Thursday, January 22, 2015

Where Mikey has a wag of the chin

Late last year I decided to press the go button on seeking redress for the hurts inflicted by oldwork. Newwork, who had to step up and launch proceedings after I crossed the Rubicon, couldn't have been more supportive after I did so.

Discovering hard evidence of active monstrosity is difficult, however, and this realisation landed on me of late. This realisation, and a confirming phone call, led to dark days of aching body and IBS-afflicted torment as I feared the oldwork people would win.

But, recently, my lovely boss+ took me for a walk of the building. We settled into chairs and she offered me yet more support, an actual person assigned to help me in case my anxiety forces me to go again or onto reduced hours as I dealt with the physical and mental pain that had arced up as a result of the challenge. 

In offering that help she also gave me the chance to vent about my feelings. The hurt I felt for having to go and the pain I endured in my leaving. And that my heart ached for those I left behind and those I'd helped in my dozen years doing one of government's toughest gigs. 

I could see her wanting to end my vent, those moments of her paused in a ready-state, mouth half-open to say something when a gap in the verbal traffic appeared, but I saw those signs and forded on. I needed to say my piece. To say what I had done was amazing and what they'd done to what I did was fucked in my going. That those in management where I worked did not believe in what they do and that they should no longer be there.

And she listened. She listened. Then she offered me yet more support in the form of the support person. Later that same day I got a call from that person and I meet with her in a couple of weeks. 

It hurt to fight back but I am glad I did. My people were wronged and they need redress. 

Wellness for the win.

Wednesday, January 07, 2015

Late-night chicken comparing

We have chickens, from assorted breeds, who in chicken terms are nearing puberty. Soon we find out who the boys are and then they go live on a nice farm in the country, like what happened to my cat and to unwanted male offspring in a cult-like situation. We get to keep the girls.

Chicken sexing, or determining the sex of a chicken, is difficult. It's based on this toe this or comb that or feathers appearing where there were no feathers before.

We just compared them, at night by torchlight, under the star-filled sky to see if these signs of sexing were in evidence. I felt like a soothsayer.

But when I went to compare I forgot to wear sandals for when I went into their "zone", the fenced-off section of back yard where they dwell. I likely now have chicken crap on my feet (though I did check and can't see any).

If I do then it was worth it for the experience of late-night chicken comparing!

Happy New Year.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Twenty fourteen; pretty, pretty, pretty good

With thanks to Curb.

So, another calender year near done and another to begin. Twenty fourteen was eventful. There was shitty stuff—health-wise for each one of the family—but there was awesome stuff too. For me, I am in a new role far from my former workplace and I'm in a position of actual influence. It's pretty awesome. As I told my psych in a recent work-asked-for-visit I am the APS equivalent of Ben Kenobi—I was struck down but made only more powerful.

I know, that talk sounds a tad nuts, even fully nuts. A mentally empowered me does come with its drawbacks; the hubris and the grandiose visions dancing like fucking sugarplums in my head. But that's cool, that's just something I'll have to learn to better manage in 2015. To keep my ego in check, set rational, achievable goals and not act like Zaphod coming out of the Total Perspective Vortex machine that said he, Zaphod, was the most important person in the universe

My psych said that checking-of-ego was a worthy goal. She also said good-bye—she's off to have a baby—so my work-ordered check-up ended as a fond parting of the ways and I got to say thanks to her for being part of my pyramid of support. 

This year was indeed the "rise and rise of Mikey". As in "risen back to my feet". I'm in a new job, I'm doing useful work and the people I work with value me.

So take that, haters, that's wellness right there.

Here's to 2015; the rise and rise (and rise) of Mikey.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Three steps forward, two steps back

I recently decided to launch my response to oldwork's bullying me from my job back in March 2013 after one of the principle offenders thought they'd be a smart arse and smugly insist they could email me in group-sent emails without my having to be weeded out of the distribution list. 

They were told, many times, they could never contact me again.

With International Disability Day in the offing I decided that was serendipity and went them for what they did to me that caused me to go—leaving me a sick person made far sicker and nearly dead. 

That redress process is running. My new boss asked I was going with it all, as she's worried I'll lapse back into an anxious pain-wracked state, and I said it was "three steps forward, two steps back". I'm glad I launched the process, it will lead to eventual catharsis and, dare I say it, closure for my brutal exit from a job I was most-awesome at. But it has caused memories of pain to return and it takes effort to drive them away—like my 30 minute fast-walk today when I strode off the anxiety that was working in my system, returning to the office in ache and sweat. 

But it is worth it and I am glad I am doing it. They cannot hurt me any more than they did and I will have my riposte.

Wellness for the win.

ThundertheBoy is go!

With thanks to The Thunderbirds.

It's been raining of late here in the nation's capital, with much downpour of oft-cold water.

We recently got chickens—chicks, actually—and they were outside in their coop when the rain came bucketing down. They were there on a try-out to see how they went in the coop, the chickens still spending nights inside with us as they were too young for outside nights.

Given the torrent of water dashing through their coop and, with theWife at the shops, it was up to theBoy and I to save the day.

I held the umbrella up to shield him as he, theBoy, slid into the coop on his tummy like a were-penguin and started upchucking chicks to me as I caught then dropped them in the re-purposed liquor box we used to shuttle them between their new coop and the inside of the house.

In order to shield him, theBoy from the rain pouring down I held the brolly out from myself, my lower back and arse hanging outside the brolly zone of protection and exposed to the storm with sheets of cold water, fat drops laced with triumph, smacking into my body then streaming into one torrent down the wet crack of my PJ-bottom-covered arse. 

The operation was over in less time than a Bin Laden put down—which took like 38 minutes ... all within in gunshot distance of the Pakistani Military Academy—and we were back in the house shortly after our frantic panicked rain-rescue dash of the chicklets. Once the chicks were safely deposited under the warmth of a lamp to dry their damp, tissue-box-pushing feathery little bodies, theBoy and I took turns showering away the muck and the cold of the rain that had so grievously assaulted us.

It was a nice moment. 

Parenting milestone

theBoy and I throwing the dead toaster into the trash-pack. He got it in on his third attempt!

Thursday, December 04, 2014

Self-fist raised in the air

In the spirit of International Day of People with Disability (IDPwD) I decided enough was enough and I rolled my biggest boulder which I'd saved for last—a giant IDPwD "Fuck You!" to bastards in my wake.

And it's a doozy (1).

 Wellness for the win. 

(1) With thanks to Community

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Compliment received!

Recently I helped organise a work do at the building I worked in after I returned following my epic collapse then recovery. At the event I got talking with my old foxpod neighbour, V—, who I shared many a convo with over the months I was in that workplace.

"You know, Mikey," she said, "you look better each time I see you."

And it's true. When I first met her I was on half hours recovering from severe anxiety—and do you ever fully recover from it once you've had it?—and was a physical and mental basket-case. 

But that pain and stress ebbed as I got used to being in a new job and far from the horrors of my old workplace, and I felt better about my organisation as a whole because I got to sit with kind, caring people like V—, and because I got excellent support in the aftermath of my collapse and separation.

I had to MC the work do, introduce the topic then throw to the speaker. My head spouted sweat as I spoke but I was okay as I talked because I know my power and ability to communicate. I talked about the import of the issue and even spoke after the event's speaker to plea for people to scope out a similar issue on our website. I felt okay about speaking, even relished it. 

Every day is a win for me now. I'm in my bonus round and loving every minute of it.

Wellness for the win.

Friday, November 21, 2014

A Mikey mondegreen

All this time I thought in "Kiss from a Rose" that the line "A light hits the gloom on the gray" was "a light hits the bloom on the grave".

The correct version makes much more sense.

Curse you impassioned-yet-wrongly-sung lyric!

Current fave rendition of said song is from Community, season three, episode seven.

UPDATE: Pierce's rap rejoinder Vs Vaughn is also most-good

UPDATE2: "Going Crazy" by the Paparazzi Kids from S01E16 likewise rawks.