Ina Disguise's Blog: New blog, page 51

Today

It is going to be a charming and peaceful day, during which life actually improves and I do not have to worry about anything.

Yes it is

Yes it is

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Two months ago

Two months ago, I had just done the initial training for this job.  I was happy, I liked the people I was working with and I had my project to look forward to.

Then a number of things happened which have led to my crying after work rate to be at about 75 percent.

After the first manager I went and bought some of this, which sits next to me on my desk every day:

It is no less relevant today.

It is a shame that I cannot fix this.

I am not likely to feel inspired or safe any time soon.

(Please do not delegate helping people to the dude next to me.  He is even more inclined to piss other people off to make himself feel better and is not nice to deal with, sorry. I would take the tack of leading by example, but then I would also approach just about everything completely differently.  My life is not difficult in that respect.)

It was a good attempt anyway.

 

 

 

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Some Notes on Creative Process

This is a difficult general topic to approach, as everyone is different and you change in the course of your career.

In the case of Ina, the person behind this website was, I think it is fair to say, repressed.  My mother in particular, who latterly admitted that I was ‘a bit too sexy’ wanted to dissuade me from getting into terrible trouble.  I managed to get into some anyway, but probably not enough.

So, my artistic process usually arises from emotion.  I don’t really have a normal way of dealing with lust, love in a romantic sense, so my approach is to find a way of intellectualising or analysing it with a view to killing it dead as being undesirable.

Feelings are very inconvenient things really, especially when they are unrequited so I have often been glad of the outlet, but I see from the difference between my work and the work emerging from art schools that I have an unusually childlike and robust approach.

The pieces are very rarely designed, as such.  It is more of a process of gathering some random bits in a pile and then something emerges.  The writing is very similar.  I have a bundle of ideas which I reassemble into something coherent.

Some things, like my mother’s children, render me incoherent, so the quality tends to be more erratic.  Romance, however, seems to benefit from delays, problems and distance, so it is ideal for this emotional form of creativity.  The motion of making a carpet or sewing also emulates penetration, so it is quite a barbaric way of expressing myself.

Hence, it does not matter what happens, it is all useful. I can see from the last two posts, for example, that despite my fury I am extremely fond of the IBM, to the point that I don’t really want to touch him in case he breaks.

Creativity does give you a method of stepping back from things.  Things that upset you directly are often funny or extremely helpful in the bigger picture.  I had no idea I was so seasoned in people management until very recently.  I knew I was a decent boss, but I had no idea how finely tuned that is.

I also understand the safety of the Glass Wall, which is what my current project for Boris is all about.  It is not useful safety however, and I will not be retreating to suit anybody.  It is, sadly, a no compromise situation.

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Long views are always better

I’m a very straight shooter for a chick.  Always have been.  Life is easier when you’re straightforward and avoid getting side-tracked with bullshit.

Sadly, the Incredibly Beautiful Man is unable to open his mouth and let anything nice out.  I cannot help him with this, as apparently feeling secure is quite alien to him.

I tried demonstrating what grown-ups do.  I avoided responding to the chest-puffing fight or flight response.  I tried ignoring the slack-jawed staring and being gently patronising.  I have tried responding to bullshit by being extremely pleasant.

I have also given this person a lot of space and avoided any potential for friction.  The conversations I have attempted have been about work – either the work I’m actually doing there or my work.

I am also aware, because I can sit and watch it on this website, that this person repeatedly lies in order to make you feel small, for some reason I cannot fathom.  How this is supposed to help his personal relationships or interactions with people he works with I do not know?

So, it is rather unfortunate, but apparently the only people this person can manage to be nice to are people he can ridicule on some level that only he decides on.  Apart from that, he is a little OCD and a bit of a pain in the ass, and apparently lacks capacity to grow out of it.  This is most unfortunate.

So, because of this instability, I now have to leave a shift that I quite enjoyed and that I had friends on, for a shift where I do not know anybody.  The sooner this can be done the better for all concerned, as I am not likely to want to deal with this crap again.  I have twice had cause to tell this person that he lacks interpersonal ability, and I do not want to be put in this position again.

Why you would adopt this level of fragility when trying to deal with people I do not know.  I can only assume that it is inexperience.

The flirting element consisted of mimed communication and giggling, and I am again unsure how you are supposed to move on with that.  If only he was capable of relating to me as a person he would realise how unpleasant he was being, but he is acting out stuff I grew out of long, long ago.

Let that be a lesson to me about little people.  Keep them at a long, long distance.

 

 

 

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Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose

I am so done with bullshit it isn’t true.

I do not like being lied to, particularly when it is with a view to being disrespectful of the considerable work I put into my life.

I am not interested in insecure little boys.

I was managing teams of people when you were still out to play.

I would like to say that making me angry was still the way to my heart, but it really isn’t.

Please do not bother me on the next shift.  I do not want to hear you delegating your instructions to the person sitting next to me to relay either.  Grow up.

I put considerable effort into making you feel more secure, and this method of repayment is becoming a very tiresome theme, which I have demonstrated my disinterest in my putting in for a transfer off the shift.

Please find a nice boring girl and annoy her.  It is more your level.  I have rarely felt more like a tired husband dealing with a nagging wife.

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Cutesy Stories

Who knows how cute the next story will be?  I wonder what the level of cute in your story indicates?

I am very interested in the amount of swapping going on in the stories.  I do not interact with the Incredibly Beautiful Man terribly much, but I seem to have an awful lot to say, so much so that it takes several different characters to say it all.  I am quite happy with the way things are developing so far, although I am only marginally less terrified than I was in the first place.

I am looking a lot more writerly however, so it is a very useful process.

Also started sculpting the chair last night.  It is a big job, but I think it will be worthwhile, if somewhat expensive.

We are now entering a very difficult time, as five months has apparently been judged sufficient for my siblings to utterly disrespect my mother and I following their display of enthusiasm for her death.  They have made years of expensive mistakes which they frankly cannot afford to pay for.

I am, needless to say, less than impressed by the murderous little shits.  I wonder how much they think twenty two years of harassment and negative behaviour is worth?  I cannot imagine being them, so it is hard to imagine that they actually believe they would deserve anything.

This has been a hard month, however I am sure next month will be better.  Still waiting for cables, sigh.

 

 

 

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What do you know?

For the Incredibly Beautiful Man, who shall henceforth remain initialless.

“Stop here, I want to buy a paper.” Richard, faintly irritated by the heat, instructed his chauffeur, who acquiesced immediately. He got out of the limousine and strode across to the small tobacco and newspaper store. It was a grubby yet busy looking shop, brightly coloured baskets and fruit sitting outside to entice people in from the bright sunlight.

The older lady behind the counter looked at him sternly. He noted the curve of her neck, the grim expression. He found himself strangely engaged. He was so used to people being nice to him.

“Anything else?” She looked at the newspaper, and returned her gaze to Richard. He was aware that she did not recognise him, which was unusual.

“I don’t think so.” he tried smiling at her. It was not returned.

“Thank you.” she took his money and turned to shuffling the newly disturbed pile of papers.

“See you tomorrow.” Richard turned to leave. He was already looking forward to it.

When he arrived at the station, the usual crowd mobbed him. He was hustled into make-up, given his papers, taken in to the studio and presented his well-known politics show. Everyone knew who he was, surely? Why did the newsagent not know?

After the show, he went to his research department, berating them for not being ahead of the politicians he had interviewed. The Minister for Health had been particularly assertive today. Richard did not like this. Several junior researchers had been selected to take the blame for this, they bowed their heads accordingly.

Having extracted his pound of flesh, Richard had his make-up removed and looked at himself. Still a handsome man in his early sixties, he was aware that he had become isolated by his fame, but he had fought so hard for it all his life that it did not bother him. People were dead weight, obstacles to be overcome to get where you wanted to go. You couldn’t be at the top of a pyramid, however, without several layers of them beneath you so you had to tolerate them to a certain degree. He thought back to the newsagent, and wondered what she was doing. Her lack of recognition intrigued him. Evidently whatever it was, it wasn’t watching TV.

He chose a silk shirt and linen trousers and called for the chauffeur, who had been waiting for him all day.

“I want to buy a paper.”

“Another one?” the chauffeur was surprised at this change in the normal routine.

“Yes, same store.” Richard stepped back into his limousine.

The store was fifteen minutes away. The chauffeur knew better than to make conversation, since Richard did not like that. When they pulled up the blinds were down. Richard again got out and crossed the pavement towards the door. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, he just knew he wanted to see her again.

“Yes?” she looked up at him with the same nonchalant expression she had had that morning. Richard selected a newspaper.

“You bought that one this morning. Did you lose it?” She again failed to smile at him, or show any recognition of his importance. Richard felt a little dip of disappointment, and rather liked it.

“Yes, yes I suppose I did.” he felt awkward, nervous even. Richard had not felt like this in years. “You have been working a long time. When do you close?”

“6am until midnight, every day.” The disinterested newsagent pushed a stray curl from her face. She looked at him, a slightly insulting expression. “I guess you don’t work these hours, eh?”

“No, no I don’t. I guess there is no point in asking what you do in your time off?” Richard tried smiling at her again.

“Not a lot, no.” She ran a finger along the counter top. “We close on Sundays, though. I do the laundry, since you’re so interested.” she scowled at him.

“Ah I see.” Richard made further efforts to ingratiate himself. “I will see you tomorrow.” He felt a little excited at the boldness of this. What if she sneered at him?

“I suppose.” she pulled her apron back into position and flicked her black hair behind her before turning her back on him.

Richard was left with no option but to leave. He felt rejected. This, after years of having people trying to be nice to him on the basis of getting something out of it was almost refreshing. She really didn’t know who he was at all! What would it take to get her attention!

He considered methods of self-improvement on the way home. What could he do to get her attention in that tiny transaction, of buying his newspaper. What would get a person like her excited to see him? What did she think about, between customers? How could she stand sitting there all day, every day? What was she like with other customers?

The next day was one of Richard’s many days off. He resolved to see the shop when it was busy, to evaluate whether she actually disliked him, or was merely ambivalent to everyone. He saw brief flashes of her beautiful neck in his head, craning in some expression of ecstasy he supposed, the black curls dampened with sweat. How would he persuade her into such a position? How could buying his newspaper develop? Why was it so important to him?

He took the second car and waited outside the shop. He watched bustling through the window, saw her rub her sore back. Never did her expression change. She seemed to breeze through her long day in much the same mood. Would she ever smile for him? He found himself begging her silently. Please, please smile for me. What was her name?

Finally he went in, brushing past some buckets she had hung from above the door. He immediately apologised for the noise.

“You again!” She was serving another customer, but she nodded to him. “You want a job here or what?”

Richard shook his head. “I just came here to see you.” he did not smile as he gently flirted. Perhaps this would move things on.

The woman said goodbye to the previous customer with the same seriousness. “What would you like today?”

“Figaro.” he waved his hand vaguely at the newspapers and looked her in the eye. “What is your name?”

“Anna, but I am not a newspaper.” she glowered at him. Oh no! Had he made things worse? “What do you want?” she nodded like an impatient horse.

“I would like very much to take you out, Anna.” Richard tried being direct and very serious. “Is that possible?”

“I’m busy, and you are a fool. You don’t know anything about me.” A trace of bitterness entered her movements.

“I want to know Anna. Please let me take you out. Tomorrow is Sunday. We can have lunch.” Richard felt very awkward now, and he relished it. Anna was an unexpected and welcome challenge.

“It’s not that you aren’t cute. I’m sure you are, but I am not for sale here.” Anna looked him up and down. “What do you want with me, anyway?”

“You are so…different…so proud, so serious. I remember when I was serious. I want to know more about you.”

“That’s a shame. I think your life is too easy now. You know nothing.” Anna’s lip curled. “If I had daughters I would warn them about you.”

“You have sons?” Richard clutched at this straw with some desperation.

“No, I have no children. I am alone. Is that what you wanted, Mr Silk and Linen?” She still did not smile, but Richard was aware of some levity entering her mood. “You can ask all you want, I won’t say yes.”

“OK, Anna. I will see you tomorrow. Richard was despondent as he left the store.

So, he thought, she obviously wanted someone more serious. How could he achieve this? He resolved that he must not smile at her, ideally not look at her, and wear darker colours. His show must be less entertaining, more in-depth, less journalistic. He went home and made a few calls. His article for Figaro was more independent that week.

The following weeks saw Richard implementing a new strategy for his show. New suits had been bought, he had experimented with his hair, he had become more assertive with his interviewees. People had commented that he was more insightful, his viewing figures increased. He felt better about his career than he had for years. He returned to the newspaper store, feeling much improved.

“Anna.”

“Like a bad penny. You want to read about yourself?” Anna openly sneered at him this time as she waved the paper at him. “I see you’re on the front page. You think it’s funny coming in here?”

“Anna…I don’t come in because I think it’s funny. I want to take you out. Please let me take you out.” Richard was pleading with her now. “I think of nothing but you.”

“You know nothing. What could you want here?”

“I just want you. I want to see you smile. I want to dress you up and show you off. I just want to spend time with you.” Richard’s chest was heaving. “Please let me make you happier. I tried to make the show better.”

“I don’t watch your stupid show. What could it mean to me? Nothing you say will change things here.” Anna looked genuinely hurt. “I don’t know why you think this is some joke. I have to survive. You can come and go as you please.”

“What can I do, Anna?” Richard tried to reason with her. “Please tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” A tear was escaping his left eye. He could not quite believe that his life seemed to be becoming a Belgian tragi-comedy. What was it about this woman that so intoxicated him?

“This can’t be right. It is not real, you saying these things.” she shook her head. “This is not real life.”

“What is real life?” Richard asked her, exasperated.

“Real life is some brutal man in working boots, that leaves after one week. It is being called a whore in the market, because I wear red on a Sunday. Real is not some silly man in a limousine who laughs at me.” Anna was deeply offended. “What do you know?”

“Give me a chance Anna.” Richard was more determined than ever to prove his seriousness to her. “Let me show you.”

“I live above the store. Tomorrow is Sunday.” she looked away again.

“If I come at eleven?”

“Eleven is fine. If you’re late I won’t be here.” Anna did not look back at him. “If you don’t come, then don’t come back to the store.”

“I promise.” Richard resolved to cancel his previous plans with the president of the TV station. “I’ll be here, whatever it takes.”

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Am I worthwhile?

Fairly good day in terms of progress.  I still have a lot of paperwork to finish, but in terms of the physical work things are going fairly well I think.  Bit of sanding and stuff to do tomorrow, but looking good so far.

So, as we painted my new window today, we got to considering whether I am a good catch?

My inclination was first to look at my track record.  I am not great at relationships really.  I have been very lazy.  The relationships with new people did not go particularly well, usually because I was obsessed with work, and so I tended to rely on the very oldest ones long term.  I had the same three relationships at 40 that I had at 16.  Then I met Wolfe and despite being utterly horrible to him, all bets were off in terms of the old ones because there was no longer any point to them at all. This is nine years later, he is married anyway and our potential future together does not really involve romance.

Obviously, this issue is more cloudy because I have been here for 22 years, taking care of the property and my parents and over-working during the times when their issues were less pressing.  Therefore I just didn’t prioritise anyone.  So, I would conclude on the basis of the quality of my attention, probably not so great in the past.

I also have a tendency to chase people away at random times, and this is not so great either.  Sometimes this is just intolerance, and sometimes it is lack of space.  I seem to need a lot of space, which doesn’t suit everyone.

I’m very faithful on the plus side, as I am usually too interested in other things to be bothered with more than one relationship at a time unless everybody knows about it.  So I think I can give myself a point for honesty.

I’m not very easy to entertain, since I am, when not being Ina Disguise, very shy and I do not normally watch a lot of TV unless I am sewing, I do not care about movies, I rarely eat out and I do not drink.  This makes things kind of awkward, although if I were to be offered coffee and backgammon I would probably be delighted.  My exs fully expect to be painting, gardening or taken out on mammoth drives to nowhere when they visit, so again on the plus side you get to see interesting places and do a lot of chatting, but it is probably not everyone’s cup of tea.

Sometimes when I am at home, I will wander off and vanish into different parts of the house for an hour or so.  This can be quite alarming if you don’t know it’s going to happen.  I guess I am quite spoilt and anti-social in this respect.

I’m also very scruffy most of the time, although I have got slightly better lately because of my return to work.  The scruffiness is because I sometimes start painting, sculpting or otherwise absent-mindedly making something so if I do not make sure I am wearing something I can damage, I end up having to buy a lot of clothes.

I am really good at cooking though.  I am also fully capable of doing my own gardening and repairs, so I never really have to ask anyone to do anything apart from help me lift heavy things now and again. There is usually at least one masterplan, so there is nearly always plenty of random weird stuff to do.

I live in an amazing house and have devoted cats, so I am doing something right.  I am also very good at taking care of people.  I can be quite funny, and quite grumpy, sometimes at the same time.  When I am interested in something, I tend to focus quite well although I do like breaking things to see how they work.

I think that just about covers it.  I will be writing story four for the Indescribably Beautiful Man this evening. (he has no name now, sorry)  The base for his chair arrived today, as I had ordered it before discovering that he has no name.  I have no idea what I am going to call it or how to deal with the no name thing, but I am sure I can figure something out in the next six months or so.

 

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Tons of Work

Tons of work to do at the moment.  I have material to finish, once the stuff finally arrives, work to do on some areas at home, administration stuff to get out of the way before the cabling finally arrives for Boris, and Boris himself is still being perfected.  I want him to look as good as possible before we commit to film.

I frequently enjoy my home a bit too much.  It is a joy to live in, and I am very grateful for the many years I put in earning the right to be here. I do, however, miss my parents.

My father, as I have previously mentioned, had a fascinating life.  A rebel’s rebel, he did not even tell my mother what he went through, and when I told her some things after he died, she was extremely shocked.

He would be delighted at how things have turned out, and so I regard everything I do as being as much for him as for me.  It is a lot of work for one person, but if you love your surroundings as much as I do, it does not feel as much as it probably is.

There is a lot going on, so it is a bit like an endless game of Tetris.

Today is remediation and administration.  My local council owes me a few hundred pounds that could be spent on other things.  This I will put towards some further developments.

In the meantime, I have to get this batch of irritating work out of the way to move on to more progressive work.  Ina’s future really depends on the decisions I make right now.  I have relaxed a little since Christmas due to shell shock, however I cannot spent two years grieving as I did for my father.  I am not sure if grief is easier after a few people, or whether I will suddenly find that I feel just as bad.

I am just aware that I do not want other people to experience threats and frankly disgraceful behaviour from so-called professionals, and I do not think carers should have to tolerate what they go through on top of the emotional stress of being a carer.  It is a dangerous and stressful roller coaster.

I also have to pin down our activity when the cabling finally arrives, so that we can get our introductory work out of the way in an extremely short timeframe.  The more work I can get out of the way the better.

I think right now, however, I will enjoy some quality time staring at the flower garden whilst I construct today’s gameplan.  It is important to me not to have to discuss these things with the IBM (incredibly beautiful man) should I ever be able to persuade him to visit.  Some things aren’t worth the airtime.

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A rare post about cats

In the course of my strange meandering life, I have had several different cats. I tend to rescue or inherit them, and since I am known to several different pedigree rescue and rehome organisations, I am now considered worthy of cats with special needs.

My ragdoll was unusually violent and considered insane, and was a little bit like a delinquent teenager when he first came.  He has shown excellent taste in humans and is now one of the happiest and most loyal cats I have ever had.

My bengal was a failed show cat, and is the mother of two of the best show cats in the world, however her unusual temperament meant that she was unable to be a show cat herself.  She is unusually intelligent and leads from behind, and has taught me a lot about cat handling and leadership strategy.

I got my cat-cred because of a Siamese I placed with an elderly friend.  He had been a stud, and when he first arrived he was so concerned by the lack of dominance in the house that he became quite aggressive with my friend.  Several hours of therapy ensued, during which I showed my friend how to explain things to a cat.  She thought spanking him was the answer, which of course is meaningless to a cat.  The way to deal with this is very gentle dominance.

You can do this with a blanket and your hand.  Wrap your cat up in the blanket, so that he or she cannot move, hiss and flex your fingers briefly, then let your cat go.  If you do this over a few days, your cat should then be able to relax as they know that you are a bigger cat and quite scary, but mean them no harm.  Shouting at your cat or chasing them is threatening, whereas gently telling them that you are capable of defending your mutual territory makes perfect sense, especially as in your cat’s head, you are doing the hunting.

My friend has terrible difficulties with my female Bengal, as he moves and talks much the same way she does.  She is deeply suspicious of his unpredictability as a result, and is utterly convinced that he plans to eat her.  From this you can see that cats interpret your moods with some considerable accuracy, and that your anxiety is deeply troubling unless your cat is secure enough to have achieved an advanced level of understanding.

With Bengals in particular, your facial expression also means quite a lot, so it is important to be serene for a happy cat life.

What scientific studies seem to have failed to understand is that cats are primarily spatial.  The territory, surfaces, physics of their surroundings are incredibly important as they are in the middle of a food chain.  You are part of those surroundings, and so they are also testing you as they go about their day testing how best to escape difficulties, how squashy the chair is, how far the light fitting can swing etc etc.  Surfaces that cannot be tested are a source of stress, so it is in your interests as a responsible cat owner to make sure they have access to as many as possible, especially at height.

Finally, cat relationships are determined by how well they get to know those surroundings, so if you are having problems with a dominant cat, it is simply a case of moving the furniture and getting the submissive cat in first so that they have the advantage.  For this reason I introduced my delinquent ragdoll to my trade union leader bengal on her territory, and it worked perfectly.  She pretends that he is in charge most of the time, but when it comes to bursting open a new box of pouches, enlists his muscle to break the box, whereupon she will slash the packets open for him so that they can find their favourite flavours. From this you can see who really wears the claws, but you would never know most of the time.

There ends a cute post about cats.

 

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