Informing people

I have a blog at work and I decided to create it to inform people about the tools we use and how I make decisions about them, what the words I use mean, why something happens, etc.

It is important to me that people at work understand those tools. They often think there is a problem when what they see is normal and they should know how to use what is offered to them.

Also, they are the ones who have to answer questions by other users and they need to know what to say.

I guess I put lots of information in that blog. I think transparecy is important.

This morning my boss told me that maybe we could do a blog for the employees with lots of information and another blog for users with informations more on the 101 side. I think I would like that.

Information is not what my job is but I’m the only one using those specific tools and lots of people depend on the work I do. I didn’t know I had it in me to communicate so much info to so many people.

Publicités

Les nouvelles ne m’intéressent pas

Un de mes collègues a presque pété une fuse quand je lui ai dit que je ne regardais pas les nouvelles (pas de télé) et que je ne lisais pas le journal. Les nouvelles ne m’intéressent pas.

C’est déprimant, je me sens lourde quand je regarde Salut Bonjour ou que je regarde le cahier A de La Presse. Je deviens étourdie, je vois des points noirs, je respire trop. Puis, je fais des cauchemars. Tsé quand on parle de « trop d’informations »? Pour moi, TMI c’est les nouvelles.

Je comprends que, pour lui, c’est important. Mais, je ne comprends pas trop. Qu’est-ce que ça change de savoir tout ça ? La guerre, le terrorisme, les chiens écrasés, l’infertilité de Céline…ça change quoi ? Il ne fait pas plus une différence dans le monde en étant renseigné.

Je me considère comme une femme intelligente et cultivée. J’ai des opinions, je peux parler de presque n’importe quoi, j’ai du vécu. Je considère que ce qui se passe autour de moi, ça, c’est des nouvelles. Ma directrice qui a eu le cancer, mon ami qui fait une dépression, ma soeur qui est amoureuse, ma cousine qui trippe sur les cupcakes des Glaceurs, mon amie qui s’en va à Toronto pour le ToyCon en avril.

Avant de sauver les autres, il faut se sauver soi-même m’a dit un ami il y a des années de ça, quand les autres étaient plus intéressants pour moi que moi. Je me suis appliquée à me sauver moi-même. Depuis, je trouve que je suis importante et je vaux la peine. Je fais plus attention à moi, à ce que je dis, à comment j’agis. Je pense que pour faire une différence dans le monde, il faut commencer par soi, être le changement qu’on veut voir dans le monde (Gandhi). En partant de l’intérieur pour aller vers l’extérieur, je pense qu’on évite de se ramasser dans les nouvelles. On peut avoir un impact sur les gens autour de soi et ça devient comme les ondes dans l’eau quand on lance un caillou, du point où le caillou a touché l’eau, le rond s’agrandit pour finalement devenir une petite vague et des fois, il va jusqu’à la berge. Comme le battement d’ailes du papillon jusqu’au tsunami.

Je sais que j’ai eu de l’influence sur certaines personnes, que j’ai contribué à leur changement. Des fois, dans le moins bon, plus souvent dans le meilleur. Voir les gens vivre, penser, sentir, ça, c’est des nouvelles.

Non, je ne m’intéresse pas aux journaux. Mais, ça ne fait pas moi une conne.

The Drug Addict

I often go at the library on breaks or after work. It is open to everyone, warm, there are comfortable chairs and four very large floors so there are often homeless people in the hall or sleeping in the chairs. It usually doesn’t bother me. I fake not hearing them asking for money or speaking to me. If I look at them before realizing who it is, I smile and wish them a nice day. I only give money to some of them, mainly a twentysomething guy with dogs, or young girls.

I attract them and it has gotten me in trouble in the « yelling and being rude » kind of way. But as I was getting ready to take the stairs to go back down in the metro, there was a commotion. An old man, homeless and drunk, had fallen down the stairs. Two men were holding him, the security guards were calling for an ambulance. I picked up his things to give them to one of the guys and started taking the stairs.

A younger homeless guy started yelling that the old man was drunk, the old man sent him to Hell… The younger one started going down the stairs mumbling loudly about the old man’s ungratefulness. I finally said that maybe he didn’t like being told he was drunk.

I should have shut my mouth and fake being deaf and blind, mind my business and walked away. I had to reply !! He started talking loudly about how HE didn’t mind when people said he was drunk, that he was a drug addict and a guard had beaten him in the bus station’s public washroom as he had a seringe in his arm, society was unfair, people said things…

Every time I started walking away, he was following continuing his diatribe. I wanted to say something but what could I say to that ? And he was visibly high. I didn’t want him to follow me at work, I was shaken and uneasy. I don’t like hearing people talk about their drug use, I don’t like drunks. I felt sad.

I finally said that I felt uneasy about him talking about his drug use. He protested that he didn’t want that, that he was sorry, I should’ve told. I said I was telling him now. He walked away and I returned at work shaken and angry.

Sure I really disliked the whole thing. What made me angry was the « you should’ve told me » part. People expect me to « say something » as they tell their stories. I have to be rude, interrupt them to say I’m feeling this or that, or I have to say to them to stop whatever they’re doing. Well, news flash. Not everyone can identify what they are feeling in a nanosecond. And it takes more than a second to stop someone from telling their secrets, or their sobful stories, or their romantic intentions. I am often so shocked by the revelations that I am frozen !

I question myself on what can possibly send the signal that I’m interested (in this case I replied to what the guy was saying, obviously), that I want to hear that or that I care. Once I start asking myself how I can stop this, I have to plan a way to say I don’t want to hear it or I am not interested in a way that won’t be hurtful, too honest, rude… Let me tell you it isn’t as simple as saying Ciseaux.

I really wish some people would ask if they « can tell you something? » so I can say it depends what it is or say NO. Like that drug addict or the florist who was selling drugs…I wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional, ethical, sociological, emotional trauma the revelations leave me with.