Let me start with a simple fact: Never have I ever been skinny.
Well, not when it counted. I was born underweight, and the few pictures my parents took tell me I was a normal kid. I didn't start ballooning up until elementary school.
Now, here's where the story splits. Mom swears that the doctor told her that I needed to gain weight, so she started making me eat more. Dad says that she wanted me to be unattractive so that boys wouldn't like me and I wouldn't be pregnant at 17 like she was. Either way, she always made sure I had plenty on my plate and didn't leave the table until I finished. When she left dad, she mostly stopped buying vegetables, and when she did, they were hers. No I couldn't have some strawberries, those were hers, if I wanted something sweet why couldn't I just have the ice cream?*
So here I am, growing larger and more shunned by society, so on, so forth. I don't have anything resembling self esteem. And since 18 I've gone through more than a few rounds of starving myself, the occasional bout of bulimia. I went a month where I didn't eat anything solid, once. Made it twenty days into the ABC diet. And now, thanks to the new ownership of a technological device made after 2008, I've downloaded myfitnesspal and started doing it the "healthy way".
My bestie Tony and I were getting lunch today, and I mentioned that I couldn't wait until I was thin. He looked at me for a moment, choosing his words carfully, then told me that he wasn't always sure that my reasons for losing weight were healthy, or that they made sense(and that he wondered who did that to me, who gave me those ideas).
It made me realize something extremely dishearting: losing weight will never be a healthy endeavor for me. It doesn't matter how I do it, I'll always have an unhealthy mentality. I'll never love myself, at any size.
I might learn to tolerate myself, though.
*In hindsight, this is actually an emotionally abusive tactic. Make healthy food inaccessible, then berate me for being fat. Cripple the self esteem in it's formative years and you've got... Well, something that won't think they can ever leave.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Rags to Riches, Weeds to Wishes
A Facebook friend of mine who often posts sweet, cute, and inspirational things shared this picture this morning.
I'm not one for touchy-feely, lovey-dovey shit(Who am I kidding? I'm a sucker for an Instagram filter and some song lyrics), but this one made me happy.
Because after all the things that have happened, the good, the bad, the somewhere in between, I still see a dandelion as a wish.
And I think that says quite a lot.
Friday, September 26, 2014
The Curtain Must Close
Last Friday, I woke up feeling refreshed and happy. Just before waking up, I'd had the most beautiful dream. My old director was back in town(or maybe I was in Texas. Who knows?) I don't remember the play or the rest of the cast, but I remember her smiling, the kind of smile that comes when you're surrounded by your loved ones and know where you belong. It was a dream filled with such life and joy that I told my boy about it before work.
Of course, peace usually can't last. A few hours later, I received what I'm considering the worst Facebook message of my life: She was dead. And I say dead because it's the truth; "Passed away" or "gone" can't convey the hollow thud of "dead".
In only a moment, I could feel myself start to come apart at the seams. Here I was, at my work desk, in front of all these people, and I was about to dissolve. It can only be called serendipity that my boy had gotten a job in my department, and that the message came through when he was on break. I sought him out and immediately broke down(according to him, my words were unintelligible, and he thought I'd said "I need a doctor". To his credit, he jumped up as soon as he saw me, and sat with me for a bit while I composed myself despite his emotional constipation).
The news had been given to a few of us first, but soon spread across Facebook. Over and over, I saw people comment on how saddened they were to hear about this. I remained silent.
Messages were exchanged between the groups, about celebrations of life and such. I remained silent.
People sent me messages, both about her and about life in general. But in the face of death, I ignored death, and I remained silent.
I haven't been handling it well. There's been a lot of crying, first of all. Most of it was just before falling asleep, when I didn't have to keep it together anymore. He would hold me tightly and kiss my forehead, but it couldn't stop me until I was all cried out. I drank a lot over the weekend. My coworker took my shift Sunday, so I stayed in my pajamas and gave myself mild alcohol poisoning(not on purpose). Lots of video games, lots of scrolling mindlessly through internet sites. My dishes and laundry went undone, and we lived on takeout and Dollar General snacks.
And now, one week later, I'm writing this. I've broken my silence. But, I don't feel any sort of catharsis. It's not any better. I'm sad because she's gone, sad because I never visited her in Texas. I'm outright depressed that the next time a thunderstorm rolls in to Pflugerville, Tulip will be looking for her mommy and she won't be there. Her daughter has so much to still go through, and her son, and I don't know how they'll do it(emotionally or financially). Sad because the Peake Players are officially finished. Tired of aching.
There's a metric fuckton of people looking at me to plan a celebration of life. And I'm honored that everyone assumes that if something happens, it will come from me, but I don't want to. I want to stay at home and quietly stew in my misery until it's bearable. I'm going to, of course-her life should be celebrated, and we all need to come together again. Sometimes we are born with greatness, sometimes greatness is thrust upon us, etc.
The only comforting thing about all of this is the dream I'd had that Thursday night. I know enough about the world and life and death to know that I don't know anything. I can't accept that I felt such happiness and peace and remembered her smile as just a "dream". I felt her go, absolutely. It doesn't make me miss her any less, but at least she went in peace.
Of course, peace usually can't last. A few hours later, I received what I'm considering the worst Facebook message of my life: She was dead. And I say dead because it's the truth; "Passed away" or "gone" can't convey the hollow thud of "dead".
In only a moment, I could feel myself start to come apart at the seams. Here I was, at my work desk, in front of all these people, and I was about to dissolve. It can only be called serendipity that my boy had gotten a job in my department, and that the message came through when he was on break. I sought him out and immediately broke down(according to him, my words were unintelligible, and he thought I'd said "I need a doctor". To his credit, he jumped up as soon as he saw me, and sat with me for a bit while I composed myself despite his emotional constipation).
The news had been given to a few of us first, but soon spread across Facebook. Over and over, I saw people comment on how saddened they were to hear about this. I remained silent.
Messages were exchanged between the groups, about celebrations of life and such. I remained silent.
People sent me messages, both about her and about life in general. But in the face of death, I ignored death, and I remained silent.
I haven't been handling it well. There's been a lot of crying, first of all. Most of it was just before falling asleep, when I didn't have to keep it together anymore. He would hold me tightly and kiss my forehead, but it couldn't stop me until I was all cried out. I drank a lot over the weekend. My coworker took my shift Sunday, so I stayed in my pajamas and gave myself mild alcohol poisoning(not on purpose). Lots of video games, lots of scrolling mindlessly through internet sites. My dishes and laundry went undone, and we lived on takeout and Dollar General snacks.
And now, one week later, I'm writing this. I've broken my silence. But, I don't feel any sort of catharsis. It's not any better. I'm sad because she's gone, sad because I never visited her in Texas. I'm outright depressed that the next time a thunderstorm rolls in to Pflugerville, Tulip will be looking for her mommy and she won't be there. Her daughter has so much to still go through, and her son, and I don't know how they'll do it(emotionally or financially). Sad because the Peake Players are officially finished. Tired of aching.
There's a metric fuckton of people looking at me to plan a celebration of life. And I'm honored that everyone assumes that if something happens, it will come from me, but I don't want to. I want to stay at home and quietly stew in my misery until it's bearable. I'm going to, of course-her life should be celebrated, and we all need to come together again. Sometimes we are born with greatness, sometimes greatness is thrust upon us, etc.
The only comforting thing about all of this is the dream I'd had that Thursday night. I know enough about the world and life and death to know that I don't know anything. I can't accept that I felt such happiness and peace and remembered her smile as just a "dream". I felt her go, absolutely. It doesn't make me miss her any less, but at least she went in peace.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Advice from Grampa
“There are only two ways to live your life. One is
as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a
miracle.”
-Albert Einstein.
I can't remember exactly what happened last week. Maybe I read it in a book, maybe I happened on it in my inner monologue, maybe it was all that and more combined. It was a sudden realization that everything on this Earth, every single thing, was the result of tiny little miracles, and that it was all infinitely beautiful.
The way the water glitters in the sun is beautiful, and the way Eskimos have so many words for snow is beautiful, and the way my hand fits right on his waist is beautiful, and how we've made hundreds of thousands of songs out of the same seven notes is beautiful, and the way smoke curls and moves is beautiful, and the millions of miraculous mysteries of the human body are beautiful, the fact that all I have to do for food is but an egg in hot water for twenty minutes is beautiful, and that I can write these words and the whole world can read them is beautiful, and combustion engines and garbage trucks and silt and trees and video games and theatre and blood and paper and metals and smoothies and diet soda and air and mountains and coffee and sleazy diners and comic books and riots and protests and suburbs and the varieties of human emotion and the evils that people choose to do(which are beautiful because it means that we can choose to be good and kind, that we have a choice-beauty that exists in the negative spaces is beauty, too) and relativity and colors and all the things we don't know, because there's beauty in the possibilities that we can't even comprehend yet.
And there's a definite beauty in the way just thinking about the miraculous things in the world, and all the miracles that happened to get us here, totally zens me out. I was angry, and now I've got nothing but inner peace.
There
are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a
miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
- See more at:
http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=255#sthash.m0qhMk2D.dpuf
There
are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a
miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
- See more at:
http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=255#sthash.m0qhMk2D.dpuf
There
are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a
miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
- See more at:
http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=255#sthash.m0qhMk2D.dpuf
There
are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a
miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
- See more at:
http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=255#sthash.m0qhMk2D.dpuf
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
The Side Effects of No Validation
I've noticed a trend with my boy's mother, and I'm starting to get really irritated.
She's been around an awful lot for someone who lives two hours away. And, granted, she may be trying to make up for lost time with her kids. I get that. But the curteous thing would be a little bit of notice(though, even when she gives more than a day, he forgets to tell me until the last minute). Alright, ok, just a small irritation. I'm always annoyed when people drop in that I need to clean for, and I didn't get to clean because I didn't know they were coming.
I like his mom, I do. She has great taste, she's very funny, always nice to me. But sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn't like me much. She's a Facebooker; She tags, takes pictures, everything. But somehow, I never end up in her pictures. I'm never tagged.
Last night, my boy and I had to de-flea our apartment. No problem, but it involved us leaving for an hour or so to let things settle. So, our plan was to grab dinner, come back and finish the job, and then I could go to auditions. Good plan, right? I was going to use that dinner to sit and have a talk with him about some of the boundaries we need to set at work. Those kinds of conversations are always better in a neutral place.
As soon as we walk in, she texts him about dinner, and he invites her to join us. Alright, puts a damper on the things I had hoped to accomplish, and I dislike eating in front of people that I don't know very well, but whatever. She arrives, his little brother comes too, and it's great. So great, in fact, that we sat there for three and a half MOTHAFUCKIN HOURS. Three. And. A. HALF.
Good thing there's more than one audition.
So after all this, there's a brief bit of picture-taking, and we part ways(in a monsoon, no less). And this morning, I go to work, finish my tasks, and hop onto Facebook to see how the world at large is. Oh, Robin Williams is still dead, everyone's still sad(I mask my pain with apathy), and what's this? Haha, what a cute picture! And she tagged him. Funny, he doesn't even use Facebook. And... not me? Well, then.
I can't figure out if this is a matter of "you aren't my son's real girlfriend, so I don't have to acknowledge the relationship", or "I don't like you", or just an oversight. And, frankly, any fucks I gave about this subject flew out the window because I just found out my dad is in the hospital.
Dueces.
She's been around an awful lot for someone who lives two hours away. And, granted, she may be trying to make up for lost time with her kids. I get that. But the curteous thing would be a little bit of notice(though, even when she gives more than a day, he forgets to tell me until the last minute). Alright, ok, just a small irritation. I'm always annoyed when people drop in that I need to clean for, and I didn't get to clean because I didn't know they were coming.
I like his mom, I do. She has great taste, she's very funny, always nice to me. But sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn't like me much. She's a Facebooker; She tags, takes pictures, everything. But somehow, I never end up in her pictures. I'm never tagged.
Last night, my boy and I had to de-flea our apartment. No problem, but it involved us leaving for an hour or so to let things settle. So, our plan was to grab dinner, come back and finish the job, and then I could go to auditions. Good plan, right? I was going to use that dinner to sit and have a talk with him about some of the boundaries we need to set at work. Those kinds of conversations are always better in a neutral place.
As soon as we walk in, she texts him about dinner, and he invites her to join us. Alright, puts a damper on the things I had hoped to accomplish, and I dislike eating in front of people that I don't know very well, but whatever. She arrives, his little brother comes too, and it's great. So great, in fact, that we sat there for three and a half MOTHAFUCKIN HOURS. Three. And. A. HALF.
Good thing there's more than one audition.
So after all this, there's a brief bit of picture-taking, and we part ways(in a monsoon, no less). And this morning, I go to work, finish my tasks, and hop onto Facebook to see how the world at large is. Oh, Robin Williams is still dead, everyone's still sad(I mask my pain with apathy), and what's this? Haha, what a cute picture! And she tagged him. Funny, he doesn't even use Facebook. And... not me? Well, then.
I can't figure out if this is a matter of "you aren't my son's real girlfriend, so I don't have to acknowledge the relationship", or "I don't like you", or just an oversight. And, frankly, any fucks I gave about this subject flew out the window because I just found out my dad is in the hospital.
Dueces.
Friday, August 8, 2014
I Love You. Crash.
Last weekend, I took some time off and went traveling. Nowhere new, but places I've always loved.
Day One took me to Assateague Island. When I was little, I loved horses, so having the birthplace of Misty right down the road was fantastic. I remember riding home from Virginia Beach with my dad. We'd get to the beach right at 5 in the morning, when the gate was open but no one was at the toll booth. He'd take a nap while I climbed the sand dunes, watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean.
I relived a god bit of that experience on this trip; I snuck in at 5am, determined to watch the sun rise. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy day, so I gradually watched the world go from dark gray to light gray. The upside of this was having the beach basically to myself. I found a little nest of sand(thanks, kids!) and set up shop.
While I was standing at the edge of the ocean, I thought about my boy more than anything. Before I'd left, he'd warned me about the dangers of undertow, especially on a beach with no lifeguards. I started going farther into the water, until I felt that not-so-gentle tug, and then I stopped. The last time I was here, I would've run into the waves and swam until I passed the point where the waves started to break. I would've body surfed back to the shore, only to repeat the whole process over. But this time was different. I stayed safe in the shallows. I started thinking about how every seven years, all of the cells in your body have regenerated, and you're an entirely new person. When I came here last, I was 20, in my last seven year cycle. This time, I was a new person. As the waves roared on, they drowned out the rest of my thoughts, and all I could keep in my mind was an excerpt from one of my favorite stories*:
I love you.
Crash.
I love you -
Crash.
I love –It was only me and the sea, but I was more full of love for him in that moment than I knew I could be. From there I walked over to my favorite visitor's center, as was tradition. I picked up a horseshoe crab and a few clams(one of them spit water at me! It was super cute). I found my travel buddy for the weekend, Henry the Hermit crab(don't worry, he's fake). I moved on to another one of my favorite places: the lighthouse.
I've always enjoyed the lifehouse. It intrigues me that since Assateague is a barrier island, sand collects on the shore and the island grows over time. This means that the lighthouse is actually getting further inland over time. Fun facts! Another fun fact: trying to climb to the top of the lighthouse is the best cardio I've ever been through. Every time I thought I was there, there was another flight. The view from the top was gorgeous, and almost entirely worth it. They were out of "I made it to the top!" stickers, but I had some fun conversations and took some great pictures.
From then on, the day was a flurry of favorite activities. I stopped at the McDonald's to feed the ponies next door(twenty years and a handful of corn is still only a quarter), and got to teach some kids about horses. Pony Tails, old tyme-y makers of various confectioneries, was right around the bend. Another tradition-I always buy a box of their saltwater taffy. It used to be for my mom, but now it's for my house. And I may have gotten some fudge. Because, well, delicious fudge. I was surprised to find a paranormal store above the shop. They had things both mystical(gemstones and tarot cards) to scientific(EMF meters and the like). They offered a ghost tour at night, but I was too tired to attend.
The funny thing about Chincoteague is the ratio of hotels, motels and inns to actual eateries. It's at least 20:1. I was trying to find something that didn't look incredibly high class, but I had no luck. At least I found a bookstore in my travels(I found a book I'd loved when I was 12 but had never seen again, a book by a little-known author that I love, and an Avengers comic. Good haul!).
Around 2, I'd had my fill of ponies and purchasing(I bought a lot of things, especially now that I lived in a town that depends on those busy summer months the same way Chincoteague does). I scooted on down to the Wallops Island NASA facility. I've always loved space. Most of the information in their visitor center was pretty basic, but seeing all of those kids becoming enthused about something for the first time was exhilarating. I even bought some spacey freeze-dried ice cream that my boy loves so much(ew).
By this point, I hadn't eaten since I started my journey at 4am. I stopped in at a seafood joint. It was a new experience, sitting in a restaurant by myself; Before that, they'd always been places to gather first and eat second. I brought in my book, and was relieved to see another person doing the same thing.
After a rather satisfying lunch, I checked in at the hotel, and settled in. Nothing interesting happened there, other than some cartoon watching(Spongebob and Fairly Odd Parents have gone to really weird places).
The next day was spent traveling to a friend's house. Most of those moments and conversations need not be spoken of on the public internet. There was an exchanging of Christmas gifts(I got a tea set!), some fine dining, some very fine theatre, and an awesome cast party(with added surprises-I got to see someone I hadn't seen in at least two years). It was a nice taste of life in a beach town.
There was even goodness in the empty space. Driving along on a nice day with the radio blasting is one of my happiest places. It was a long weekend, but at the end of it, I was happiest to come home where I belong. I unpacked my treasures and gifts, and snuggled up to my boy. He missed me, and I missed him.
I'm feeling a lot better about life. Having the chance to get away and not worry about anything was refreshing and vital, and I won't underestimate it again.
Day One took me to Assateague Island. When I was little, I loved horses, so having the birthplace of Misty right down the road was fantastic. I remember riding home from Virginia Beach with my dad. We'd get to the beach right at 5 in the morning, when the gate was open but no one was at the toll booth. He'd take a nap while I climbed the sand dunes, watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean.
I relived a god bit of that experience on this trip; I snuck in at 5am, determined to watch the sun rise. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy day, so I gradually watched the world go from dark gray to light gray. The upside of this was having the beach basically to myself. I found a little nest of sand(thanks, kids!) and set up shop.
While I was standing at the edge of the ocean, I thought about my boy more than anything. Before I'd left, he'd warned me about the dangers of undertow, especially on a beach with no lifeguards. I started going farther into the water, until I felt that not-so-gentle tug, and then I stopped. The last time I was here, I would've run into the waves and swam until I passed the point where the waves started to break. I would've body surfed back to the shore, only to repeat the whole process over. But this time was different. I stayed safe in the shallows. I started thinking about how every seven years, all of the cells in your body have regenerated, and you're an entirely new person. When I came here last, I was 20, in my last seven year cycle. This time, I was a new person. As the waves roared on, they drowned out the rest of my thoughts, and all I could keep in my mind was an excerpt from one of my favorite stories*:
I love you.
Crash.
I love you -
Crash.
I love –It was only me and the sea, but I was more full of love for him in that moment than I knew I could be. From there I walked over to my favorite visitor's center, as was tradition. I picked up a horseshoe crab and a few clams(one of them spit water at me! It was super cute). I found my travel buddy for the weekend, Henry the Hermit crab(don't worry, he's fake). I moved on to another one of my favorite places: the lighthouse.
I've always enjoyed the lifehouse. It intrigues me that since Assateague is a barrier island, sand collects on the shore and the island grows over time. This means that the lighthouse is actually getting further inland over time. Fun facts! Another fun fact: trying to climb to the top of the lighthouse is the best cardio I've ever been through. Every time I thought I was there, there was another flight. The view from the top was gorgeous, and almost entirely worth it. They were out of "I made it to the top!" stickers, but I had some fun conversations and took some great pictures.
From then on, the day was a flurry of favorite activities. I stopped at the McDonald's to feed the ponies next door(twenty years and a handful of corn is still only a quarter), and got to teach some kids about horses. Pony Tails, old tyme-y makers of various confectioneries, was right around the bend. Another tradition-I always buy a box of their saltwater taffy. It used to be for my mom, but now it's for my house. And I may have gotten some fudge. Because, well, delicious fudge. I was surprised to find a paranormal store above the shop. They had things both mystical(gemstones and tarot cards) to scientific(EMF meters and the like). They offered a ghost tour at night, but I was too tired to attend.
The funny thing about Chincoteague is the ratio of hotels, motels and inns to actual eateries. It's at least 20:1. I was trying to find something that didn't look incredibly high class, but I had no luck. At least I found a bookstore in my travels(I found a book I'd loved when I was 12 but had never seen again, a book by a little-known author that I love, and an Avengers comic. Good haul!).
Around 2, I'd had my fill of ponies and purchasing(I bought a lot of things, especially now that I lived in a town that depends on those busy summer months the same way Chincoteague does). I scooted on down to the Wallops Island NASA facility. I've always loved space. Most of the information in their visitor center was pretty basic, but seeing all of those kids becoming enthused about something for the first time was exhilarating. I even bought some spacey freeze-dried ice cream that my boy loves so much(ew).
By this point, I hadn't eaten since I started my journey at 4am. I stopped in at a seafood joint. It was a new experience, sitting in a restaurant by myself; Before that, they'd always been places to gather first and eat second. I brought in my book, and was relieved to see another person doing the same thing.
After a rather satisfying lunch, I checked in at the hotel, and settled in. Nothing interesting happened there, other than some cartoon watching(Spongebob and Fairly Odd Parents have gone to really weird places).
The next day was spent traveling to a friend's house. Most of those moments and conversations need not be spoken of on the public internet. There was an exchanging of Christmas gifts(I got a tea set!), some fine dining, some very fine theatre, and an awesome cast party(with added surprises-I got to see someone I hadn't seen in at least two years). It was a nice taste of life in a beach town.
There was even goodness in the empty space. Driving along on a nice day with the radio blasting is one of my happiest places. It was a long weekend, but at the end of it, I was happiest to come home where I belong. I unpacked my treasures and gifts, and snuggled up to my boy. He missed me, and I missed him.
I'm feeling a lot better about life. Having the chance to get away and not worry about anything was refreshing and vital, and I won't underestimate it again.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Freedom's Just Another Word
 |
| Here he is enjoying some January snow. Isn't he just the best?! |
Preach it, Janis girl!
This is one of my favorite song lyrics. Usually, I feel it like a heartbeat, an insistent pulse that just feels right. But in this one rare case, I'm gonna have to disagree.
I. WANT. MY. CAR. BACK.
I've been whining for awhile now about not having my car, Orion. In April, he went to Dealware to be worked on by my father(and while I knew that it was a bad idea, it was the most cost-efficient thing to do at the time). He had a lot of problems, and about three weeks ago Padre and I decided to give him over to a higher power than ourselves(a mechanic).
Mind you, this was a bit of a new experience. We almost always do our vehicle work ourselves. I can change my tires, lugnuts, and oil, check all my fluids, and I'm pretty confident on changing my own brake pads and belts. Dad has a wealth of knowledge far surpassing my own. But between his accident and my work schedule, outsourcing was our only reasonable option.
So here we are. Me paying someone for a service. And he still hasn't gotten to my car yet. Three weeks. THREE WEEKS. And every time I say "Hey dad, think you could get Al to, you know, get my fucking car right?" he says "Well, the longer he takes, the less it'll cost, and he might do a little extra". Yes, ok, but I'm paying him. I'm paying for this service because I want it done. I took the car to him because I wanted to get it done. That's why I'm paying him rather than doing the work in what few spare hours I have. That. Is. Why. I. Am. Paying. Him.
I'm not immensely mad at Al; I have no doubt that my father told him to take his time. But fuckity fuck, I'm so tired of having no car.
My car is as much a part of me as... No, I really don't have an equivalent. I've lived out of my car. I've spent a lot of time driving and traveling. Orion took me to Virginia Beach more times than I can count. Orion took me to Georgia the last time I got to see Jon. Orion carried me to work, to college, to home, to anywhere I wanted to go. He is directly tied to my sense of freedom and my mental stability; Knowing that if life gets too bad I can just drive away has always provided comfort. Now, I've got no freedom. No security. Nothing.
Plus, I have to walk to work in the heat and/or rain, and past the creepy old dudes that keep talking about my ass. Ew.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Motherhood is Not Mandatory
If you're a young woman and you say "I don't want kids", you'll probably hear something along the lines of "You'll want them when you're older." Apparently, unlike your career choices or clothing style, your motherhood is a must-have accessory to your uterus.
There are plenty of schools of thought here. Of course, there's the patriarchy and blah blah blah. I'm not getting in to that. But there's this idea maintained throughout humanity that estrogen somehow makes you baby crazy. That some day, some how, you'll begin to hear the tick-tock of your biological clock chasing you the way that crocodile chased Captain Hook.
I'm gonna tell you two stories.
Story One starts with my mother. I was a stay-baby, a child conceived out of a desire to keep a partner around. It's actually called reproductive coercion. My mother was 100% unfit to be a mom; And let me be clear, I mean completely bad at it. There was no occasionally thinking that she was kind of ok. She was no Emily Gilmore or Roseanne. No, this woman is emotionally closed off, manipulative, needy, and easily addicted to whatever she can get her hands on. This is not someone who should've reproduced.
Now, my second story is a synopsis of a dream I recently had. In it, I was pregnant. I don't remember the details, but I can recall enough to make my point. I was scared of the pain, and confused because I didn't know whose last name the baby would have. And I kept wondering how I could get out of this predicament, because I did not want this baby at all, and how would I pay for things with all that time off work? But more than anything, I remember my dream self absolutely sobbing. The whole time.
My point is, I don't want kids. It gives me nightmares. Being female doesn't require childbearing. It's 2014. Women have options in this world. No one can force you to have a kid, and you don't have to think it's necessary. Children are a choice you can make. But I'm not making it.
There are plenty of schools of thought here. Of course, there's the patriarchy and blah blah blah. I'm not getting in to that. But there's this idea maintained throughout humanity that estrogen somehow makes you baby crazy. That some day, some how, you'll begin to hear the tick-tock of your biological clock chasing you the way that crocodile chased Captain Hook.
I'm gonna tell you two stories.
Story One starts with my mother. I was a stay-baby, a child conceived out of a desire to keep a partner around. It's actually called reproductive coercion. My mother was 100% unfit to be a mom; And let me be clear, I mean completely bad at it. There was no occasionally thinking that she was kind of ok. She was no Emily Gilmore or Roseanne. No, this woman is emotionally closed off, manipulative, needy, and easily addicted to whatever she can get her hands on. This is not someone who should've reproduced.
Now, my second story is a synopsis of a dream I recently had. In it, I was pregnant. I don't remember the details, but I can recall enough to make my point. I was scared of the pain, and confused because I didn't know whose last name the baby would have. And I kept wondering how I could get out of this predicament, because I did not want this baby at all, and how would I pay for things with all that time off work? But more than anything, I remember my dream self absolutely sobbing. The whole time.
My point is, I don't want kids. It gives me nightmares. Being female doesn't require childbearing. It's 2014. Women have options in this world. No one can force you to have a kid, and you don't have to think it's necessary. Children are a choice you can make. But I'm not making it.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Orange is the New Black, Netflix is the New HBO
There's a great new series, only on Netflix, that is taking the world by storm. It follows Piper, who voluntarily surrenders for a 15 month jail sentence for a stupid, impulsive mistake from ten years ago. There's lots of lesbians, cute men in uniform, and plot twists for all.
The plot really isn't the most important thing. It's the doorway, but not the destination. Though the show centers on Piper, there's a large cast of characters, each given their own storylines and air time. Remember awhile ago when I was whining about lack of diversity? Well, I've found it. The Bechdel test incarnate. Women that are racially, culturally, physically, and ethically diverse as it gets. Issues that effect women, but aren't brought to light because we're viewed as these flawless things. Red handles the struggles of growing older, Aleida and Daya(mother and daughter)deal with their less-than-perfect past(while dealing with Daya's pregnancy), Nicky fights her longtime drug addiction, Caputo tries to oust his corrupt boss(who is married to a closeted gay man running for Senate), and Piper struggles with understanding her sexuality.
I want to focus on that last one for just a moment before moving on. Here we have a main character actually struggling with their sexuality. Though people are quick to call her bisexual, it seems that she's only attracted to one particular woman. Personally, I think she's more demisexual(only experiencing sexual attraction to someone you form an emotional connection with). Either way, it's incredible to see someone that's not a confirmed anything, because I don't think I've ever seen that before. The best part? That's not her defining characteristic. She's not the token bisexual. It's so fucking great and I'm so excited about that.
For too long, shows have been the same cast over and over; straight white people, or shows about black families. That's really it. You had a few outliers, but overall, you knew what kind of show either one would be in the first five minutes. I'm so happy for people who don't fit into those molds to finally see themselves on t.v. Little boys and girls will have something to look up to, no matter who they are and how they feel about themselves. It gives a point of reference for transgender people; "Oh, you're like Sophia? I guess I get that". All in all, I'm excited that the media is catching up to the rest of the world. Onward!
The plot really isn't the most important thing. It's the doorway, but not the destination. Though the show centers on Piper, there's a large cast of characters, each given their own storylines and air time. Remember awhile ago when I was whining about lack of diversity? Well, I've found it. The Bechdel test incarnate. Women that are racially, culturally, physically, and ethically diverse as it gets. Issues that effect women, but aren't brought to light because we're viewed as these flawless things. Red handles the struggles of growing older, Aleida and Daya(mother and daughter)deal with their less-than-perfect past(while dealing with Daya's pregnancy), Nicky fights her longtime drug addiction, Caputo tries to oust his corrupt boss(who is married to a closeted gay man running for Senate), and Piper struggles with understanding her sexuality.
I want to focus on that last one for just a moment before moving on. Here we have a main character actually struggling with their sexuality. Though people are quick to call her bisexual, it seems that she's only attracted to one particular woman. Personally, I think she's more demisexual(only experiencing sexual attraction to someone you form an emotional connection with). Either way, it's incredible to see someone that's not a confirmed anything, because I don't think I've ever seen that before. The best part? That's not her defining characteristic. She's not the token bisexual. It's so fucking great and I'm so excited about that.
For too long, shows have been the same cast over and over; straight white people, or shows about black families. That's really it. You had a few outliers, but overall, you knew what kind of show either one would be in the first five minutes. I'm so happy for people who don't fit into those molds to finally see themselves on t.v. Little boys and girls will have something to look up to, no matter who they are and how they feel about themselves. It gives a point of reference for transgender people; "Oh, you're like Sophia? I guess I get that". All in all, I'm excited that the media is catching up to the rest of the world. Onward!
All Things Great And Small
When I was little, one of my favorite books was "All Things Bright and Beautiful" by James Herriot. It was a collection of stories from an Irish veterinarian. I was captivated by stories like "Mick the Dreamer"(the border collie with eyelashes growing inward, who slept all the time because closing his eyes helped the pain) and "Henry the Lamb"(A lamb whose mother refused to let him nurse. They found a ewe who had just lost her baby, tied the wool around Henry, and the two lost sheep formed a great bond). My favorite thing about these stories was the way he described the animals-just like they were people. His love for animals was so clear when you read his books that it was infectious. He was like the Mister Rogers of critters.
He was probably one of the contributing factors to my love of all things great and small, but always having something furry around probably helped. Growing up, we always had a cat, and sometimes a dog. It actually feels a little unnatural for me to not share a living space with a cat. The boy and I had talked about it, and we(he) decided that our apartment was too small to share, and that we(he really, really) didn't want to get a cat.(He begged me not to get one.)
But somehow, when I visited an old friend of the family, I wasn't expecting to walk away with a cat. This woman and her husband live on an old used car lot, where cats kind of collect over time. I've been going there since before I was born, and a large portion of my cats came from this place. My last cat, Pudge(born in a snowstorm, the last surviving member of her litter) came from here. There were a select few cats that were allowed in the house, and one of those was Duncan.
I vaguely remember Duncan from my childhood. She's dark gray, and ridiculously sweet. A little older, but super. So, when this dirty, skinny thing approached me as I was leaving, I couldn't reconcile that with the cat I remembered.She meowed at me in the most pathetic manner possible and waited. Well, if you're not feral, and I can pick you up, I'll take you home and find you a place to live. And sure enough, she let me pick her up. She pushed her forehead against the inside of my arm(which in cat language means "you make me feel safe"). How could I ignore the confidence of this cat? I loaded her up, and home we went.
When my boy came home, he was... displeased. I swore that she'd only be there for a few days, and look how sweet she is! But I promise I won't keep her... Giving a cat away is tough business. People want kittens, not older cats. People don't want to keep a cat on a deworming program for a week.
I lucked out about a week later. A fellow from the theatre had been looking for a cat(or, since he's new in town and super introverted, maybe just something to love). As soon as he picked Duncan up, I knew we were golden. I hope she's happy in her new home; He seemed like a cat-spoiler, which is what she deserves after the past year. She'll fatten up, get some good coat-building nutrients, and be a proper pampered puss-puss.
I'd like to think that James Herriot would smile at my efforts to save even one thing bright and beautiful. All pets deserve to be taken care of(humans made them, and we need to take care of them accordingly).
I pulled her out of a bad situation and found her a good home. And if I forgot to mention to her new owner that she only uses the litter box some of the time, who'd blame me?
He was probably one of the contributing factors to my love of all things great and small, but always having something furry around probably helped. Growing up, we always had a cat, and sometimes a dog. It actually feels a little unnatural for me to not share a living space with a cat. The boy and I had talked about it, and we(he) decided that our apartment was too small to share, and that we(he really, really) didn't want to get a cat.(He begged me not to get one.)
But somehow, when I visited an old friend of the family, I wasn't expecting to walk away with a cat. This woman and her husband live on an old used car lot, where cats kind of collect over time. I've been going there since before I was born, and a large portion of my cats came from this place. My last cat, Pudge(born in a snowstorm, the last surviving member of her litter) came from here. There were a select few cats that were allowed in the house, and one of those was Duncan.
I vaguely remember Duncan from my childhood. She's dark gray, and ridiculously sweet. A little older, but super. So, when this dirty, skinny thing approached me as I was leaving, I couldn't reconcile that with the cat I remembered.She meowed at me in the most pathetic manner possible and waited. Well, if you're not feral, and I can pick you up, I'll take you home and find you a place to live. And sure enough, she let me pick her up. She pushed her forehead against the inside of my arm(which in cat language means "you make me feel safe"). How could I ignore the confidence of this cat? I loaded her up, and home we went.
When my boy came home, he was... displeased. I swore that she'd only be there for a few days, and look how sweet she is! But I promise I won't keep her... Giving a cat away is tough business. People want kittens, not older cats. People don't want to keep a cat on a deworming program for a week.
I lucked out about a week later. A fellow from the theatre had been looking for a cat(or, since he's new in town and super introverted, maybe just something to love). As soon as he picked Duncan up, I knew we were golden. I hope she's happy in her new home; He seemed like a cat-spoiler, which is what she deserves after the past year. She'll fatten up, get some good coat-building nutrients, and be a proper pampered puss-puss.
I'd like to think that James Herriot would smile at my efforts to save even one thing bright and beautiful. All pets deserve to be taken care of(humans made them, and we need to take care of them accordingly).
I pulled her out of a bad situation and found her a good home. And if I forgot to mention to her new owner that she only uses the litter box some of the time, who'd blame me?
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Being A People
Life is hard. Life is really, really, really hard.
There's just being a human in general; Getting enough sleep, eating enough but not too much, obtaining food and shelter(Our ancestors went hunting and found caves, we work day in and day out. I wonder which one was harder?), and making sure all our systems are in check.
Once you get past our basic biology, there's other humans. Interacting with people is the hardest part of life. You have to learn how to navigate these weird, complex social mazes. The worst part is that if you move a hundred miles in any direction, those mazes are totally different. And there are variations-fake walls and dead ends-that keep you from ever really getting the layout of the maze right.
It's easy to get lost in that maze. You can screw up and make someone angry, and lose a job or a house or nothing at all but your piece of mind. You can start feeling so bad about not being the right kind of human that you stop eating for awhile, or throw up the food you worked so hard for. Some people even give up being a human entirely.
But let's say that you have learned to successfully navigate the societal maze. You now have friends, sometimes family, people that are sort of both, and coworkers/acquaintances/other humans you regularly interact with. And that's really the hardest part of being a human-Caring about other humans. Because you're worried about eating and sleeping and providing, and being a good human to other humans, and then worrying about how well these other humans are doing with their human-ing.
That's the point where we go from being humans-a bipedal sapien species of animal-to being people. Being a people is the hardest thing of all. It comes with relationships, art, music, expression, and the things that really make us thrive. More and more, I'm finding that being a people sometimes comes at the cost of being a human-giving up a little bit of that biological security(in this society, money) to make someone's life a little more bearable(a nice gift, or some financial help).
I'm finding it hard to be a people. It's hard for me to make friends, and make time for the people that are already close. It's worse when I can't be there when people need it most, because they're far away or because I just don't know how to help. It's hard for me to worry about everyone while I can't really deal with myself. Sometimes I give up being a people for a little while, and just try to be a human. Thank God there's music to help us be people again.
"Human"-Christina Perri
I can hold my breath
I can bite my tongue
I can stay awake for days
If that's what you want
Be your number one
I can fake a smile
I can force a laugh
I can dance and play the part
If that's what you ask
Give you all I am
I can do it
I can do it
I can do it
But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
I can turn it on
Be a good machine
I can hold the weight of worlds
If that's what you need
Be your everything
I can do it
I can do it
I'll get through it
But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
I'm only human
I'm only human
Just a little human
I can take so much
'Til I've had enough
'Cause I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
There's just being a human in general; Getting enough sleep, eating enough but not too much, obtaining food and shelter(Our ancestors went hunting and found caves, we work day in and day out. I wonder which one was harder?), and making sure all our systems are in check.
Once you get past our basic biology, there's other humans. Interacting with people is the hardest part of life. You have to learn how to navigate these weird, complex social mazes. The worst part is that if you move a hundred miles in any direction, those mazes are totally different. And there are variations-fake walls and dead ends-that keep you from ever really getting the layout of the maze right.
It's easy to get lost in that maze. You can screw up and make someone angry, and lose a job or a house or nothing at all but your piece of mind. You can start feeling so bad about not being the right kind of human that you stop eating for awhile, or throw up the food you worked so hard for. Some people even give up being a human entirely.
But let's say that you have learned to successfully navigate the societal maze. You now have friends, sometimes family, people that are sort of both, and coworkers/acquaintances/other humans you regularly interact with. And that's really the hardest part of being a human-Caring about other humans. Because you're worried about eating and sleeping and providing, and being a good human to other humans, and then worrying about how well these other humans are doing with their human-ing.
That's the point where we go from being humans-a bipedal sapien species of animal-to being people. Being a people is the hardest thing of all. It comes with relationships, art, music, expression, and the things that really make us thrive. More and more, I'm finding that being a people sometimes comes at the cost of being a human-giving up a little bit of that biological security(in this society, money) to make someone's life a little more bearable(a nice gift, or some financial help).
I'm finding it hard to be a people. It's hard for me to make friends, and make time for the people that are already close. It's worse when I can't be there when people need it most, because they're far away or because I just don't know how to help. It's hard for me to worry about everyone while I can't really deal with myself. Sometimes I give up being a people for a little while, and just try to be a human. Thank God there's music to help us be people again.
"Human"-Christina Perri
I can hold my breath
I can bite my tongue
I can stay awake for days
If that's what you want
Be your number one
I can fake a smile
I can force a laugh
I can dance and play the part
If that's what you ask
Give you all I am
I can do it
I can do it
I can do it
But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
I can turn it on
Be a good machine
I can hold the weight of worlds
If that's what you need
Be your everything
I can do it
I can do it
I'll get through it
But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
I'm only human
I'm only human
Just a little human
I can take so much
'Til I've had enough
'Cause I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
Sunday, May 4, 2014
My love, he keeps me warm
Love is patient. Love is kind.
I've said before how that's one of my favorite phrases. It's in a song on the radio, now.
Yesterday, my boy was thinking about taking a job opportunity that would take him away from home for long periods of time. Obviously, this wasn't ideal. Well, ok, the thought made me physically ill. We got into a fight(and actual fight-I could barely believe it), so I asked to borrow the truck and take a drive. There's relatively little that can't be fixed with a good drive and a loud radio. Then, the song came on:
I can't change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
But my love, she keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
Love is patient, love is kind
I'm not overly religious, but I know for a fact that sometimes things happen just when we need them to, and that music works as a perfect messenger. The words I've so often quoted to myself, sung back at me. When I got home last night, we had a long talk, and everything was resolved. We learned about each other. We strengthened that love. And he decided that maybe the job wasn't for him.
When I went to work this morning, I cleaned out a room that had been used by some young and drunk guests. The boy was much drunker, and had gotten into a disagreement with our innkeeper. I found a crumpled up note under the bed.
"A-
I am leaving you. I tried to keep the innkeeper from calling the police and you beat me up for it. You hit me so hard I was bleeding. Do not ever call me again. You are an alcoholic. I hope you get help.
-M"
They left together, so I don't think she gave it to him. And I wish I knew how to help her. But I have hopes that she'll find a way to leave him soon. It threw my relationship into sharp relief; How could I think I had it bad? Just because he didn't say no automatically to the job, because we had a fight, because he was being his logical self? No. I have it wonderful. He loves me so much, and so fully, that I will never have room to complain. But, pray for M. I pray for her too. I pray she finds what I have.
My love, my love, my love, he keeps me warm, he keeps me warm...
I've said before how that's one of my favorite phrases. It's in a song on the radio, now.
Yesterday, my boy was thinking about taking a job opportunity that would take him away from home for long periods of time. Obviously, this wasn't ideal. Well, ok, the thought made me physically ill. We got into a fight(and actual fight-I could barely believe it), so I asked to borrow the truck and take a drive. There's relatively little that can't be fixed with a good drive and a loud radio. Then, the song came on:
I can't change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
But my love, she keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
Love is patient, love is kind
I'm not overly religious, but I know for a fact that sometimes things happen just when we need them to, and that music works as a perfect messenger. The words I've so often quoted to myself, sung back at me. When I got home last night, we had a long talk, and everything was resolved. We learned about each other. We strengthened that love. And he decided that maybe the job wasn't for him.
When I went to work this morning, I cleaned out a room that had been used by some young and drunk guests. The boy was much drunker, and had gotten into a disagreement with our innkeeper. I found a crumpled up note under the bed.
"A-
I am leaving you. I tried to keep the innkeeper from calling the police and you beat me up for it. You hit me so hard I was bleeding. Do not ever call me again. You are an alcoholic. I hope you get help.
-M"
They left together, so I don't think she gave it to him. And I wish I knew how to help her. But I have hopes that she'll find a way to leave him soon. It threw my relationship into sharp relief; How could I think I had it bad? Just because he didn't say no automatically to the job, because we had a fight, because he was being his logical self? No. I have it wonderful. He loves me so much, and so fully, that I will never have room to complain. But, pray for M. I pray for her too. I pray she finds what I have.
My love, my love, my love, he keeps me warm, he keeps me warm...
Monday, March 10, 2014
Spontaneous International Travel
I've been feeling a touch of the wanderlust lately, the desire to set my soul free and see places that have only existed to me in magazines. My beautiful boy is the only thing that keeps me grounded in reality; It's one of the things that keeps us balanced. Certainly, I could fly away, but the great pyramids of Giza or the majestic Alps would mean nothing alone. His eyes are a shade of blue that I love more than the glaciers of Alaska, and I could never leave him behind. Besides, who would kill all the foreign spiders for me?
One of the great advantages of modern technology is the ability to see what people are doing in their lives, even without direct conversation. This of course makes it a valuable tool for young women to spy upon the potential suitors they fancy.
I've mentioned the gentleman with whom I'm hopelessly infatuated. Facebook doesn't allow me to forget him and move on. Just when I think I've let go of things that are never to be, I'm shown another side of him that breaks my heart with fresh longing(my, but I am feeling southern today!). Last night, I believe I was introduced to his most attractive quality yet: He's an adventure-seeker.
Be still my beating heart, thou has known worse than this!
For his spring break, he and a friend decided to hop on a flight to Italy. Just took a trip halfway around the world. I'm both in awe and extremely jealous.
Being a grown-up with grown-up bills and inflexible jobs and no weekends off or vacation time sucks. I want to hop on a plane to Italy and take pictures of the Swiss Alps at sunrise.
Maybe someday, I will. Maybe I'll convince my beautiful boy. Maybe I'll go with the college boy. Who knows?
One of the great advantages of modern technology is the ability to see what people are doing in their lives, even without direct conversation. This of course makes it a valuable tool for young women to spy upon the potential suitors they fancy.
I've mentioned the gentleman with whom I'm hopelessly infatuated. Facebook doesn't allow me to forget him and move on. Just when I think I've let go of things that are never to be, I'm shown another side of him that breaks my heart with fresh longing(my, but I am feeling southern today!). Last night, I believe I was introduced to his most attractive quality yet: He's an adventure-seeker.
Be still my beating heart, thou has known worse than this!
For his spring break, he and a friend decided to hop on a flight to Italy. Just took a trip halfway around the world. I'm both in awe and extremely jealous.
Being a grown-up with grown-up bills and inflexible jobs and no weekends off or vacation time sucks. I want to hop on a plane to Italy and take pictures of the Swiss Alps at sunrise.
Maybe someday, I will. Maybe I'll convince my beautiful boy. Maybe I'll go with the college boy. Who knows?
Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/h/homer165625.html#13umrb3Zjd0o0UtK.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/h/homer165625.html#13umrb3Zjd0o0UtK.99
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Shouting Into The Void
Writing here, in a blog that almost no one knows about, has allowed me to vent. It's been therapeutic in every sense of the word. So, what's with the silence?
I haven't been in a 100% mental state lately, if we're being perfectly honest. I've been a little stressed about bills, a little overworked, and with my new writing site(openingthegateawc.com) up and running, my muse has been used like a french whore. But, all things aside, I'm alright.
That's probably due(at least in part) to all the writing I've been doing. I've done some articles, but mostly stories. How good it's been to foray back into the world of fiction! As an added bonus, there's something satisfying about having my stories admired and praised by strangers.
I'll probably be writing more soon, but for now, know that I'm doing well.
I haven't been in a 100% mental state lately, if we're being perfectly honest. I've been a little stressed about bills, a little overworked, and with my new writing site(openingthegateawc.com) up and running, my muse has been used like a french whore. But, all things aside, I'm alright.
That's probably due(at least in part) to all the writing I've been doing. I've done some articles, but mostly stories. How good it's been to foray back into the world of fiction! As an added bonus, there's something satisfying about having my stories admired and praised by strangers.
I'll probably be writing more soon, but for now, know that I'm doing well.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
A Mess
Humans are simultaneously the most fragile and most resilient species on Earth. Injuries that would kill an animal-a sprained ankle, a cut-are considered minor injuries to us. Colds? Nothing. Headaches? Pah! We can poison our bodies with tobacco and alcohol for years, and our bodies start improving only twenty minutes after we stop. It's fucking incredible. We can beat cancer. Through sheer will to live, we can overcome nearly everything.
We make a much bigger deal out of our symptoms than we need to. Even when we don't take an injury seriously, we don't hesitate to let everyone know. "Hi, how you doing?" "Oh, just have this cold!" Though we aren't suffering, we let everyone know.
Ironically, it's when we're truly suffering that we don't let on. I've never been able to figure out if it's pride, or a desire to not feel like a burden by unloading our issues onto another person.
This is especially true when we're not feeling our best mentally. Some people develop ways to cope-they exercise, write, they take a small vacation. Others haven't developed enough coping mechanisms, or strong enough ones.
I am the second kind.
There is something very wrong. I can't figure out where it came from or what it is, but it's a funk I can't shake. It started out as a bad day here and there, nothing bad enough to even notice. Everyone has bad days, right? But there started to be a string of them. All of a sudden, I can't remember the last time I was happy. I've been ripping the skin of my lips, I've been moody. I'm at work, and I can see that there are three emails in my inbox that I do not even have the strength to answer(I'm usually not here this late anyway, so it's ok-right?) I either can't sleep or sleep too much, I can't focus, I don't want to go places.
And poor him, he's been on the wrong end of everything. I woke up the past few mornings just angry at him for reasons I can't find. This morning, I didn't say a word until I was getting ready to leave. He jumped up and hugged me tightly. I almost broke down crying.
I have to keep it together. He's still not back to work. The bills are on me, and he's worried about enough things. I can't burden him with this(though he confessed last week that he has been worried about me, despite whatever front I can manage to put up). I have to sit behind this desk and keep a straight face, hold it together, and wait for the storm to pass. Even hurricanes don't last forever.
We make a much bigger deal out of our symptoms than we need to. Even when we don't take an injury seriously, we don't hesitate to let everyone know. "Hi, how you doing?" "Oh, just have this cold!" Though we aren't suffering, we let everyone know.
Ironically, it's when we're truly suffering that we don't let on. I've never been able to figure out if it's pride, or a desire to not feel like a burden by unloading our issues onto another person.
This is especially true when we're not feeling our best mentally. Some people develop ways to cope-they exercise, write, they take a small vacation. Others haven't developed enough coping mechanisms, or strong enough ones.
I am the second kind.
There is something very wrong. I can't figure out where it came from or what it is, but it's a funk I can't shake. It started out as a bad day here and there, nothing bad enough to even notice. Everyone has bad days, right? But there started to be a string of them. All of a sudden, I can't remember the last time I was happy. I've been ripping the skin of my lips, I've been moody. I'm at work, and I can see that there are three emails in my inbox that I do not even have the strength to answer(I'm usually not here this late anyway, so it's ok-right?) I either can't sleep or sleep too much, I can't focus, I don't want to go places.
And poor him, he's been on the wrong end of everything. I woke up the past few mornings just angry at him for reasons I can't find. This morning, I didn't say a word until I was getting ready to leave. He jumped up and hugged me tightly. I almost broke down crying.
I have to keep it together. He's still not back to work. The bills are on me, and he's worried about enough things. I can't burden him with this(though he confessed last week that he has been worried about me, despite whatever front I can manage to put up). I have to sit behind this desk and keep a straight face, hold it together, and wait for the storm to pass. Even hurricanes don't last forever.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Self-Reliance
Anyone who knows me well can testify to my issues with relying on other people. I don't like having people pay for my things, I don't like help at work, and I absolutely detest taking my car to the garage if I think I can fix it myself. Doctors? No, no. No thank you.
This outright stubborn behavior probably stems from shitty parents and a lack of money growing up. Though the downsides are plenty, there are certain benefits. I can fix a decent amount of things, from VCR's to computers, gaming systems to engines, and clothes to furniture. I can change the air filters for my building(and often do). These are the skills that make me an excellent stage manager, and have helped me successfully navigate adulthood in my own apartment.
A couple weeks ago, I broke my glass of 10+ years. Though I tried to repair them, my efforts were in vain(Once something is too old, there's not much you can do). I hadn't been to an eye doctor since 5th grade, and I wasn't about to start now. I mean, if I was a rich girl, nanananananananana....
Luckily, years of needed quick nohow has resulted in superior Google skills. Within the hour, I had learned how to measure my eye strength(or lack thereof), and what that meant. I had to then translate that measurement into a perscription.
See, eye strength is measured by how well you can see objects about three feet away. There are websites that will reduce the text size with every click, and give you a number. I got 20/80. That didn't make any sense to me at all. So I tried another approach; I stumbled upon the word "diopter". A diopter is a "unit of the refractive error". Basically, it's the first number on a prescription that tells you how badly you see. It should be a positive number for farsightedness, and a negative one for nearsightedness. These numbers come in .25 increments. A diopter of -1.00 means you can see things a meter away clearly. -2.00 is half a meter. After measuring, I could see things slightly farther than half a meter: -1.75.
Luckily, I don't have any sort of astigmatism, and my eyes are evenly matched and regularly shaped. I only had to worry about that first number. My boy's mother suggested a site for eyeglasses. I wasn't sure if my science had been right, so I got the cheapest pair I could find. It took them about 2 weeks to get there, but boy did I miss driving.
I put them on, and they were perfect. Since this post is unreasonably long, I'll try to sum it up a little more succinctly. If you have insurance or money, and you can go to a doctor, please do. But if you stumble across something you can learn-how to change your own oil is a good start-do it! Remember, if the zombies come, you'll be that much more useful.
This outright stubborn behavior probably stems from shitty parents and a lack of money growing up. Though the downsides are plenty, there are certain benefits. I can fix a decent amount of things, from VCR's to computers, gaming systems to engines, and clothes to furniture. I can change the air filters for my building(and often do). These are the skills that make me an excellent stage manager, and have helped me successfully navigate adulthood in my own apartment.
A couple weeks ago, I broke my glass of 10+ years. Though I tried to repair them, my efforts were in vain(Once something is too old, there's not much you can do). I hadn't been to an eye doctor since 5th grade, and I wasn't about to start now. I mean, if I was a rich girl, nanananananananana....
Luckily, years of needed quick nohow has resulted in superior Google skills. Within the hour, I had learned how to measure my eye strength(or lack thereof), and what that meant. I had to then translate that measurement into a perscription.
See, eye strength is measured by how well you can see objects about three feet away. There are websites that will reduce the text size with every click, and give you a number. I got 20/80. That didn't make any sense to me at all. So I tried another approach; I stumbled upon the word "diopter". A diopter is a "unit of the refractive error". Basically, it's the first number on a prescription that tells you how badly you see. It should be a positive number for farsightedness, and a negative one for nearsightedness. These numbers come in .25 increments. A diopter of -1.00 means you can see things a meter away clearly. -2.00 is half a meter. After measuring, I could see things slightly farther than half a meter: -1.75.
Luckily, I don't have any sort of astigmatism, and my eyes are evenly matched and regularly shaped. I only had to worry about that first number. My boy's mother suggested a site for eyeglasses. I wasn't sure if my science had been right, so I got the cheapest pair I could find. It took them about 2 weeks to get there, but boy did I miss driving.
I put them on, and they were perfect. Since this post is unreasonably long, I'll try to sum it up a little more succinctly. If you have insurance or money, and you can go to a doctor, please do. But if you stumble across something you can learn-how to change your own oil is a good start-do it! Remember, if the zombies come, you'll be that much more useful.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Take Your Trope And Shove It
There's a commercial on Youtube for the newest in an unending series of straight white people falling in love. "Endless Love", I believe.
Now, we're all familiar with the basic recipe for a chick flick. Take one ridiculously cute boy, one pretty girl(while a woman who swears she doesn't need a man is preferred, she can be a "geek", so long as she gets a makeover at some point). Add one dash of unlucky love life. Stir in zest of best friend, then add just a pinch of easily resolved conflict(Martha recommends family issues or a nice "I-love-you-but-im-soooo-popular-that-we-have-to-hide-it"). Top with a sprinkle of cheesy ending and garnish with an epic kiss.
There's nothing wrong with seeing two people fall in love. That's what movies are for. What is wrong is the lack of diversity and originality. Since the 80's, we've been exposed to the same movie over and over and over. The names change, the scenes change, but when you wipe that away we're left with a repetitive framework. But a few years ago, Hollywood had a marvelous idea-instead of having the girl be pretty and popular, let's make her pretty and shy! Look, she's cute and reads classic books! How novel!*
Go fuck yourself. I am so tired of watching the movies treat every bookreading lady like she's a hipster. Readers are not just 5'4" skinny white girls in leggings and sweaters drinking tea. Readers can be short and like Chinese or black and punk rock or gay with an affinity for books about history. Give us some diversity, already!
That goes for the guys, too. While these fine fellows are nice to look at, I can't think of a single girl that wouldn't mind seeing a guy onscreen that at least remotely resembles a normal human being. How about a guy that's muscular, but with acne spots? Someone scrawny but incredibly kind? How about a guy that wears ill-fitting clothes and has a silly looking farmer's tan, but is emotionally repressed?
Give us some diversity. Let people see that not being one of the cookie-cutter movie stars is ok. Tell us that you can find love even if you have bad skin.
*I realized that this was a pun when I was proofreading and I am so, so sorry.
Now, we're all familiar with the basic recipe for a chick flick. Take one ridiculously cute boy, one pretty girl(while a woman who swears she doesn't need a man is preferred, she can be a "geek", so long as she gets a makeover at some point). Add one dash of unlucky love life. Stir in zest of best friend, then add just a pinch of easily resolved conflict(Martha recommends family issues or a nice "I-love-you-but-im-soooo-popular-that-we-have-to-hide-it"). Top with a sprinkle of cheesy ending and garnish with an epic kiss.
There's nothing wrong with seeing two people fall in love. That's what movies are for. What is wrong is the lack of diversity and originality. Since the 80's, we've been exposed to the same movie over and over and over. The names change, the scenes change, but when you wipe that away we're left with a repetitive framework. But a few years ago, Hollywood had a marvelous idea-instead of having the girl be pretty and popular, let's make her pretty and shy! Look, she's cute and reads classic books! How novel!*
Go fuck yourself. I am so tired of watching the movies treat every bookreading lady like she's a hipster. Readers are not just 5'4" skinny white girls in leggings and sweaters drinking tea. Readers can be short and like Chinese or black and punk rock or gay with an affinity for books about history. Give us some diversity, already!
That goes for the guys, too. While these fine fellows are nice to look at, I can't think of a single girl that wouldn't mind seeing a guy onscreen that at least remotely resembles a normal human being. How about a guy that's muscular, but with acne spots? Someone scrawny but incredibly kind? How about a guy that wears ill-fitting clothes and has a silly looking farmer's tan, but is emotionally repressed?
Give us some diversity. Let people see that not being one of the cookie-cutter movie stars is ok. Tell us that you can find love even if you have bad skin.
*I realized that this was a pun when I was proofreading and I am so, so sorry.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Float On
Alright already we'll all float on
Alright don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy
We'll all float on alright
Already we'll all float on
Alright already we'll all float on
OK don't worry we'll all float on
Even if things get heavy we'll all float on
Alright already we'll all float on
Don't you worry we'll all float on
All float on
-Modest Mouse, "Float On"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)