lisah, that just sucks for you. I'm sorry.

I did a work thing that has been on my to do list for months and it literally took 15 minutes!!!

When I do that, it's both awesome and frustrating. Awesome, because: it's done! And it only took 15 minutes! But frustrating because: it was only 15 minutes—why didn't I do it sooner to get it over with?

It's 78 and windy here, and the pressure is changing drastically as a storm is coming in for tomorrow, and my head is starting to get wonky. But fortunately I prevailed in the Migraine Meds Preauthorization Saga of 2025, so I have Ubrelvy if an actual migraine shows up. In the meantime I took Excedrine Migraine (which is acetaminophen, aspirin, and caffeine), which honestly works pretty well if I take it at the very very very first sign of a maybe-migraine. So fingers are crossed!

Way to go, AMA! That's heartening in dismal times.

Just got back from my first Pilates class. It's only an 8 minute walk from my house. Very SF, very - dare I say it - diverse, equitable and inclusive.

This is going to be a perfect complement to running and something I can do in the rainy winter.

Turns out running regularly for six years actually has been good for my health because I only flailed at some of the belly-down movements, but otherwise I was able to keep up with a beginner class.

Came home and made a patty melt on Laura's Hero bread (toasted) and that was just the thing.

Then I chugged some liquid collagen I'd been seduced into buying because Alyson Hannigan has been shilling it. Anyway, my joints need all the help they can get.

I'm leaving for LA next Thursday and I've been working on my speech for Josh's memorial.

Lots of messages since I last logged in.

I know exactly where my birth certificate is.

My passport is almost always with reach since I travel a fair amount. Right now it is in a tray on my desk about 8" in front of this keyboard.

I still spend a lot of my time on ladders, and rooftops, and on contruction sites. I try to be very deliberate about my actions and moves. One. reason is to avoid injury, the other is to model my expectations of safety to the rest of my team.

Recovery~ma, Brenda!

Wrist~ma, Steph. And go AMA!

I found out today that the university that I work for is on the list of schools that did DEIA in ways the current administration doesn’t like and wants to punish. And I’m rather proud of that. If your organization isn’t on Trump’s shit list for crimes against mediocre white dudes, what are you even doing with your one precious life?

Tim brought home peanut butter pie for Pi Day. He's such a keeper.

Quick vent: my father is such a piece of shit. He called me to tell me about his cardiology follow-up today after last week’s cardioversion, and after he talked about that for 10 minutes, he actually asked how I was. I told him I have to get carpal tunnel surgery, and I managed to talk about it for maybe 2 minutes (I swear I am not exaggerating the time) and then he interrupted me with “Yeah, when they drew blood from my arm today, it left a bruise on the inside of my elbow.”

There was no conversational lead-in for that. I wasn't talking about me getting blood drawn. He just decided that we had talked about Not Him for too long, and we needed to get back to talking About Him.

My therapist has asked me why I don’t just loudly interrupt on my end and say “WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ME,” but honestly, the less information he has about me and my life, the better. It just still makes me sad that he doesn’t actually give a single shit about me except in terms of what I can do for him. I’m hoping at some point I can unlearn that reaction, and not give a shit on my end that he doesn’t give a shit on his end.

I guess I could go for the nuclear option and tell him he's an abusive piece of shit, but that would commit me to a whole protracted discussion/argument/guilt-trip that I don't want any part of. Keeping contact to a minimum seems to be what works best.

Fuck him. He gets no peanut butter pie.

No pie of any kind for him! I'm sorry he is such a shithead.

And it's sad for him that he doesn't get to have a real relationship with either of his kids, because, frankly, we're awesome. He should be so fucking lucky.

And instead of finishing my editing, I'm rapid-texting my brother to yell about Dad. I have invoked Kingpin (aka, the fictional character who, as a kid, killed his abusive dad with a hammer).

Just to be clear, I have no desire to actually kill my dad, with a hammer or otherwise. I just really appreciate the catharsis (as in ancient Greek theater) of fictional characters whose piece of shit fathers get what's coming to them.

And it's sad for him that he doesn't get to have a real relationship with either of his kids, because, frankly, we're awesome. He should be so fucking lucky.

That's the truth. I'm sorry you are subjected to him and glad you have what sounds like a good therapist. And pie!