(no subject)

[beetiger]

A lot of my last week’s work has consisted of making large amounts of things, packing them in big boxes, then moving those big boxes around on pallets and shipping them and the like. It’s a lose-lose situation, really. First of all, I’m really bad at it. I’m klutzy and not too strong and I can’t reach high shelves very well, so I’m struggling and inefficient and slow. Secondly, that type of work generally pays a lot less than what I get paid, so the company isn’t getting very good value for my time. Still, it’s what I have to get done, so I’m doing it. Generally, the men in the pilot plant, or the temps who are also paid too much to move boxes around, really, have been helping me out when they see I’m having trouble, taking boxes out of my hands, grabbing things from high shelves. I need the help, so I take it. But it’s frustrating to know that if I were the same height, weight, and strength, but presented as male, I’d get teased rather than helped. Because a penis helps you lift stuff, right?

* * *
One of the temps with whom I’ve been working, a geeky, heavyish, cheerful young man who is trying to save enough money to bring his girlfirend over from Russia, move out of his parents' house, and get married, left me a thank-you note today, as it’s the last day he’ll be working in the building. My coworkers teased him for "leaving me a Valentine" on my desk before I got in, which apparently flustered him terribly. He thanked me for, among other things, “sharing your personality with me”. This leads me to believe I must be coming off as quite a character.

* * *
This weekend, for the Imbolc holiday, I chose to read this piece as my offering of creative work for the year. Apparently, hearing me say “motherfucking fucker fuckers” in circle gave several of my covenmates extreme cases of the giggles. Everyone shares at this circle, whether they are usually “creative” people or not, so there was the usual selection of bad original poetry (some by the readers, some pulled from the Internet), and I found my mind wandering, wondering what in fact the gods think of this. If we’ve tried hard, do they give us an A for effort, and deem it good enough? If we really could have done much better, do they shake their heads and sigh? Do they sit up in Olympus, smirking and rereading the worst of it to each other, curled up in convulsions of laughter? Or like a mother unskilled in the ways of poetry but wise in the ways of love, do they truly, sincerely, think that all of it is beautiful?

Comments

[chris-warrior.livejournal.com]

i think it all flutters off into the general babble; Renoir, Rodan, Dickens, Austen - these are merely high blips on a static-ridden radar. the happiness we feel in *being* creative, the happiness others feel in viewing our creativity - that is more meaniful to deity, i think.

[cowboy-r.livejournal.com]

Of course a penis helps you lift stuff! What is it but a lever, after all?

(Seriously, men tend to have denser muscles than women, because of hormone balances).

[queenofstripes.livejournal.com]

Hmmm... "The Refrigerator Door of the Gods," next on In Search Of...

[eetmewithtoast.livejournal.com]

My concept of the Gods is that they are highly individualized beings. As such, I believe they would have individualized reactions to any offerings. Of those paying attention, all of your guesses might be correct. I certainly believe that some of them would be terrifically amused/delighted that mortals are speaking consciously to them. No matter how far a departure those words are from the ones used centuries ago. :)

[tikvah.livejournal.com]

This leads me to believe I must be coming off as quite a character.

How could you come off as anything else??