Rain, rain, go away.

Normally I'm fond of rain, but the weeds I pulled yesterday are prospering in today's rain. They were the same weeds I pulled four days ago. If it ever stops raining, I guess I'll pull them again.

Protesting

Today was the day I wanted to go and counterprotest that evil, tiny "church" of Westborough that is coming to Portland to picket all the synogogues. I wanted the Jews to know that I love them and that these fools do not represent Christianity. My husband forbade me. He said the police asked that nobody come and the best way to deal with these fools is to ignore them. It's hard when the press makes such a big deal about such a tiny number of people. Why? And who is paying for these people to fly around the country? My husband thinks it may be a homosexual group giving them money, betting they will end up raising more money and sympathy for them. So... I am resentfully staying home.
That reminds me of the time my son told me just before he went to play a football game in a tiny town that the tiny town's school coach headed up the local KKK, and my son's team had been racially heckled the last time they played there. I got fierce lion roaring mad and said I was going with them and if anybody said anything about my beautiful son they were going to hear from me! His eyes got wide and he pleaded with me not to go. Okay, fine. The game turned out to be quiet because the association told the school they would have nobody to play football with if they ever heckled like that again. And they would be banned forever. Better than me yelling.

Cover Illustrations

My eldest son said I could pay him whatever I wanted for the covers to the Shatterworld Trilogy he is working on. He did not think it fair to charge by the hour as I said I would because he is learning a new program and using the illustrations as the practice piece. So let's see, the first time Shatterworld alone was published I think the illustrator was paid $400 by the publisher. So three times 400 times the inflation from fifteen years ago is....something to contemplate. I hope my son takes payments.

My income work is not fun

Whine, whine, whine. If I must work, as I am "encouraged" to do, I wish I could use my college degree and work in a research hospital lab. But with my hearing as it is, I don't know if I'll ever be able to work in a lab again.
Next month I will work less, dropping to one day a week going to my wookie's house and washing feces off all the knobs and faucets and doors and then washing and brushing her, medicating, feeding, and then taking her out for a coffee and paper run. I find it so depressing and demoralizing. I think of all I had hoped for her and how hard I worked to give her opportunities how she has refused everything that might add a little width to her life. And then I realize that I am holding an improper attitude. I need to enjoy her for who she is and where she is right now. It is not my place to wish her to be something else. And yet, and yet.
I'll go to autism websites and asperger's websites and read missives from mothers asked for advice about one thing or another, and almost all of them say they love their kids and would not want them any other way. And I think, "Are you crazy?" I want my daughter to be different, to be able to talk, to be able to behave politely in society and at home, to be able to work for an income, to not beat me up when she's mad, to not be so destructive of machinery and goods around her etc etc. And then I think of my son with asperger's syndrome, and no, I would not have my delightful son be any different. Well, I would like him to write to me from time to time. And I do wish he had enough social whatever it takes to be able to network, schmooze, and find a wife. But that's just because I would like his life to be easier. Raising him was the easiest thing I've ever done, and fun too.

Finished Atlas Shrugged

I finally finished the longest book in the world. Well, maybe. I have never read Remembrance of Time Past by Proust. And I don't remember if I've read War and Peace or not. I've read a lot of Russian novels, and the fact that every character has at least four names keeps me confused. Back to Atlas: I found out what my husband was laughing about when he was listening on his MP3, among other things was that long speech by John Galt. He kept thinking about what the average radio listener would have thought will hearing that speech. Mostly, "What?" "Did he say cannibals? I'm not a cannibal. Why is he talking about Africa?" "What did he say?" "Is he ever going to shut up?"       I am so glad that libertarians have simplified the meaning of the book. Ayn's philosophy works well in a society composed only of healthy single adults without children.

Atlas Shrugged

I am reading the longest book in the whole world. I did not think Moby Dick was too long. I did not think Lord of the Rings was too long. Atlas Shrugged is way, way too long. The characters lecture each other over and over and, ahem, repeatedly. Just in case we don't get it the first or third or twelfth time. So I am interested in quirks by the writer: it is important and a matter of principle to wear expensive clothes. Slim equals good. Fat equals bad. Thanks a lot, anexoric Ayn Rand. High word count of violent, violence, serene, suffer, values, principles, motion, looters etc. There's a strain of sado-masochism in the sex, which puzzles me. My husband and I like each other and like sex, but not once have we thought S&M would add anything worthwhile to the practice.
This book exemplifies the basis of the libertarian party, and preaches a lot of what I can agree with, and preaches a lot of appalling morals. Except for two children so far, all the very few children seen are feral rats. Everyone in the government is a fleshy feral rat. I suppose that because it is a morality play there is no character development beyond the type needed in each space in the plot. One thing I like is the adoration given to the industrialists. I need to remember that she lived through the communist takeover of Russia and saw how they used language, and how they destroyed all viable means of production. She is warning us how that happens in this book.

Asberger's and consequences

The worst thing about having Asperger's is being so often mistaken, for me specifically about belonging to a group. I recently joined a critique group (the old one I belonged to for a decade ended when everybody moved or got a job) and was put on probation. Then my probation was extended an extra month because I did not give long enough critiques of the other members' works. OK, longer, more detailed critiques coming. So I thought I was doing okay and getting along with everybody when I got the email today telling me that I was being dropped from the group. I am blind-sided about this type of thing every single time. How is it that so often I think all of us are getting along in a group and I can't tell that I am truly bothering the other members? How can I stop bothering people when I can't even tell that I am bothering people? Heh, and my husband wonders why I don't join more organizations and get more social. He has never been asked to leave a group, (indeed he is usually asked to assume leadership) and so he has no idea how much it hurts.