Ramble (updated) and MA pictures

I did better at pole-dancing this week. I wish I could continue with the "straighter" stuff, i.e., that which doesn't involve twisting around the pole, which gives me motion sickness. Swings give me motion sickness. Oddly enough, moving vehicles do not, but I digress. In today's class, the teacher noted my "wicked upper-body strength," which was very exciting. She said later that everyone excels and struggles with different aspects of the activity at first: dancers often struggle with pulling themselves up on the pole; rock-climbers and lifters typically excel at that but struggle with remembering the routines.


But enough about pole-dancing. Actually, not quite--I do have one class left next week, as I'd bought a three-pack. I joke about the motivation of having a backup career for when STEM inherits the earth, but really, it's just fun and interesting. I dabble in so much stuff and then undip my toes when I've had enough. This time last year, it was theater (specifically, backstage work); I'd gotten to the point where I hated every minute of it. I've since recovered, but I no longer feel the need to get more deeply involved or more skilled.
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I was so tired last night when I posted this that I forgot what I most wanted to say. I wrote earlier that being very involved in that one play was incredibly draining, in part because of its--the play's--treatment of a character with dementia. At the time, I wrote that I was "not amused," i.e., a step short of offended, but now I'm not afraid to come out as full-out offended. Probably because of the increased toll the illness is taking on my family. I never thought it was funny, and I once thought it distasteful to make light of it; now I think it's despicable. These feelings are flowing back more strongly in part because I've just been (co)nominated, undeservedly, for an award for my work on the play. And I remembered to write about it, after reading this--a profile of a woman who wrote about her husband's illness. It's so serious, so devastating. Why does anyone think it's okay to make fun of it? We don't unironically make fun of cancer or MS (or any sclerosis). Why is it socially acceptable to make a joke of dementia?

 Okay... back to the less depressing part of my ramble.


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Am I getting better at anything? Probably my job, which has been non-stop madness for a full year now. This week was yet another roller-coaster week, but everything worked out just as I was losing hope. There's still one big thing that needs to work out, but I'm in a good place. But I still need a vacation. The half-week at my parents' didn't really count. But here are some pictures nonetheless.

Turtles!