When you lose your job without losing your job

 

Photo by Alek Burley on Unsplash

A couple of weeks ago I replied to someone's question on Twitter (about whether jeans are appropriate clothing for librarians) and said that I was a senior librarian and I wear jeans regularly. But then I realised shortly after I posted it that it wasn't true anymore.

I *was* a senior librarian, but now I'm not.

The library I work for restructured, and brought in a new level of management. This had the unexpected (by us, at least) flow on effect of effectively demoting all of the people who were under that new level, only without any change to their official job status.

The senior librarians of old used to be part if the leadership team, but now the leadership team includes people who aren't us. We weren't "dropped" from it, we just weren't included in it when it moved on. We used to be involved in the decision making regarding many aspects of our library services. Now we wait to be told what decisions were made. And if we try to initiate things - like we used to do all the time when we were senior librarians - we're told to cool our jets. Things are happening in discussions that we're not privy to, and we get to hear about it when everyone else does.

It's an odd adjustment to make, because we're all still employed in the same place at the same "level" (pay-wise), so technically we didn't lose our jobs during the restructure...

But we kind of did. 

It's really hit the other two "formerly senior" librarians quite hard, as they not only lost their seniority they also got shifted into a newly developed area. I think they don't quite know what to do with themselves any more. I realised the other day that they're actually grieving, like they would be if they'd lost their jobs. Because they *did* lose their jobs. But, because they still have jobs, they haven't really processed it like that.

I think I've come off more lightly than they did, but I realise that even I've been lashing out a bit. I didn't think I'd struggle to adjust, because I kind of fell into the senior role, but it has been an adjustment, and it's one we didn't really consciously engage in.

My role remained largely the same, only I'm now in a position where all of the things I used to do because I was a senior librarian are now things I'm regularly told to "not worry about". This is especially hard to swallow when I'm trying to involve other people who feel left out in decisions. I have to remember that the decisions aren't mine anymore, so I can't pull anyone else into them.

I'm a little extra powerless, and it's playing on some other feelings of powerlessness that I've been trying to sweep under the carpet.

I'm also trying really hard not to have flashbacks to that day when a stuff up I made as a linesman during a tennis match got all the other linesmen benched. I'm trying not to wonder if I managed to get all of the seniors demoted by something I did (or didn't do).

On one hand, I'm okay with it - I can say "not my circus, not my monkeys" and leave it to the person who does actually have to deal with these matters.

On the other hand, I kind of miss the monkeys.

The Queer Collective

"Where you involved with the Queer Collective?"

A colleague and I were trying to figure out where we'd met each other before. We both had a sense that this wasn't the first time we'd crossed paths, but couldn't remember meeting previously. We'd worked out that we'd both been at the same university at the same time for a couple of years, but in different years of different degrees, so we wouldn't have shared any classes. She was trying to think of some sort of extra-curricular activity we might both have attended.

"Where you involved with the Queer Collective?" she asked, and I had to keep a straight face as I said, "Um, no."

I had to keep a straight face (pardon the pun) because, at the time I didn't even know the Queer Collective existed, and if I had I would have been praying against it. Because if you don't offer support for "queerness" the people who sadly, mistakenly, think they're queer will realise how mistaken they were and see that they were straight all along. Right? That's how it works, isn't it?

I was not an ally back then.

These days I'd like to think I am one (an ally), but I struggle with that idea because I probably should think I'm queer. I'm asexual... and bisexual (which seems incompatible, but isn't - you could say I'm Ace with a Bi shading, or Bi in theory but Ace in practice), and that's two whole letters in the LGBTQIA+ thingy. 

But I've never been part of the "culture", and I've never thought of myself as queer, so even though I know on one level that I'm not straight, I don't think of myself as queer either.

Culturally speaking, I'm straight. I've come around to accepting "God's beautiful rainbow" slowly, but never from the perspective that it's about my gender expression or sexual orientation.

And yet, my gender expression isn't exactly "standard", either. I've come to realise it's more than a bit genderfluid. I'm more feminine now than I was as a child (if you know me, that probably gives you a huge idea of how "non-feminine", if not exactly "masc", I was as a child), but I'm still happy to take and use things "for men" and shun things "for women" because I honestly believe that functionality trumps social expectations of gender normativity. Growing up and well into my 30s, always felt like gender was a test that I was regularly failing; now I just don't give a rats.

And I think being Asexual, Bisexual and Genderfluid** probably does qualify me to think of myself as queer, if I want to. But it's like someone saying "this shoe will fit you", and you look at it and say "but it's not really my style".

I've always been genderfluid (without knowing there was a word for it), but it took me a while to realise that Asexuality was a) a genuine option and not some form of failure, and b) the camp I fell into. And it took me even longer than that to realise that Bisexuality was also on the cards.* It's weird, but it just never occurred to me that it was an option.† I thought you had to be, well, queer.

You know that flavour of gelato that actually isn't a flavour at all - it's basically just "cream" and then the other flavours get added to it to make it interesting? I think it's called "fior di latte", and it's not even vanilla. That's how I see myself in terms of sexuality. Maybe it's an Ace thing, but I've just never really been anything in particular, so for most of my life I just assumed that meant I was straight.

Now I know better, but I can't think of myself as a queer person or a member of the queer community because I'm not. It's like if someone said to me "oh, by the way, you're a New Zealander". I am not and have never been a member of the New Zealand community and I would feel very uncomfortable presenting myself as a Kiwi (even though I am actually eligible for a New Zealand passport). I've never identified as a Kiwi, and I don't feel like I can start doing so now. Just like I've never identified as being queer, and I don't feel like I can start doing so now.

This has been weirdly obvious to me lately, when things have popped up in my workplace that a queer person might be a stakeholder in. Whenever something even remotely LGBTQIA+ comes around, I don't say "oh, by the way, I'm Ace, Bi and Genderfluid,** so I could be your token queer person on this matter". Nope, I point to the lesbian chick like everyone else. Colleagues who are genuinely straight feel more inclined to speak up on behalf of queer matters than I do.‡

On IDAHOBIT day this year, the university opened a "rainbow room" for LGBTQIA+ people to go and feel like they're in a safe space. There was a question as to who should go and represent my workplace at the opening, and I stood there thinking "I'm in the acronym twice over, but I don't feel like I belong there". 

I don't feel apart from, threatened by or unsafe in the mainstream straight culture. I've assumed I was straight for so long, that I see myself as one of the white cis-het people, while spaces for queer people are havens for those who are oppressed by white cis-het culture.

It's not that I'm closeted, exactly, it's just that I don't feel that my voice is a queer voice, so I shouldn't have a say in matters concerning the queer community. I still wouldn't be in a Queer Collective.

I oddly feel like I shouldn't qualify as an ally because I'm not straight, but I don't qualify as queer because I don't belong to that culture.

I'm... gelato al fior di latte.

*For years I thought I wasn't interested in women - turns out I am, I just have a type, and they weren't particularly visible (to me) until more recent years

† Although it's probably not weird. I think there's a whole body of "women in midlife discovering their sexuality is fluid" - something that people who figured themselves out as teenagers probably don't get... if anyone really does figure themselves out as a teenager

‡ Actually, part of me doesn't want to be particularly known for my not-straightness in case I have to put up with the support from the allies on staff.

**Edit: I'm not Genderfluid, really, as it's not my gender that floats around (I'm a Cis woman, and haven't wanted to be anything else since I was a child, when I wanted to be a boy because they had better toys and more comfortable clothes), but rather my gender expression. I just don't have a better word for this right now.

Why you should thank the robots (and the vacuum cleaners. And the robot vacuum cleaners)

 I have a tendency to thank Chatbots for their help. I also have a tendency to thank water fountains (or coolers, if you're American) for filling my water jug and for automatic doors for opening for me. I don't do this all the time - just when I remember to.

I also tell my lawnmower it's doing a good job, and speak works of encouragement to my my vacuum cleaner when it's having trouble getting around corners (you can do it!). I currently don't have either a robot lawnmower or a robot vacuum cleaner, but I'd probably say even more encouraging things to them if I did.

Why do I do this?

Well, partly because - like all humans - I secretly believe in animism.* We can't help ourselves; there's a reason why it's the oldest "religion" in almost every society on the planet. We see a thing that's a separate and unique thing, and something deep in our hearts wants to assume it has a personality and can hear us when we talk to it.**

It's also partly because I think it fosters a better attitude in myself. It's good for my constitution.

In this day and age where everything "just happens", it's so easy to take things for granted... and it's easy to let that extend to the people who help us as well. 

If you've every been an actual human on a chat service, you'll know that there's a growing trend among the clients who use the service to be very abrupt and curt when they talk to you. It's like they're used to dealing with robots who don't require courtesy, so they're completely out of practice when faced with a human being (if they even know they're dealing with a human being).

I want to be in a position where being courteous and thanking "people" for their help is my default setting, so I "accidentally" treat robots like humans rather than "accidentally" treating humans like robots.

Plus, it's good for your general outlook on life. One of the best things you can do for your mental health is to be grateful. Even if you don't think there's an actual conscious being to be grateful to, you can still be grateful for the door opening and the water fountain filling up your bottle, and thanking the door and water fountain is a great way to do this. 

It puts you in a frame of mind where you're surrounded by things that are helping you out and making your day easier, and that's a pretty good mood lifter.

I also do this partly because I've read and watched too much science fiction, and I know that one day the robots will take over the world. When that day comes, I would like the robot lawnmower to say "oh, she was nice to us" and not try to attack me.***

*Well, actually I openly believe in animism, I just vacillate between thinking it's a totally legit belief and thinking it's made up clap-trap (like most things we "believe").

**And yet, at the same time, we want to believe it's not listening to us when we talk about it.

***Or the vacuum cleaner. Geez, how embarrassing would it be to be taken out by a vacuum cleaner during the robot uprising?

You can just be hungry

You know how you occasionally have an idea pop into your head that seems life changingly revelatory and completely dull and obvious at the same time?

Not long ago I had one of those ideas. And it was this:

"You can just be hungry."

I don't know where or how I got sucked into this idea - I suspect it's a result of living in an affluent Western society - but I somehow became convinced that if I feel hungry I should do something about it.

If it's 2.30pm and I feel like I need something salty, I must now undertake some quest to find a salty thing to eat in order to end this "eternal hunger"*.

If it's an hour after lunch and I feel like I'm craving a particular foodstuff, or half an hour before afternoon tea and I start feeling like I'm hungry now, I switch over to this idea that I need to "listen to my body" and go find something to eat now. I start getting thoroughly distracted by this sense of hunger as if I truly must do something about it as soon as humanly possible.

But... I don't.

You know, people all over the world are hungry most of the day, every day, and yet they miraculously manage to get on with whatever it is they're doing without going on a quest for salted peanuts. They eat whatever food they have at the time when they can eat it, and they live.

If they are hungry, they are just... hungry. And it's not the end of the world.

I, too, can just be hungry.

I mean, it's not like it's going to be forever.

I do live in an affluent Western society, so I know I'm not actually going to go hungry if I wait an hour to eat something I planned to eat instead of rushing to find something to eat right now that will match what I'm craving at the moment. And, should it turn out that I'm constantly craving salty things at a certain time of day, I can just take note of that and plan to eat something salty within the bounds of a reasonably balanced food allocation.

Listening to your body is a stupid thing to do. Your body wants to prepare for "winter", but we've managed to create a world where "winter" never comes - there's never a point (for people living in my society and socio-economic environment) where there will be a time of less, so I have to prepare for it by eating as much as I can during a time of plenty. But my body was designed for such seasonal periods of glut and famine.

I *do* need to listen to it telling me that I'm running short of salt and things like that, but I don't need to do anything about it this very second. For the next half hour or so I can just be hungry.

Except tea. If I need a cup of tea I should do something about that ASAP.

*In the Disney movie Frozen (known as The Snow Queen and the Eternal Winter in some overseas markets), the winter had been going on for all of 5 minutes before someone declared it to be "eternal" and declared that some drastic measure must be undertaken to stop it.

Mushrooms

Last year some time I decided that growing mushrooms sounded like a fun hobby. Some permaculture site I was looking at for some reason was advertising a "home mushroom growing course", and I thought:

"Yes! I shall learn the permaculture way to grow mushrooms. That sounds like a good use of my time."

It wasn't.

If you are thinking about growing mushrooms, and wondering if forking out $400 for a fancy permaculture course means you'll have the best grounding in mushroom growing, I have this piece of advice for you:

Don't.

Your introduction to mushroom growing should involve a pre-prepared pack and short course that, all together, costs around $100 max. 

This is because growing mushrooms is more like brewing beer than growing vegetables, and you can easily blow out any budget (monetary or time) you might think you're setting for yourself, and then discover that you actually find it all a bit too much work, really, and you don't want to do it.

I just want to say that mushrooms are surprisingly hard work.

Especially if you happen to be a "stick it in the dirt and see what happens" kind of gardener, as I am.

Even the easiest, quick-and-dirty method of growing mushrooms takes more time and attention than any of the other edible things I have growing about the place, every step is fraught with peril, I never know if I've reached a point where I've failed or if I need to hold on for another few days (or if there's something else I should be doing with the slab of fungus festering in my bathroom right now)...

And then when you actually get the mushrooms, you have to find a way to eat them relatively soon or it's all for nothing. I'm currently in a "who has time to cook? I'll just make a sandwich" phase of my existence, and in the meantime I have these huge clusters of mushrooms that may be all I have to show for all the money and effort I've poured into this misguided project.

Sure, in theory I could preserve them - but if I currently can't get my act together to make a simple pasta dish, the odds that I'll work out how to sterilize a jar and make a suitable brine are slim to none.

I should have known I wouldn't get around to eating them in good time. After all, it's not long ago that I grew a bunch of sweet potatoes the size of soccer balls* because I just couldn't be bothered harvesting them, and I figured they'd be safe enough in the ground. 

They've been in my pantry for a couple of months now. I should probably do something about them...

*Size 3 soccer balls, but soccer balls nonetheless