelchair.

I considered just dropping and calling for help, but I didn't. Again, somehow I managed to keep my footing and get my legs moving where I wanted them to. Shocking, I know.

I fell into my chair, gathered myself together, went to the bathroom, transferred to my shower chair easily, turned on the shower, then bent over to get my boxers off my feet.

Experienced readers will notice I left something important out of that sequence, something like doing my seatbelt.

It is so damn annoying that forgetting one step screws you.

Anyway I fell. I scraped my back up getting to my phone. Then I called my sister who helped me up.

I say again, God-fucking-dammit.

Don't shoot

Our office went on an active shooter alert last week.

Someone in a building at the end of the office park got an email about an active shooter drill in November. Instead of reading the words "drill in November," he called 911 and reported a shooter.

I was teleworking, but apparently 30 police cars and a helicopter deployed, local schools locked down, and in our building people were alerted by announcement to lock the doors to their offices.

But, I don't have an office, just a cube. I'm not very fast or much of a hider, and the nearest office I could scurry into is not right next store.

It seems like a strategy that figures a) it'll never happen and b) even if it does, a shooter will have better targets is not a good strategy. But that is mine.

Damn elves!

I have been reading The Shepherd's Crown, Terry Prachett's last novel. It was great, as usual, though there were a lot of unanswered questions. I guess death will do that.

But I'd like to know about the future of the Wee Free Men and why You is so non-catlike.

Mostly, though, I'd like to know what's up with Mrs. Earwig and how she fends off the glamour. Glamour is the magic of the elves, and from what I've read, it leads you to believe all your darkest fears are true.

I am pretty sure I am beset by elves these days -- no other way to explain how I'm feeling.

I feel friendless. I know this isn't true.

I feel that even if people do like me, I am rarely asked to do anything with them. Again, this isn't true.

I guess I just feel sad.