By Lucy

All smiles, I know what it takes to fool this town
I’ll do it ’til the sun goes down and all through the night-time

Let me tell you a story.

Prompted, of course, by Andrej’s comment on my last post.

I’ve always struggled with loneliness.

When I was a small child, playing on my parent’s yard, I would greet everyone. Every person who walked by was hailed with “Hey kid, come and play with me!” (Yes, calling people ‘kid’ has always been a thing I’ve done. I blame my father. Live with it, Jeremy).

When I was in high school, I had this grand plan to buy a house with five bedrooms so all my friends could live with me and I’d never be alone.

But I’m not extroverted or introverted, insomuch as socialization is a spectrum. Despite my constant making of plans and how chatty I can be, almost every single person I’ve dated complains that I withdraw in the evening. I need at least an hour or two a day of alone time, with my headphones on, shutting the world out.

It’s interesting to see the flip over a decade, because I think now I prefer the idea of a small cabin to myself.

I mean, you have to understand, when I was a child I had no choices in how I spent my time. If I spent “too much” time in my room, I was dragged downstairs and forced to be “social” by sitting in the living room or at the kitchen table. If I felt tired and wanted a nap, it’s because I obviously stayed up at night doing something nefarious (My mother didn’t believe in insomnia – if you laid down and closed your eyes, you’d fall asleep, and if you weren’t asleep it’s cuz you were lying). And forget sleepovers. Everyone always has a story about how a friend came over for a night and stayed for a weekend or a week, but I have none of those. My mother loathed sleepovers. She always said she didn’t like taking care of someone else’s kids. So I was always being forced to spend time with people I didn’t want to spend time with, and not allowed to be by myself or with people I wanted to be around.

How did I move out? I think I’ve said before, it was a spontaneous decision. I was staring down the barrel of a life-altering surgery, struggling through my first year of college. And a lot of that struggle was against my parents. My mother went so far as to order me to take the first train home after classes were done for the day, because she was convinced I was some sort of party animal who would go out drinking instead of doing homework, and she even had my schedule pinned to the fridge so she could confirm it. Yes, I was 19 and my mother was ordering me to come home by like 2PM. And you can’t even say it was about the money, cuz I paid for my own tuition and books and supplies. It was all about an excuse to control me.

My future ex-husband had offered to let me move in a few times, but I was hesitant. I knew once I moved out, I would never move back, so I wanted to make sure it was the right time. But you can never make sure of that, I know now.

My mother made it clear that she didn’t really intend to let anyone visit me while I recovered from my surgery, and the switch flicked in my brain and I was done. I texted him to come get me and packed up what I absolutely needed and would fit in the car and when he got there half an hour later, threw everything in the car as my mother stood in the doorway watching us.

“What are you doing?” She asked nervously.

“Moving out.”

“You’re not moving back if you change your mind, you know.” Her hands twitched as she no doubt debated ways to try and physically prevent me from leaving.

“I don’t plan to come back.”

And then I was gone.

It took a while to sink in. I felt like it was just an extended stay at his place, for a bit, cuz I was allowed to stay overnight at his place. It didn’t really change anything, or maybe it didn’t change cuz I was in shock.

Then the surgery happened.

We moved into a bigger place after that, cuz he was just renting a room at the time. Eventually my mother relented and gave me back most of the stuff I had left at her place. She kept some things that were precious and I’ll never be able to replace them. Some of it I’m over, like my old report cards that now have the wrong name. Some of it I’m not, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Like, I have very few pictures of myself as a child.

When me and my ex started to fight and debated breaking up was when it really started to sink in that I had nowhere to go. The rental market was heating up in advance of going nuclear by COVID, and there was no way I could rent an apartment by myself. Renting a room hadn’t occurred to me as an option. I often ran to Luke’s place as he lived down the road, and since he was my safe place I got his name tattooed on my arm when he died.

I mean… I left my apartment and went to Luke’s place. Me leaving seemed easier than trying to make my ex leave. Because nothing ever felt like it was mine to hold on to. I was used to my parents taking things away from me; my privacy, my belongings, my choices.

The first time I moved in to Bob’s place was illuminating because unlike the apartments I shared with my ex, there was no illusion that it might be mine to hold on to. But as I started to let go of the idea that I had to have an apartment or this or that, I started to feel better. When I got an apartment with James I started to resent all the things that came with “ownership”, and I was glad when the relationship came to an end and I could move back in to Bob’s.

It’s hard to explain why neither the room I was renting last year nor this place feel ‘safe’. I think part of it is expectations. Bob had no expectations beyond that I paid my rent and dishes didn’t disappear permanently into my room, because we had a cleaning lady for the rest of the house.

Maybe it is intention. Bob definitely wanted me to stay there and was upset when I left. Emily and Hanuman haven’t been unwelcoming and I know they don’t dislike me being here, but I don’t get the feeling they’ll be upset when I move out.

Anywho, for the meantime I’ve decided the easiest way not to fight about the kitchen is just to not use it. I’ve surrendered my usual breakfast of eggs and zucchini to cereal (ugh) and just been ordering take-out or making things that take zero effort, like wurstsalat.

Work is kind of dreadful. Since I can’t open the window and let the dreaded sunlight in, the fan is too loud to run while I am sleeping, and we have no central AC, I toss and turn and overheat in bed. Then I go to work and sweat all night cuz the AC is off and we’re working surprisingly hard. I’ve been clearing 20’000 steps most nights and it occurred to me, after cramping up, that I should be having at least 2 Gatorades a day, so I went to the store and bought a pallet.

Burt and Ernie are annoyed at us and I don’t know if it’s justified either. There’s some standing agreement that if we finish our work before 5, we can go home early with full pay. But both me and Terry are skeptical of it. We’re also not in the mood to hustle. And there’s a thousand things that get in our way; the layouts being unclear, the temp workers being slow, or work just not going the way it’s supposed to.

Sunday and Monday were nothing to write home about. I slept, typed away on the computer, went to work.

Monday night Ernie lost his mind and started literally throwing things around. I was startled, but Terry seemed more bemused than anything so I put my anxiety away in a little box. I mean, I don’t know that they eat or sleep; I never hear mention of food and they’re always drinking coffee.

He also crushed my right hand with a forklift at one point, which for a minute had my life flashing before my eyes before he reversed and I could free my hand. It left deep marks on my index finger but no lasting damage.

I’ve been hurting a lot from this job. Bruises everywhere, mystery cuts, sore in the morning.

Ironically, we finished half an hour early with no particular hustle on our part.

I slept for 9 hours and woke up for a deep and intricate nightmare that took a while to shake off. I consoled myself by looking at houses in Italy.

Yeah, remember how there was this big thing of small Italian villages selling houses for a dollar? The hype has died down somewhat but it’s still an option. I’m debating it; a small home in the Dolomites would be nice. A place to escape on vacation, and it’s close to Germany so I could visit my relatives as well.

I went to Taco Tuesday with Jeremy, and then down to the Marina for what was supposed to be the first jogging club meet, but no one should up so I went home.

Jodie annoyed me. He says he’s travelling for the next month so our next Trivia Night will be in August. Why can’t I host it if he’s travelling? It’s not like he’s closing Howl for the month.

Ah, whatever. I’m too tired to argue.

Wednesday I woke up with my hands burning.

I went into Hanuman’s room, hands outstretched. “I can’t feel my hands.” And what I can feel is pain.

“Oh no!” He sounded really concerned. He took them in his and started massaging them. “Can you feel my hands?”

“I can feel their warmth.”

“Do you still have a grip?”

I did manage to squeeze his hands, but it’s different to focus in this room.

Eventually my hands started to come back.

Why is my neuropathy acting up now? Paul suggested magnesium supplementation and fortunately I still had some from keto days. It helped a lot but my right hand continued to bother me for the rest of the week.

When I went in to work, I told Terry about my neuropathy.

I half-expected him to ask what that was, but he looked concerned right away. “Are you sure you’re in the right career?”

“Or else what? I get a desk job?”

“Yeah, you can wear a tight little skirt -“

“Shut up, pervert.” I said with a grin, punching his shoulder.

“No, you’re right, I can’t imagine you at a desk job.” He concedes.

The night does not start well. The first time I try to snap a beam into place, my grip slipped and it clattered to the ground. I tried a few more times before Terry came over and easily snapped it into place.

Maye I am in the wrong career.

This job is confusingly hard on me. It’s a lot like scaffolding; chaining gear, and the uprights and shelves are a lot like ledgers and stands, except slick with paint. Climbing the racks to work on things overhead. I’m hitting 2’500 – 3’000 calories burned a day and I feel like I’m starving. I’m also covered with the usual array of mysterious bruises and cuts on my arms and legs.

I kept trying and eventually I managed to brute force my way thru the night.

One of the temps has been showing an interest in carpentry. The others sort of chuckle about it, but I’ve been encouraging it. He’s the most helpful of the temps and he’s got a thirst for it, and I don’t think we should be kicking people down for lacking experience. His name is Krish.

Wednesday night did not go well. Everything that could go wrong, did, and Zack just made things worse. Towards the middle of the night, me and Terry made an agreement that if things didn’t improve Thursday night, we’d both walk off the job.

I drafted a quick email to the hall. They should know how bad things are going here.

“You know, you’re the person I enjoy talking to the most on this jobsite.” Terry says.

“Well, thanks.” I reply, “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“Umm…”

Yeah, I already know, you expected the female to be both useless and easily offended.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday sleep started eluding me and I couldn’t figure out why. I tossed and turned and ended up dragging myself through each night, zombie-like.

When I got up on Thursday, I discovered that my email to the hall had been automatically replied to as Mandy was out of the office.

Yay.

I threw on some clothes and hopped in the car and drove down to the hall.

One of the kids from the mill was there, arguing with Julie. “Hey Lucy, how are you?” He asked. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Sure. I wasn’t really there to talk to Julie anyway, I needed one of the business associates. He blew off most of my concerns but admitted them asking us to bring in power tools is not kosher, and said he’d contact Zack and correct him.

I was still on the fence about going in to work, but Terry convinced me I should.

Which is just as well, cuz a familiar face was there.

Janessa.

Well, shit. I can’t leave now; I can’t abandon her.

Is there anyone you won’t go to the break room for?

As a quick reminder, Janessa was at Dryden this year. She’s only 18; she signed up with the hall after a co-op placement and they immediately sent her 4 hours out to Dryden to do scaffolding during shutdown. Me and Duff took her under our wing lest the scaffolders scare her or hurt her, but she’s a tough cookie.

I introduced her to the rest of the guys, then took her on a tour around our build in the store, explaining to her the job and the politics. She’s had a rough go of it since Dryden, including one job where she was sexually harassed by the journeyman and one job where she was laid off cuz the journeyman was fired.

Terry brought his impact. I confronted him about it.

He shrugged. “Zack told me he’d replace any tools that were broken on the job, so my plan is to bust this thing up and get a new one, free.”

That’s… a choice. But I’m skeptical of Zack, and it also makes me and Janessa look bad for sticking to our guns.

The night went well, all things considered. I went around training Janessa and showing her what to do, and no one stopped me. Should I have been the one training another apprentice? Maybe not, but it all worked out. I stayed out of trouble and she learned the job.

Friday, the doctor called and woke me up. The still swollen lymph node isn’t cancerous, so she’s lost interest in it and is discharging me as a patient without a final decision on why it is swollen.

Excellent.

Eventually dragged myself out of bed and to sailing.

The race was interesting. Wind was middling; neither dead in the water nor burying the rail. Around the middle of the race the yachts started to get all bunched up and we had to navigate the rules of right-of-way on the water.

The first turn that was dicey, Chris was so focused on avoiding the other boat we almost hit the buoy until I pointed it out to him. On the final leg as we were coming up on the finish line, we had 3 boats neck-and-neck, but we managed to clinch it!

After we called it a night, I had plans to spend the night writing while Rimworld whittered away in the background.

Rimworld blew up all my plans. It needed an update before boot-up and then it informed me a new DLC had dropped.

I can’t remember how long I have been playing Rimworld. It was definitely at least 2017, because my ex-husband introduced me to it before it was officially released. As per my usual argument for pirating, we pirated Rimworld for like 2 years before I finally bought it. I don’t like buying games in Early Access, but also we were pretty broke.

Now, I haven’t always liked Rimworld’s DLC. The first one, Royalty, was not interesting to me at all. The space royalty descends to your planet and offers you various perks if you cater to their whims, woop-de-doo. Ideology was slightly more interesting – you can create an “Ideology”, like vegetarianism, and force your colonists to follow it – but it still wasn’t quite enough for me to want to buy.

Biotech was the first one that I wanted, although it annoyed me because it included features I thought should be base game. See, your colonists can fall in love, get married, have sex etc, but they will never get pregnant. Until Biotech came out, and only if you have Biotech, which seems like a glaring omission. I was on the fence about buying it and somewhat debating boycotting the game for it, but then someone bought it for me and I stopped caring (funny how that works).

Anomaly I was all over, obviously, for being something too niche to be included in the base game but something I loved. Creeping existential horror!

And now… Odyssey.

Odyssey is also particularly timely and personally interesting to me. It adds a bunch of new biomes, animals etc, but the central gimmick is that, as opposed the base game where you make a base, you are operating out of a spaceship that can hop from tile to tile but not leave the planet. And you have to live on the ship, because you are being pursued by mechanoids that track you down every 2 months or so (the game year is divided into 4 months of 15 days each). The game is rather merciful in the initial allotment of ship-expanding resources and I already found a way to significantly make my life easier; have chemfuel generators and keep a herd of chemfuel-producing boomalopes on my ship.

It’s perfect, my most-played game now with a Vagabond mode that keeps me on my toes and travelling around the map.

I texted Paul, “My next blog post is going to be late, sorry.”

“Now what am I going to do tomorrow?”

“That’s a you problem.”

Continuing on the theme of the world collapsing… AI!

There’s been a few recent articles about how AI will take our jobs and I find it interesting that most speculative science fiction has been about how AI will come for blue collar first, but it’s white collar that seems to actually be on the chopping block. We still haven’t refined robotics to the point of being able to do, say, a carpentry job, but a lot of regular office work is on the verge of being easily replace by Large Language Models.

It’s interesting because throughout most of history, fears about automation decreasing jobs have been unfounded. For example, most people were worried that ATMs would eliminate bank clerks entirely, but it actually lead to a hiring boom in clerks because before, most people wouldn’t bother using a bank account, but now it’s so easy to do good luck finding a job that pays you cash and not direct deposit. Similarly, despite the complaints that online shopping is eliminating retail jobs, it’s caused a concurrent rise in warehouse jobs, although of course those are not entirely comparable. And Amazon is trying to replace people working in warehouses with robots as soon as possible.

Of course, the question then becomes, what does a capitalist society do when large sections of the job market become redundant?

Personally, I’m a fan of Uglies. Uglies was such a funny read because despite it being an ostensible dystopia, most readers (including myself) came away with the idea that we’d actually rather live in the world Uglies created.

Spoilers!

The central conceit of the world is that, at 16 everyone gets a surgery that turns them into a “Pretty”, supermodel gorgeous. Complete with ceramic teeth that don’t get cavities, new skin that won’t develop acne, and new eyeballs that have perfect vision. The catch is that it also implants ‘lesions’ into your brain that restrict your creativity to reign in everyone’s consumption of resources.

I mean, the idea is that surgically altering everyone’s brain and the public shaming required to force everyone to undergo the surgery is bad, but it’s hard to argue that the system in the book works. Humans have withdrawn into city-states that are kept at a stable population of around a million, all of their refuse is recycled and all of the energy generation is renewable. No one is homeless or hungry because money doesn’t exist anymore. The environment isn’t being chewed up. And the medical advancements that enable the Pretty surgery to work has largely eliminated disease and chronic illness. Seems like a fair trade-off to me! Bring on the mag-lev hoverboards!

Anyway, spoilers over.

I was too tired to do anything Saturday, also due to my inability to sleep, so I gave up and bought some alcohol. I’d rather be well-rested than sober. Off the wagon I go!