![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Came home early from work -- someone was smoking a cigar in the lobby of the building (which has a cigar store), and it induced a pounding headache and nausea.
Looks like we're gaming tomorrow (the local AD&D game), but given the politics that have been swirling in the group lately, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about it. The GM just kicked out one of my best friends, who admittedly wasn't the best at the logistical aspects of the game, and that means *I* am the next player in line in terms of not playing well (in the eyes of the GM) -- and frankly I don't like the idea of constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. (R. has tried to reassure me on this, but I remain unconvinced.)
I just posted a pissy reply to one of MR's posts. God, this sucks. I am SO damned sensitive about perceived slights, about not being recognized for work that I've done.
Actually, there's a reason for that.
About four years ago, ICON Art & Design, the studio I was part of at the time, was invited to the Mid-Canada Hobby and Toy show as guests. I volunteered my time and talents to produce a website for the show, and put a lot of effort into it, as well as hauling our computer down to the show site so that I could demonstrate computer painting techniques, and let folks give it a try for themselves. In short, I worked my little ass off!
Comes Saturday evening, the show in full swing... and the guy who's running the show, Dan, gets on the PA to make an announcement urging people to come and visit the ICON stall.
Except he didn't do it as "ICON".
He specifically named the other two (male) artists in the studio, with GLOWING comments about the work they're doing.
And didn't say a word about me.
Not my name. Not my projects.
Zip.
Shock... then crushing shame and doubt... then rage to alternate with it.
That bastard. I gave him hours of free work promoting his show, and he FORGOT that I even existed.
Because I'm a woman? Who knows. Who cares.
A couple of years before that, I was going through a horrible period of suicidal despair. My husband called four of my friends and asked them to come over, to spend some time with me and help me out. When they got there, we all sat down in the living room, and in a halting voice I tried to talk about it.
And one of them kept changing the subject. She'd read somewhere that changing the subject "helped" depressed people.
Shit.
George is calling me to dinner, and his brother is over so I HAVE to be there.
Later. I repeat -- shit.
Looks like we're gaming tomorrow (the local AD&D game), but given the politics that have been swirling in the group lately, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about it. The GM just kicked out one of my best friends, who admittedly wasn't the best at the logistical aspects of the game, and that means *I* am the next player in line in terms of not playing well (in the eyes of the GM) -- and frankly I don't like the idea of constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. (R. has tried to reassure me on this, but I remain unconvinced.)
I just posted a pissy reply to one of MR's posts. God, this sucks. I am SO damned sensitive about perceived slights, about not being recognized for work that I've done.
Actually, there's a reason for that.
About four years ago, ICON Art & Design, the studio I was part of at the time, was invited to the Mid-Canada Hobby and Toy show as guests. I volunteered my time and talents to produce a website for the show, and put a lot of effort into it, as well as hauling our computer down to the show site so that I could demonstrate computer painting techniques, and let folks give it a try for themselves. In short, I worked my little ass off!
Comes Saturday evening, the show in full swing... and the guy who's running the show, Dan, gets on the PA to make an announcement urging people to come and visit the ICON stall.
Except he didn't do it as "ICON".
He specifically named the other two (male) artists in the studio, with GLOWING comments about the work they're doing.
And didn't say a word about me.
Not my name. Not my projects.
Zip.
Shock... then crushing shame and doubt... then rage to alternate with it.
That bastard. I gave him hours of free work promoting his show, and he FORGOT that I even existed.
Because I'm a woman? Who knows. Who cares.
A couple of years before that, I was going through a horrible period of suicidal despair. My husband called four of my friends and asked them to come over, to spend some time with me and help me out. When they got there, we all sat down in the living room, and in a halting voice I tried to talk about it.
And one of them kept changing the subject. She'd read somewhere that changing the subject "helped" depressed people.
Shit.
George is calling me to dinner, and his brother is over so I HAVE to be there.
Later. I repeat -- shit.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
*hugs*
i would just quit the game now instead of waiting and being stressed out.
what an awful feeling :(
Love you!!!
(no subject)
{{{Laurie}}}
If you need to talk, drop me a line or an IM tonight: I'm adding a Mother's Day page to the AIFFOA...