I’m still not able to work out at the gym because of the pinched nerves in my back—unless I stick to my physical therapy exercises, which don’t take very long—but I’m hoping to get back to it soon. I had really been enjoying my workouts, and not just because I liked my trainer. In the meantime, I’ll have to get my fitness fix another way—so enjoy these pics of men working out.
I cannot stress enough how glad I am to be working from home today. I left work yesterday not only angry but deeply frustrated.
There are two things I simply cannot abide in the workplace:
These two things often go hand in hand, and when they’re used deliberately to make another person look bad or uncomfortable, it’s just plain sabotage. You cannot tell someone one thing, change your mind without informing them, and then act as though they’re the problem. And to make matters worse, after being rude and uncommunicative, that same person complains about how hard their job is and asks you to do it for them.
I’m all for helping coworkers, but when someone constantly says they’re “too busy” to help with even the smallest task—especially because they’re working on a side job they’re getting paid extra for—it crosses a line. The arrangement is supposed to be simple: make up the time you miss, and don’t work on the second job during your regular hours. Yet somehow, those rules seem to apply to everyone but them.
While these examples come from within my own department, the same rudeness and lack of communication seem to be spreading campus-wide. Every time I have to depend on another department lately, it turns into a source of stress and frustration.
Yesterday, after a week of this nonsense, I’d had enough. My boss got an earful. Her advice? “Stop being such a nice person.” That’s easier said than done. I know how to be assertive, but having to be aggressive only increases my anxiety.
So, if any of my readers happen to know of a university museum looking for an educator or a programs-and-outreach person, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I already have a few applications out there, but it’s time to start looking actively instead of passively.
I have a museum conference coming up soon. While networking isn’t something I usually enjoy, I’m actually fairly good at it when I need to be. As much as I love my institution and my job, it may simply be time to move on.
For now, I’m just grateful it’s Friday and I can breathe again.
Yesterday’s program is finally behind me. Attendance was low—embarrassingly so—but at least the caterer did prepare our food, and the speaker turned out to be excellent. Everyone who came really enjoyed his talk.
I just wish more people had been there to hear it. The event didn’t get advertised the way it should have, and that certainly didn’t help. Still, it’s done now, and all I can do is move forward and focus on making the next programs more successful.
Some days, that’s all you can do—take the lessons, let go of the frustration, and keep going.
I’m ready for today to be over with. The public program I have today has been one of the most frustrating I’ve ever done. It feels like one disaster after another.
It started with the dates. I couldn’t get anyone to settle on them soon enough for the promotional materials, so they barely got out on time. My two speakers were arranged by someone outside the museum, and they’ve hardly communicated with me. The caterers have been equally silent—though, at this point, I’ve come to expect that kind of incompetence from them.
Then the government shutdown forced one of my speakers to cancel, and my remaining speaker emailed just yesterday to ask what he should talk about. If he’d communicated like most speakers do, this would have been settled weeks ago. To make matters worse, the VIP who was supposed to introduce him backed out at the last minute because something “more important” came up.
And then there are my coworkers. Some of the laziest, most self-centered individuals I’ve ever worked with. When I ask for help, even with the smallest tasks, I’m met with bad attitudes or outright refusals. Yet they’re the ones who want to change parts of my job so I’ll end up doing parts of theirs. That’s not going to happen.
One of them even took a work-from-home day today, despite knowing there’s an event. Under my previous boss, that was never allowed—you couldn’t take a remote day on an event day. But apparently, that rule doesn’t apply anymore. I give up my own work-from-home days all the time to make things run smoothly, but when she’s asked to be flexible, she refuses.
I am tired. I am anxious. I just want this day to be over with. I’m sick and tired—literally and figuratively—of everything. I just want this disaster to end. I fear today is going to be an embarrassment.
Oh, and of course it’s raining. Bad weather always means a smaller crowd. I just hope people show up, and that we have food to serve them.
At this point, if anything goes right today, I’ll count it as a victory.
A Decade
By Amy Lowell
When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
Amy Lowell’s short poem, A Decade, captures the evolution of love — the way passion’s first sweetness can mellow into something sustaining, quiet, and sure. What begins as fire becomes nourishment; what once thrilled the senses becomes something that feeds the soul.
Today marks ten years since I moved to Vermont, and I can’t think of a better poem to mark the occasion. When I first arrived here, everything felt intoxicating — the crisp air, the mountains, the openness, and the sense of possibility. It was all red wine and honey to me. After years in Alabama, where life could feel restrictive and closeted, Vermont’s freedom and acceptance were a revelation. I felt like I could finally breathe. Over time, that sense of wonder has become something steadier and deeper — morning bread, as Lowell writes — familiar and sustaining, but no less meaningful.
In some ways, Vermont and Alabama are opposites — politically, culturally, even spiritually. Yet both share a rural heartbeat: farming, hard work, and community. The difference lies in what those values are used to nurture. In Vermont, I found a place that allows people to live authentically. It’s where I began to heal, to come out of my shell, and to rediscover the rhythm of a quieter, freer life.
Of course, not all of these ten years have been easy. I lost one of my closest friends not long after moving here, and the grief nearly consumed me. The depression that followed was heavy and persistent, and therapy, rather than helping, only seemed to make things worse. What truly got me through was my friendship with Susan — her kindness, her patience, her ability to listen when I couldn’t even find the words to explain the ache inside. She helped me remember that love and friendship don’t end with loss; they simply take new forms in memory and gratitude.
There have been lighter moments, too — like those early days when I was still unpacking boxes and sleeping on an air mattress, and curiosity led me to open Grindr. My bed hadn’t even arrived yet, but a stranger did. We hooked up, and oddly enough, I still see him occasionally — sometimes by chance, sometimes on purpose. It was the first of many reminders that life has a way of surprising you, even when you think you’ve planned everything out.
Ten years on, Vermont feels like home. I’ve gained friends and lost a few to distance, but I’ve grown in ways that younger me — newly arrived and slightly bewildered — could never have imagined. The sweetness of new beginnings has become the nourishment of belonging.
If you’ve found a place that lets you be yourself, cherish it. Whether it’s a physical home or a state of mind, those are the spaces where we grow into who we truly are — where life becomes less about surviving and more about being completely nourished.
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The Closet Professor 