Back

I'm back, and back where I was too.

Haven't posted in a while, of course, and was thinking of calling the whole thing off. Then an episode happened. Was walking back from a gig in town, accompanying the female student with whom I had attended (as part of a course I teach her on), to ensure her safe return home. It's late, and I felt responsible.

Two blokes came walking towards us, and one of them hollered to me. "Hey! Are you two lesbians?... do you lick each other's muffs? Eh? Go on, go at it..." All I could muster was to tell him to fuck off. I should have asked him if he was surprised, with him as the alternative. I should have kneed him in the bollocks. I should have slapped him. But no. And I felt totally humiliated. I can put up with it... I'm used to it... but it always embarrasses me that I don't respond more forcefully. And tonight I felt so very angry that he had subjected my student to the abuse.

I will not teach this course again. I just won't. IQ can kiss my arse if she thinks I will. She has no power over me any more.

Here's to standing up.

Relief

Olga, Rabbit and I won. It wasn't a fight, exactly, but we got just about everything that we were proposing, and the changes made were good, and it all went through quite smoothly.

IQ, Juan, and Quiffy weren't there. It would have been much harder if any (or all!!) of them had been... Quiffy would have bleughed his soul and bemoaned the difficultness of everything; Juan would have been drole and dismissive and full of anecdotes (and Olga would've had a hard time chairing that...), and bemoaned the pointlessness of everything; and IQ would have done her thing of returning to topics half an hour after they were done.

As it was, we made some good decisions that don't affect any of them too much. The boys had sent apologies, but of course IQ's off the radar at the moment, so I think none of us care much what she thinks any more.

We all went for a drink afterwards, and I was happy to be in the company of such fine people. Hurray for democracy not working!

Worried

There's a saying, or a quotation, or something, that my lovely overgrown hippy M&P told me, in an effort to think outside or against (or something) The System: If democracy worked, they wouldn't allow it.

I'm nervous about tomorrow. Last time I wrote about being worried about days, it was V's funeral. That was worth worrying about. I'm quite sure this is not. We have a big all day meeting tomorrow for work, reviewing our curriculum provision. Oh, how lucky we are, in fact, that we are not bound by government ideas of what we should teach! And yet, with 13 full-time members of staff, agreement seems a thing only of fantasy. Some will probably not be there, for various reasons--Ylloh because she's not really here yet; Lion because she's not really here at the moment; and IQ because she's never really anywhere and (it is increasingly clear) is probably not entirely All There. But even with everyone else, and even hoping that Lion and IQ can make it, it will be a struggle. 7 hours of round-the-houses.

Olga says it's ok, because if she doesn't like what's agreed, she's in a position to make us all do it again, which since she and I are on the same side is Good News. But we've been planning this for a while; we carved out a stealth email that has given everybody the information ahead of time about what she/we were proposing, but was designed not to produce any thought or response. For the most part, it seems to have worked. As Olga says, you never go into a meeting not knowing what the outcome will be.

It's important that everyone feels like they've had the say that they want. But I'm worried that they'll all shout too loudly. Not literally--although that's crossed my mind--but in that one may call for one thing, another may call for another, and I can see it now... it'll be pulling in different directions, all individually... I can't expect anything else, but still... I want it to be easy.

I think Olga, Rabbit, and I have worked out a pretty sound proposal, and I just want them all to agree with it, without unnecessary backwardsing and forwardsing about notation and technical skills and oh-it's-all-the-A-levels'-fault. Big Sigh. I just want them to feel like they've had a say, but in the end to agree. It's really the only way....

More beautiful things: cycling, smiling, and listening

I had a day of noticing more beautiful things around me. Her ethey are in no particular order.

1. Cycling out to Olga's house: lovely calm weather, and the coming of dusk accompanied me... I felt very much alive for expending the energy and not driving.

2. On my journey: I stopped at some traffic lights, and there was a little girl in the back of the car next to me--she was maybe 2 1/2 or so... I smiled, she looked away. I waved, she smiled and looked away again. I saw her look back at me, and I stuck my tongue out. She returned the gesture, and we waved at each other, smiling, as the car drove away. I liked that I'd made the connection, and I knew that if someone had done that for Little Lad, he'd have been talking about the mystery cyclist for miles.

3. In the middle of the day at work, the shuffle on iTunes graced me with 'Je ne regrette rien'. I paused my day for the duration, and remembered V as I floated somewhere in the sound of the power and Frenchness of Piaf's voice. I shed some tears, but was happy that I had this reminder.

Done

There it is. It is done, and in the past. It is now just the Thing that ITHOM said it was.

The day for me started with the long drive, a drive that would have felt ten times longer had I not had the lovely, sensible, funny, and not too silly, L by my side in the car. We talked a lot, bitched about work, and then she slept. Even when she slept, it felt safer to have someone with me, just there. I put my mp3 player on, with earphones so as not to disturb, and listened to a lot of Yasmin Levy, a lot of Edith Piaf, and a lot of other stuff.

We found Rogers, who went straight to ITHOM and A, a grieving little triumvirate. We ate, I changed, and we drove to the crem. The weather was crap. It couldn't even rain properly. Rogers said he wanted thunder and lightning and a big gothic storm. I said, "This is weather for English grief, don't you think? Miserable but not really tragic or over-demonstrative." Someone else said, "No, this is really V funeral weather: raining, but not so much to ruin your clothes."

And that was really the tone of the afternoon: truly sad to have lost her, but with her somehow there all the time. We walked slowly into the chapel--a really beautiful building, modern, but nice--and waited more or less in silence. The service was bit heavy on the Catholic guilt for ITHOM and me... lots of 'condolence' knowing we'd 'meet our sister again in the house of the Lord.' Yep, been there, done that, scars to prove it. Ah well, as the minister and I agreed later, the ritual is a port in a storm. But overall, it was a truly lovely service. D, her widower, did fantastically well, and read the Shakespeare sonnet (116) that had been read at their wedding. I was of course a blubbering mess. Her sister-in-law and best friend had done her true justice in a fabulous outfit, and spoke of their shopping and dancing together. L had spoken a lot about the dancing in the car too. Rogers drew the short straw and read the bidding prayers. I was mightily impressed with how very obviously deeply he had committed himself to the role, despite his better judgement on the subject matter. And in between the readings, and the family politics, there was song: no hymns, thank God! no hymns. But Edith... who had coincidentally kept me company on the journey: 'Je ne regrette rien'. It was a fantastic recording, a live one, and I was only sad that they didn't let the applause run for longer in the chapel.

She was an odd-bod, in many ways... we all knew that, and everyone will admit it. But in the end, my judge of a good person is Posh, who had not warmed to V at all when we all had coffee in Montreal. Anyone Posh doesn't especially like is almost always a really good person. For myself, I'll always remember the Lovehearts sweets she sent after the book launch last September--a totally unnecessary thankyou for my organisational efforts, and such a very thoughtful one as we'd had a conversation that weekend about retro sweets. The choice of Edith was so apt: so very bright, and strong, and a sad story, but in the end we are left only with the strength, of Edith's voice; and of V's determination to do a really fucking good job of living.

So it's done. I've lost my funeral virginity, and I'll never hear that song the same way again. It's a Thing. But if for nothing else, I hope I can find one ounce of that determination and buff my own life up a bit.

I think I'm going to be sad

I think it's today.

Yes, with my Bach on in the background--as a ritual piece of music that is melancholy and mournful without being tragic and emotional--it's definitely today. I think Rogers might appreciate it... I'm worried for him. I went and defended him against what seemed like a truly banal comment on his post. Bloody people. They don't know. I admit, up against Rogers, ITHOM, AD, and the husband I never met, I don't know either. But I felt I knew more than this commenter... maybe not. Oh, now I feel bad...

I've spent the week largely distracted from the coming of today, the funeral. It was always going to be a really stupid week, with extra jobs to do, the usual Wednesday hell, and that when's-the-Easter-vacation feeling, desperate for a break... I got really irritated with my students on Wednesday. They deserved it all: they behave like children, in and out of class, and I told them I wouldn't wipe their arses for them... but it's not like me. Perhaps it should be. Anyway, then it all got worse at work, and now it's all awful. That's too complicated a saga to speak about today, but it's all contributed to a feeling that today might actually not happen in the end. Perhaps we'd just jump to Thursday, with its exhaustion and impending misery, to Saturday, with the sun rising and a feeling that this first hurdle was overcome.

But no, it's definitely today. I wish Olga could be here. She'd know what to do, how to be, how to support our friends. I know nothing. All I know is that as soon as I found out V was dying, all of about 3 hours before she finally went, I wanted to have seen her more recently, to have been able to say goodbye. And I know that because that was not possible, as it so often isn't in these situations, I have to go today to do exactly that. I'll have company in the car--a colleague form another department--but, like Rogers, at least today I feel very much like not seeing anyone, perhaps especially people I don't know. Over 100 people, ITHOM says, maybe 200. It's too many. I'm autistic enough at the happiest of group occasions; this is likely to be awful.

Mustn't forget tissues, Posh reminded me. I'll take some for my colleague too, and maybe Rogers. But I don't want to cry, much less look like I've intended to or expect it of others. It would feel too much of a display, too public. Nonetheless, I'm weak like that, and I will, and I will feel I have no right to. Tongue-biting, apparently, stops it. But now, the practicalities take over... showering, ironing, packing...

What is there to say?

What can I possibly say? Rogers and ITHOM have surely said it; they have said what they have the right to say; a friend is gone, and they feel the hole bigger than I; it's done... it's out there, and commented on, and so why do I feel the need or desire to say anything? What have I the right to feel?

I've spent the last week tied up in the comparatively banal, the mundane... IQ being a pain in the arse; worrying about my students; stressing about how many hours there aren't in the day to work; work, work, work... Others have spent the same time grieving, ahead of the time of passing.

Everything this friend could have done is now stopped. Anything more will be by the hand of those who are left. "Her book was nearly finished," said Rogers when I saw him... He said that efforts will be made to finish it for her. Good plan, I thought; seems right and proper. But what use is any of it? We are variously sad at her passing... but why does the unfinished work matter? I say this not to lessen her importance as a person while she was here, heaven forbid... but as another question about the importance of the work that any of us do. It is, for certain, what makes us Us. But none of it would help prevent a pointless death such as this one: isn't it all a little self-indulgent, what many of us do?

That said, perhaps "medical advances" and the like are in fact even more arrogant than the kind of work that we all do, and she did: perhaps those all-important scientific researchers, who are allowed to claim the moral high ground (indeed, to whom I willingly give said high ground so often...), perhaps they imagine they are doing something truly Worthy. At least I admit I'm doing what I do because it makes me happy, because I'm just interested; if anybody works to make themselves happy, to fill themselves with purpose, is that not one of the greatest things we can do to justify our own continued existence? And then, if we were to suddenly stop being able to do it, it would become pointless, unless it made someone else happy to complete it on my behalf, but only for them... this is not coming out right. My own instinct is to change, to try harder to make the most of the life I am lucky enough to have, to make my work more efficient, to make sure I finish as much as I can just in case... my counterinstinct is to consider everything totally pointless and jack it all in. But really, I guess I should just carry on what I do; we all should. Really, there's no point in doing otherwise.

As Rogers said of the passing of Baudrillard, we mourn to honour; if, at various conferences and in various publications, this friend is acknowledged in her absence, if her book is completed and posthumously published, it will be an act of honouring to mourn.

I don't feel the hole like Rogers and ITHOM, and others; but I feel a hole nonetheless. She was, it must be said (and it will be, many times, I hope), a singularly determined person who in that respect put the rest of us to shame. She was also, as ITHOM points out, utterly ready and resolved to her own imminent death. That, perhaps more than anything else she ever did in life, is something that totally humbles me. In a way, for my own part, it makes her death a little easier to take; it's cruel and pointless and it makes me angry, but in herself she was ready--it's the rest of us who weren't.