Happy New Year!
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
December 31, 2012
November 29, 2012
Message
It's OKAY to have a phobia. Phobias are defined as irrational fears. Yet, most phobias are far from irrational. The best thing to do is find a competent, caring psychologist (or psychiatrist) who can help you through your fears. Or who can at least lend an ear to letting you vent about them.
I've never been able to find anyone who will listen about my own phobia: swallowing. Right now I'm having a seriously hard time eating because over the past few weeks I've developed some kind of fear that I will choke at any moment. As I'm chewing, my chest and stomach begin to feel bloated and I feel the need to burp. Just as I begin to swallow, I burp instead and it makes me start gagging and I don't know what to do. I try burping right before I swallow to see if that helps, but what I usually end up doing is gripping the edge of the table as I force myself to swallow, or gripping the arm of the chair. I also usually end up abandoning what I'm eating halfway through. I go through phases of the problem every few months. It makes eating at work tough because I'm embarrassed when people can see me eating.
I've tried to tell a few people about this. Namely, I've told some doctors and my psychology professor from college. They all laughed at me. My professor told me he had never, ever heard of something like this (and he was in his sixties). Another doctor told me I was just ridiculous. Another looked right at me and asked, "Are you a little sissy girl?"
Sometimes it gets so bad I can't swallow liquid. Once my mother took me out to eat and I couldn't even eat little pieces of crab. A lot of times I resort to crunchy food because it breaks down into smaller pieces as opposed to, say, bread, which becomes a giant clump in my mouth and I have to roll it around trying to separate it into smaller bites.
Crazy, right? I don't know what to do. I talk to those doctors, hoping they'll give me advice, like what they would tell someone with a narrow esophagus or an extremely sensitive gag reflex. But instead they laugh at me. One even told me, when I asked him to reassure me that I won't choke, that I could in fact choke on something as small as a pea. He said it quite dismissively. He could have lied. He could have tried to help me. Instead he just made the situation even worse.
It's exhausting to eat. It's a fight. Should I ask for some kind of anxiety pills that I take an hour or so before eating (which I would have to crush up and put in pudding)? Is there a trick to sort of hypnotize myself? Should I start collecting recipes that only use crunchy foods? I don't know what to do.
I've never been able to find anyone who will listen about my own phobia: swallowing. Right now I'm having a seriously hard time eating because over the past few weeks I've developed some kind of fear that I will choke at any moment. As I'm chewing, my chest and stomach begin to feel bloated and I feel the need to burp. Just as I begin to swallow, I burp instead and it makes me start gagging and I don't know what to do. I try burping right before I swallow to see if that helps, but what I usually end up doing is gripping the edge of the table as I force myself to swallow, or gripping the arm of the chair. I also usually end up abandoning what I'm eating halfway through. I go through phases of the problem every few months. It makes eating at work tough because I'm embarrassed when people can see me eating.
I've tried to tell a few people about this. Namely, I've told some doctors and my psychology professor from college. They all laughed at me. My professor told me he had never, ever heard of something like this (and he was in his sixties). Another doctor told me I was just ridiculous. Another looked right at me and asked, "Are you a little sissy girl?"
Sometimes it gets so bad I can't swallow liquid. Once my mother took me out to eat and I couldn't even eat little pieces of crab. A lot of times I resort to crunchy food because it breaks down into smaller pieces as opposed to, say, bread, which becomes a giant clump in my mouth and I have to roll it around trying to separate it into smaller bites.
Crazy, right? I don't know what to do. I talk to those doctors, hoping they'll give me advice, like what they would tell someone with a narrow esophagus or an extremely sensitive gag reflex. But instead they laugh at me. One even told me, when I asked him to reassure me that I won't choke, that I could in fact choke on something as small as a pea. He said it quite dismissively. He could have lied. He could have tried to help me. Instead he just made the situation even worse.
It's exhausting to eat. It's a fight. Should I ask for some kind of anxiety pills that I take an hour or so before eating (which I would have to crush up and put in pudding)? Is there a trick to sort of hypnotize myself? Should I start collecting recipes that only use crunchy foods? I don't know what to do.
September 1, 2012
How I Waste My Money
I think we'll just have to agree to disagree in regards to our tastes in literature. (You know who you are.) ;)
I started reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and suffice to say it's a very beautiful book in many ways. There are passages, in the little bit I was able to get through, that are simply breathtaking.
However....
I have never been a fan of anything that beats me over the head. I got through about thirty pages before I couldn't handle the asides anymore, the bolded stop signs making sure I'm paying attention to the clever parallels, symbols, and philosophies. Those things are there, and are brilliant, but I don't want to be pointed to them, not blantantly. I like making realizations. I like connecting the dots. I like getting swept up in metaphor.
What I don't like is being treated like I'm too stupid to make those realizations, to connect those dots, to admire those metaphors. I know, I'm going to get bombarded by tomatoes for saying this. And I'm sure Zusak didn't mean to imply his audience couldn't make those connections for themselves. I'm sure he meant it as a parallel to the thought control rampant during the Nazi reign. I'm sure he thought it was an interesting structure for his book. And that's fine if he really achieved the effect he was going for.
But it's not for me. I felt insulted. I tried to get over it; I tried to get past one passage that particularly angered me. I read on for a few pages until another cropped up and I realized I was going to be angry for more than five hundred pages and not in the way someone should be angry when reading about the atrocities during the wars.
And how is it wasting my money? For the same reason I've been struggling this whole year with what I read: I spent money buying this book. I felt sure I would love it and I felt confident I'd have no regrets. Whenever I read comments about this book they were all glowing and amazed. I thought, how could I go wrong with this one?
I really need to just get random books from the library. For anyone who reads my blogs (which is one person, so I'm sorry you have to hear this AGAIN) you know I've said a thousand times that I should just go to the library. I should just pull five random books. It always turns out the same when I do so - they are balanced as far as a sliding scale of good and bad writing. My worry is that my little library doesn't have a great selection, and when I try to get books transferred they often don't come in and I'm nothing if not a creature who has to have what I want when I want it. I'm not proud of that realization, but I've come to said realization. With no one else's help, thanks.
I also have a very hard time making a decision, because reading a book takes time, and I've forced myself into a schedule and I don't want to waste time either. And since this year's track record is a bunch of major disappointments, I'm worried about the future and I'm worried about feeling anxious when it comes to reading. It is now in the back of my head with everything I read that I might hate it, that excitement may warp into frustration. Maybe I should only pick up books I think I'll hate and it will turn out that every one of them is brillant beyond belief.
I know I'm really doing this to myself. Maybe...maybe I should read The Book Thief and just skip any bolded parts. I wonder if that would be possible? I'm sure it would be. I'm sure I'm working myself into a frenzy for no reason other than letting myself get distracted...again.
I started reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and suffice to say it's a very beautiful book in many ways. There are passages, in the little bit I was able to get through, that are simply breathtaking.
However....
I have never been a fan of anything that beats me over the head. I got through about thirty pages before I couldn't handle the asides anymore, the bolded stop signs making sure I'm paying attention to the clever parallels, symbols, and philosophies. Those things are there, and are brilliant, but I don't want to be pointed to them, not blantantly. I like making realizations. I like connecting the dots. I like getting swept up in metaphor.
What I don't like is being treated like I'm too stupid to make those realizations, to connect those dots, to admire those metaphors. I know, I'm going to get bombarded by tomatoes for saying this. And I'm sure Zusak didn't mean to imply his audience couldn't make those connections for themselves. I'm sure he meant it as a parallel to the thought control rampant during the Nazi reign. I'm sure he thought it was an interesting structure for his book. And that's fine if he really achieved the effect he was going for.
But it's not for me. I felt insulted. I tried to get over it; I tried to get past one passage that particularly angered me. I read on for a few pages until another cropped up and I realized I was going to be angry for more than five hundred pages and not in the way someone should be angry when reading about the atrocities during the wars.
And how is it wasting my money? For the same reason I've been struggling this whole year with what I read: I spent money buying this book. I felt sure I would love it and I felt confident I'd have no regrets. Whenever I read comments about this book they were all glowing and amazed. I thought, how could I go wrong with this one?
I really need to just get random books from the library. For anyone who reads my blogs (which is one person, so I'm sorry you have to hear this AGAIN) you know I've said a thousand times that I should just go to the library. I should just pull five random books. It always turns out the same when I do so - they are balanced as far as a sliding scale of good and bad writing. My worry is that my little library doesn't have a great selection, and when I try to get books transferred they often don't come in and I'm nothing if not a creature who has to have what I want when I want it. I'm not proud of that realization, but I've come to said realization. With no one else's help, thanks.
I also have a very hard time making a decision, because reading a book takes time, and I've forced myself into a schedule and I don't want to waste time either. And since this year's track record is a bunch of major disappointments, I'm worried about the future and I'm worried about feeling anxious when it comes to reading. It is now in the back of my head with everything I read that I might hate it, that excitement may warp into frustration. Maybe I should only pick up books I think I'll hate and it will turn out that every one of them is brillant beyond belief.
I know I'm really doing this to myself. Maybe...maybe I should read The Book Thief and just skip any bolded parts. I wonder if that would be possible? I'm sure it would be. I'm sure I'm working myself into a frenzy for no reason other than letting myself get distracted...again.
July 13, 2012
Recent Recipe
Mini Deep-Dish Pizzas
The first thing we found out was that the dough expands. We thought we were going to make cute little pizza bowls in muffin cups. Instead, because we cooked the dough a little before adding the ingredients, it ended up as thick, giant crusts with the toppings pouring over the top. What we would most likely do differently is just put a little dough in the bottom of each cup, just enough to cover the bottom, and then stack the toppings without worrying about making a little bowl. Because I decided to bake them in foil muffin cups it would be easy to just peel the foil away (it was easy) and the cheese would probably keep the shape of the pizza intact.
I bought pesto and kapers to go on my pizzas. I love kapers, but I wasn't expecting the severe overload of vinegar taste these kapers were sporting (they actually tasted - long after I was finished eating them - like alcohol). I bought green onions to go on my mom's pizzas and black olives for my sister. My father is very plain - just pepperoni please. But lots of it. All in all, though, it was a nice change from freakin' pork chops and green beans every night.
The first thing we found out was that the dough expands. We thought we were going to make cute little pizza bowls in muffin cups. Instead, because we cooked the dough a little before adding the ingredients, it ended up as thick, giant crusts with the toppings pouring over the top. What we would most likely do differently is just put a little dough in the bottom of each cup, just enough to cover the bottom, and then stack the toppings without worrying about making a little bowl. Because I decided to bake them in foil muffin cups it would be easy to just peel the foil away (it was easy) and the cheese would probably keep the shape of the pizza intact.
I bought pesto and kapers to go on my pizzas. I love kapers, but I wasn't expecting the severe overload of vinegar taste these kapers were sporting (they actually tasted - long after I was finished eating them - like alcohol). I bought green onions to go on my mom's pizzas and black olives for my sister. My father is very plain - just pepperoni please. But lots of it. All in all, though, it was a nice change from freakin' pork chops and green beans every night.
July 9, 2012
Four More...Kids?
Without asking anyone in our house if it was okay, my sister decided to babysit four kids five days a week. They are all under the age of ten. They come sometime before six in the morning and stay until around three in the afternoon. They are three boys and a girl. They seem well behaved enough, but we have to feed them and, today, my sister decided to schedule an appointment and, without telling anyone, left the four kids sleeping in our living room.
She has been watching them for three weeks now and has not been paid. Their mother, my sister's coworker, couldn't afford daycare and needed somewhere to take her children for the summer so my sister, who is on hiatus pending an operation on her foot, offered to watch them for a reduced rate of $25 a day. Their mother keeps telling my sister that she just doesn't have the money, that the next paycheck will be better and then she will pay her...but of course the amount keeps adding up and how, if her paychecks aren't enough for $125, are they going to be enough for $375? It's going to create an awkward situation when my sister has to demand the money or refuse to watch the children...and then return to work with this woman with all the bad feelings there will be between them.
And these children use dishes. Cups and plates and silverware and pots to cook their hotdogs and whatever. Today, while I was spooning yesterday's Mexican leftovers onto a plate, excited because it's been a loooonnggg time since I've had this particular favored breakfast, my mother asked me if a coffee cup amongst the other dishes was the one I used yesterday. She told me that I needed to wash that coffee cup because my sister is tired of having to do my dishes (as you know, this is a regular fight). I went to put it in the dishwasher, but it was full of clean dishes. Could I have cleaned the dishwasher out? Sure. But laying around half-naked doing nothing was my nephew and his girlfriend, neither of whom have a job or do any sort of chore. (My nephew's exact words earlier this year: "I've never had to do chores and I ain't about to start.")
I washed my four dishes while being glared at by my nephew's girlfriend because she wanted to get coffee but the coffee pot is next to the sink and I was blocking it.
See, the problem isn't that I am not willing to clean up after myself. It's the fact that my sister is willing to help everyone but me. I go to work and I pay part of the bills (she doesn't do either of those things right now) and I dirty all of maybe five dishes. I know I harp on this a lot but it's such a sore point. Today, as she was walking out the door to get in a car and have my father drive her to her appointment, she said, "I'm late to my appointment because we have to take 'Stupid' to work." Who's 'Stupid'? My niece, and my sister is angry because my niece lost her driver's license for not having insurance. It is suspended for three years. Why, you ask, was my father driving my sister to her appointment? Because a few years ago she lost her license over unpaid tickets.
By the way, my sister's appointment was at 10:30 and 'Stupid' didn't have to be at work until 11:00. My father was going to take my sister to her appointment and then swing by to get 'Stupid' and take her to work. How the hell did 'Stupid' make my sister late in any way?
So right now, my mother is watching the four kids. My nephew is playing with them but eventually he will lose interest and want to play video games on the internet (which I pay for) or whine about how he wants to watch TV (which I pay for) and he can't because the kids are watching cartoons. For the record...he will probably want to watch cartoons.
She has been watching them for three weeks now and has not been paid. Their mother, my sister's coworker, couldn't afford daycare and needed somewhere to take her children for the summer so my sister, who is on hiatus pending an operation on her foot, offered to watch them for a reduced rate of $25 a day. Their mother keeps telling my sister that she just doesn't have the money, that the next paycheck will be better and then she will pay her...but of course the amount keeps adding up and how, if her paychecks aren't enough for $125, are they going to be enough for $375? It's going to create an awkward situation when my sister has to demand the money or refuse to watch the children...and then return to work with this woman with all the bad feelings there will be between them.
And these children use dishes. Cups and plates and silverware and pots to cook their hotdogs and whatever. Today, while I was spooning yesterday's Mexican leftovers onto a plate, excited because it's been a loooonnggg time since I've had this particular favored breakfast, my mother asked me if a coffee cup amongst the other dishes was the one I used yesterday. She told me that I needed to wash that coffee cup because my sister is tired of having to do my dishes (as you know, this is a regular fight). I went to put it in the dishwasher, but it was full of clean dishes. Could I have cleaned the dishwasher out? Sure. But laying around half-naked doing nothing was my nephew and his girlfriend, neither of whom have a job or do any sort of chore. (My nephew's exact words earlier this year: "I've never had to do chores and I ain't about to start.")
I washed my four dishes while being glared at by my nephew's girlfriend because she wanted to get coffee but the coffee pot is next to the sink and I was blocking it.
See, the problem isn't that I am not willing to clean up after myself. It's the fact that my sister is willing to help everyone but me. I go to work and I pay part of the bills (she doesn't do either of those things right now) and I dirty all of maybe five dishes. I know I harp on this a lot but it's such a sore point. Today, as she was walking out the door to get in a car and have my father drive her to her appointment, she said, "I'm late to my appointment because we have to take 'Stupid' to work." Who's 'Stupid'? My niece, and my sister is angry because my niece lost her driver's license for not having insurance. It is suspended for three years. Why, you ask, was my father driving my sister to her appointment? Because a few years ago she lost her license over unpaid tickets.
By the way, my sister's appointment was at 10:30 and 'Stupid' didn't have to be at work until 11:00. My father was going to take my sister to her appointment and then swing by to get 'Stupid' and take her to work. How the hell did 'Stupid' make my sister late in any way?
So right now, my mother is watching the four kids. My nephew is playing with them but eventually he will lose interest and want to play video games on the internet (which I pay for) or whine about how he wants to watch TV (which I pay for) and he can't because the kids are watching cartoons. For the record...he will probably want to watch cartoons.
June 18, 2012
How the Breakfast Went
Baked Eggs in Tomatoes
Of course, it didn't go as smoothly as the recipe made it sound. It took over an hour to get the eggs to cook. We also decided that instead of mixing the insides of the tomatoes into the eggs we would just drop a whole egg down into the hollowed tomato, then put some cheese and other things on top of that. Or put those things down in and then put an egg on top. That might work out best because then we can judge whether the egg has cooked or not. The problem with the insides of the tomatoes was they caused the whole thing to be too watery and the eggs didn't appear cooked. We could save the tomato innards for chilli or pasta sauce.
Of course, it didn't go as smoothly as the recipe made it sound. It took over an hour to get the eggs to cook. We also decided that instead of mixing the insides of the tomatoes into the eggs we would just drop a whole egg down into the hollowed tomato, then put some cheese and other things on top of that. Or put those things down in and then put an egg on top. That might work out best because then we can judge whether the egg has cooked or not. The problem with the insides of the tomatoes was they caused the whole thing to be too watery and the eggs didn't appear cooked. We could save the tomato innards for chilli or pasta sauce.
June 14, 2012
Living for Me
This weekend, I bought a new refrigerator to go in my bedroom. It's 3.2 cubic-inches and holds about three times as much food as my previous fridge. My plan was to feed myself. I'm quite tired of feeding five lazy people. I don't mind feeding my parents - they pay almost all of the utilities and the rent and, besides, they fed me. But every time I go to the grocery store and buy food, it will be eaten within twenty-four hours. Last weekend my mother bought a pack of twenty Hot Pockets and it was gone by that evening. I can't afford this any more. A few weeks ago we came downstairs to breakfast to find my nephew making four subs - two for himself, one for his girlfriend, and one for the kid who slept over the night before.
It's not like we can designate food to people, either. If my mother buys herself ice cream and tells those people not to eat it because she's treating herself, she better buy a serving she can eat in one sitting because as soon as she goes to bed they are going to eat that ice cream behind her back. I can't stock up on frozen meals to take to work either because even if I write my name on them in permanent marker they will eat them. (Or they will microwave them, I will catch them, they will get angry that I'm angry, and they will throw it away saying, "Fine, I won't eat your stupid dinner then.") Today my father went to get some leftover chilli and when he opened the container someone (read: my nephew) had decided they didn't want to scoop out a serving into a bowl so they put crackers in the container and then decided they didn't want it anymore, so they just put the lid back on it and walked away. It was a mushy, disgusting mess and an incredible waste.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I also can't buy food I want to eat because I have to worry about portions that will feed eight people. I have to buy chicken legs, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, five-pound-packages of hamburger, spaghetti (yuck), white bread, American cheese, tater tots, ground steak patties - this is a weekly list. We eat those things freaking weekly. And they must be in constant supply. I just can't take it.
So tonight, I went to the store and spent way more money than I had intended to fill the new fridge. But I bought things I want to eat. I bought bacon-flavored cheese-filled mushrooms, salsa, tortilla chips, gouda cheese, salami, and two kinds of hummus. I've decided that every paycheck I will buy the ingredients for a recipe, starting with recipes from Martha Stewart's Food Magazine.
This week's special: Baked Eggs in Tomatoes.
I will substitute feta cheese for the parmesan, though, because I only like parmesan on pizza, as a substitute for mozzerella (not my favorite).
I'm tired of being so unhappy. I know they're mad that I've been splurging on myself lately but you know the drill. Fuck 'em. They're selfish bastards and they're breeding a selfish bitch in me.
It's not like we can designate food to people, either. If my mother buys herself ice cream and tells those people not to eat it because she's treating herself, she better buy a serving she can eat in one sitting because as soon as she goes to bed they are going to eat that ice cream behind her back. I can't stock up on frozen meals to take to work either because even if I write my name on them in permanent marker they will eat them. (Or they will microwave them, I will catch them, they will get angry that I'm angry, and they will throw it away saying, "Fine, I won't eat your stupid dinner then.") Today my father went to get some leftover chilli and when he opened the container someone (read: my nephew) had decided they didn't want to scoop out a serving into a bowl so they put crackers in the container and then decided they didn't want it anymore, so they just put the lid back on it and walked away. It was a mushy, disgusting mess and an incredible waste.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I also can't buy food I want to eat because I have to worry about portions that will feed eight people. I have to buy chicken legs, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, five-pound-packages of hamburger, spaghetti (yuck), white bread, American cheese, tater tots, ground steak patties - this is a weekly list. We eat those things freaking weekly. And they must be in constant supply. I just can't take it.
So tonight, I went to the store and spent way more money than I had intended to fill the new fridge. But I bought things I want to eat. I bought bacon-flavored cheese-filled mushrooms, salsa, tortilla chips, gouda cheese, salami, and two kinds of hummus. I've decided that every paycheck I will buy the ingredients for a recipe, starting with recipes from Martha Stewart's Food Magazine.
This week's special: Baked Eggs in Tomatoes.
I will substitute feta cheese for the parmesan, though, because I only like parmesan on pizza, as a substitute for mozzerella (not my favorite).
I'm tired of being so unhappy. I know they're mad that I've been splurging on myself lately but you know the drill. Fuck 'em. They're selfish bastards and they're breeding a selfish bitch in me.
June 7, 2012
Ownership
I am so upset right now. I came home from a crappy day at work to find that my parents, because they couldn't get the internet on my little netbook for a few hours, decided that the problem was the computer needed a complete system restore. My father - when my mother told him my sister had deleted some games that had been downloaded (without permission), had cleaned and defragmented the hard drive, and nothing had worked - told my mother that he could get the internet back for her. So, she handed him the machine and he did a system restore.
He lost everything I had saved on that computer. He lost files from when I was teaching. He lost stories I had started. He lost pictures we had taken of my sister-in-law's mother before she died.
The worst part? Remember my post a few weeks back about apologizing? He's angry at me for getting angry because HE DOES SYSTEM RESTORES ALL THE TIME on his computer and it's fine. It's how he gets the internet back if it isn't working for a few hours. EVERY TIME THE INTERNET IS DOWN HE DOES A COMPLETE, BACK-TO-FACTORY-SETTINGS RESTORE.
He said the computer should have backed up the files automatically. I said it doesn't do that. He YELLED at me that he didn't say it did, HE SAID IT SHOULD. Because his does. I told him that's because he has Windows 7 and my netbook only has Windows XP. Did he apologize? No. He just kept repeating that he couldn't have known my computer was different than his. I said he shouldn't have been messing with something that didn't belong to him - especially something that cost as much as that netbook.
I would have been home a few hours later. Why couldn't they live without the internet for a few hours? All I needed to do was start the wireless internet service and go to the advanced settings to let Windows reconfigure the wireless signals. I also pushed my sister for more information on whether she did a defragmentation (which would have taken hours) and she admitted she didn't, because the analysis said she didn't need to. I said really it had needed it and I had just been planning this morning to do a defragmentation when I got home. She just shrugged her shoulders.
This after another day where I was the bad person for getting frustrated when my boss interrupted me at work. Often, she starts talking to me as soon as I walk in the door. I can't even put my purse down, or take off my jacket in cold weather. Today she followed me to the back room and started talking at me about what we were going to do for the day, and I started a sentence and she interrupted me. I listened to what she said, waited for her to be done talking, waited a beat, started my sentence again, and she interrupted me again. This time I showed frustration, I think by pursing my lips, and she saw my face and asked if I was mad that she interrupted me. Instead of answering I just, for a third time, said what I was trying to say and when I was done she just kind of said, "Oh," and walked away and wouldn't talk to me for a while. I know she's going to say something about how I need to remember our talk about showing patience because interrupting is now a common behavior and I need to understand that I look egotistical when I "can't stand it" that someone has interrupted me. Except I think it's awfully convenient for her that she gets to excuse her rude behavior and I'm going to be held accountable for feeling frustrated. She has said that because she doesn't mean to interrupt me, that because she just thinks of something she wants to say and doesn't want to forget it, that that's different than interrupting someone maliciously. It's not. Why is her thought that needs to be expressed more important than the other person's thought that needs to be expressed? That's how she makes me feel - like I'm less important than she is. The whole day I made a point - a clear point - of not speaking when she was speaking, of looking her straight in the eye and nodding in the appropriate places. I doubt she'll pick up on the message, though.
So now, when I thought I was going to get home from work a little early and get to relax a little longer, instead I've already been yelled at and I've already spent forty minutes typing this stupid post. I'll probably end up just crawling into bed.
He lost everything I had saved on that computer. He lost files from when I was teaching. He lost stories I had started. He lost pictures we had taken of my sister-in-law's mother before she died.
The worst part? Remember my post a few weeks back about apologizing? He's angry at me for getting angry because HE DOES SYSTEM RESTORES ALL THE TIME on his computer and it's fine. It's how he gets the internet back if it isn't working for a few hours. EVERY TIME THE INTERNET IS DOWN HE DOES A COMPLETE, BACK-TO-FACTORY-SETTINGS RESTORE.
He said the computer should have backed up the files automatically. I said it doesn't do that. He YELLED at me that he didn't say it did, HE SAID IT SHOULD. Because his does. I told him that's because he has Windows 7 and my netbook only has Windows XP. Did he apologize? No. He just kept repeating that he couldn't have known my computer was different than his. I said he shouldn't have been messing with something that didn't belong to him - especially something that cost as much as that netbook.
I would have been home a few hours later. Why couldn't they live without the internet for a few hours? All I needed to do was start the wireless internet service and go to the advanced settings to let Windows reconfigure the wireless signals. I also pushed my sister for more information on whether she did a defragmentation (which would have taken hours) and she admitted she didn't, because the analysis said she didn't need to. I said really it had needed it and I had just been planning this morning to do a defragmentation when I got home. She just shrugged her shoulders.
This after another day where I was the bad person for getting frustrated when my boss interrupted me at work. Often, she starts talking to me as soon as I walk in the door. I can't even put my purse down, or take off my jacket in cold weather. Today she followed me to the back room and started talking at me about what we were going to do for the day, and I started a sentence and she interrupted me. I listened to what she said, waited for her to be done talking, waited a beat, started my sentence again, and she interrupted me again. This time I showed frustration, I think by pursing my lips, and she saw my face and asked if I was mad that she interrupted me. Instead of answering I just, for a third time, said what I was trying to say and when I was done she just kind of said, "Oh," and walked away and wouldn't talk to me for a while. I know she's going to say something about how I need to remember our talk about showing patience because interrupting is now a common behavior and I need to understand that I look egotistical when I "can't stand it" that someone has interrupted me. Except I think it's awfully convenient for her that she gets to excuse her rude behavior and I'm going to be held accountable for feeling frustrated. She has said that because she doesn't mean to interrupt me, that because she just thinks of something she wants to say and doesn't want to forget it, that that's different than interrupting someone maliciously. It's not. Why is her thought that needs to be expressed more important than the other person's thought that needs to be expressed? That's how she makes me feel - like I'm less important than she is. The whole day I made a point - a clear point - of not speaking when she was speaking, of looking her straight in the eye and nodding in the appropriate places. I doubt she'll pick up on the message, though.
So now, when I thought I was going to get home from work a little early and get to relax a little longer, instead I've already been yelled at and I've already spent forty minutes typing this stupid post. I'll probably end up just crawling into bed.
June 6, 2012
Random Spewing
A) My sister no longer has a job. She injured her foot falling down the basement steps and now needs surgery. Her workplace will not permit her a leave of absence and will not promise to hold her job for when she returns in, tentatively, two months. Fine, she can't help any of that. It isn't her fault she fell down those stairs (I've done it twice). But it has been a week-and-a-half since she went to work and she has complained about having to do things around the house for those of us who do have jobs. Right now I work five days a week - all long shifts. The only other person who has a job is my nephew's girlfriend. Out of eight people, my parents get retirement checks but don't have to be anywhere, neither of my nephews have school because one is online-schooled and one is twenty-five, and the other girlfriend just graduated from school and for the past year only had to be at school for two hours a day. And you know what happened today? My mother told me to make sure I always washed my own dishes because my sister said she wasn't going to wash my dishes. Fuck her. She isn't in so much pain she can't do things - she's just fine when she has to go to the tobacco store to get cigarettes rolled or when she goes to spend her $400 support check on junk at Wal-Mart. I do my own laundry, take care of the phone/cable/internet bill, handle the repairs on the car and put in most of the gas, and buy food that gets eaten within twenty-four hours. Why can't she wash my, maybe, five dishes I dirty a day? I usually only eat breakfast and only two or three days a week any other meal, so it's often not even five dishes. And we have a dishwasher which I normally put my own dishes in. Why does she get to lay around doing nothing, and her children get to lay around doing nothing, leeching off of my paycheck but refusing to do anything for me? FUCK.
B) I'm reading The Beekeeper's Apprentice. I hope it gets better because I want to slap the narrator, Mary Russell, upside the head. She's egotistical and pretentious. I know it's because in the beginning she's a fifteen-year-old girl but that doesn't excuse her tone of voice because a fifteen-year-old girl is not narrating this story. An adult looking back is narrating. I'm hoping I'll love the book and her once it becomes more of a mystery, once the Sherlock Holmes inspiration kicks in a little. But once again, I'm disappointed in a book I've looked forward to for a long time.
C) I've made a decision based on this: now that I have to support said sister above even more than I did before, I won't have very much extra money and so I'm going to have to just rely on random books from the library. I used to go to the library with all my lists of books and try to find specific books but that's beginning to prove more frustrating because I often end up hating the books I was previously excited by. So I think I'll try random books again. I've said before, I think, that I used to pull five random books in a row (well, technically I would pull five random authors in a row) from the shelf and out of those, it would be an even bet that one would be awful, three would be mediocre, and one would be excellent. That's how I stumbled upon The Descent - a book that is so much more intelligent than that horrible movie supposedly based on it - and The Wall of the Sky, the Wall of the Eye. It's how I found Memoirs of a Geisha before it became a reknowned movie and it's how I read Tom Arnold's autobiography, which is surprisingly funny and interesting. The thing about it is that if I'm disappointed I won't have wasted money. It sounds to me like a lot of people are rediscovering the beauty of libraries for various reasons, and this is mine.
B) I'm reading The Beekeeper's Apprentice. I hope it gets better because I want to slap the narrator, Mary Russell, upside the head. She's egotistical and pretentious. I know it's because in the beginning she's a fifteen-year-old girl but that doesn't excuse her tone of voice because a fifteen-year-old girl is not narrating this story. An adult looking back is narrating. I'm hoping I'll love the book and her once it becomes more of a mystery, once the Sherlock Holmes inspiration kicks in a little. But once again, I'm disappointed in a book I've looked forward to for a long time.
C) I've made a decision based on this: now that I have to support said sister above even more than I did before, I won't have very much extra money and so I'm going to have to just rely on random books from the library. I used to go to the library with all my lists of books and try to find specific books but that's beginning to prove more frustrating because I often end up hating the books I was previously excited by. So I think I'll try random books again. I've said before, I think, that I used to pull five random books in a row (well, technically I would pull five random authors in a row) from the shelf and out of those, it would be an even bet that one would be awful, three would be mediocre, and one would be excellent. That's how I stumbled upon The Descent - a book that is so much more intelligent than that horrible movie supposedly based on it - and The Wall of the Sky, the Wall of the Eye. It's how I found Memoirs of a Geisha before it became a reknowned movie and it's how I read Tom Arnold's autobiography, which is surprisingly funny and interesting. The thing about it is that if I'm disappointed I won't have wasted money. It sounds to me like a lot of people are rediscovering the beauty of libraries for various reasons, and this is mine.
May 31, 2012
Some Things Are Better on Paper
I had an idea one day that during the times I was wasting my life playing video games on my computer I would, instead of listening to the various sounds the game produced, listen to a book on tape. I can mute specific programs (and I have a six-core computer, so it can handle multiple programs). I now digitally download the games so I don't need a disc, and most of the downloads are cheaper than their CD counterparts. It actually works out pretty well.
A friend, whom I told about this plan, asked me if I would be able to concentrate on the story while playing the video game. I responded with several points. First, the games I play on the computer don't require much thought. I play mostly The Sims and the characters can relatively take care of themselves. Second, my attention can't be that much worse than someone who listens to books-on-CD while they're driving. I can pause my game if I feel the need to listen more carefully to the book. I can't (or wouldn't) pull over to listen in the car. Third, even when I'm reading if I feel my attention slipping I would probably realize after a few pages that I had no idea what just happened in the story. So it isn't any different than a normal reading session. Last, it beats listening to the jibber-jabber of the invented 'simlish' language.
And while it's great for books like Mark Twain or short story collections or the like, today I started listening to a "masterpiece of literature" that is supposed to be stark, real ... naked if you will. It is titled Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs.
I'm sure it's brilliant. I'm sure it's ground-breaking. It sure is stark. But it isn't a book you listen to when your seven-year-old niece is running past your bedroom and she might catch the narrator describing torture techniques involving a sheep shoved up someone's asshole. You read that correctly - if I heard it correctly, that is. And I think I did hear that correctly. I've actually never heard the word 'fag' used so much in my life, and I grew up in middle-America. There's no story. The book, at least so far, is a string of instances in the narrator's life - a life of drug abuse, murder, torture, and horrible deaths. I don't understand what's going on but that's because it isn't linear nor really a story as far as I can tell. It paints a picture of a time and place, of a culture, a drug culture. I'm sure it was a pioneer for being so brave and raw.
The voice actor used to narrate did a bang-up job. He sounds like every redneck I've ever met, and he adopts a new persona for every new character, which means about once every five minutes. And he doesn't hold back on being very stereotypical for those characters, either. A Hispanic woman? Let's make her sound stupid and a little bit crazy. A cop? Let's make him sound mean and a little bit nerdy. A 'fag'? Let's not even give him a voice but describe how thrilling it was to watch him get murdered by a drug-addled vigilante.
I'm not sure why it's considered so brilliant. I suppose it's the same confusion I find with the beat poets. I'm just not that interested in drug culture. During the book's time period (published in 1959) this kind of naked truth about the horrors of the world was unheard of. So I guess I can respect the book for being honest and daring? I mean, sure I can. But I think I'll try, at a later date, to respect it on paper.
A friend, whom I told about this plan, asked me if I would be able to concentrate on the story while playing the video game. I responded with several points. First, the games I play on the computer don't require much thought. I play mostly The Sims and the characters can relatively take care of themselves. Second, my attention can't be that much worse than someone who listens to books-on-CD while they're driving. I can pause my game if I feel the need to listen more carefully to the book. I can't (or wouldn't) pull over to listen in the car. Third, even when I'm reading if I feel my attention slipping I would probably realize after a few pages that I had no idea what just happened in the story. So it isn't any different than a normal reading session. Last, it beats listening to the jibber-jabber of the invented 'simlish' language.
And while it's great for books like Mark Twain or short story collections or the like, today I started listening to a "masterpiece of literature" that is supposed to be stark, real ... naked if you will. It is titled Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs.
I'm sure it's brilliant. I'm sure it's ground-breaking. It sure is stark. But it isn't a book you listen to when your seven-year-old niece is running past your bedroom and she might catch the narrator describing torture techniques involving a sheep shoved up someone's asshole. You read that correctly - if I heard it correctly, that is. And I think I did hear that correctly. I've actually never heard the word 'fag' used so much in my life, and I grew up in middle-America. There's no story. The book, at least so far, is a string of instances in the narrator's life - a life of drug abuse, murder, torture, and horrible deaths. I don't understand what's going on but that's because it isn't linear nor really a story as far as I can tell. It paints a picture of a time and place, of a culture, a drug culture. I'm sure it was a pioneer for being so brave and raw.
The voice actor used to narrate did a bang-up job. He sounds like every redneck I've ever met, and he adopts a new persona for every new character, which means about once every five minutes. And he doesn't hold back on being very stereotypical for those characters, either. A Hispanic woman? Let's make her sound stupid and a little bit crazy. A cop? Let's make him sound mean and a little bit nerdy. A 'fag'? Let's not even give him a voice but describe how thrilling it was to watch him get murdered by a drug-addled vigilante.
I'm not sure why it's considered so brilliant. I suppose it's the same confusion I find with the beat poets. I'm just not that interested in drug culture. During the book's time period (published in 1959) this kind of naked truth about the horrors of the world was unheard of. So I guess I can respect the book for being honest and daring? I mean, sure I can. But I think I'll try, at a later date, to respect it on paper.
May 10, 2012
Sorry Speeches
Whenever I read a review of an author's lifetime work, it often includes certain themes the author revisits time and again. Stephen King, in his earlier work, often wrote about childhood innocence and coming of age. The author I'm reading now, Haruki Murakami, often writes about loneliness. Jorge Luis Borges focused on the labyrinths of time and memory. It's funny, because I think it was in King's memoir On Writing where he talks about hating when people ask him if there's a theme to his writing. That could have been in any number of interviews with various authors I've read over the years, though. Regardless of whether an author realizes it or not, often there is a moral or consciousness the author returns to, and sometimes it isn't recognizable until long after that author is gone.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
May 7, 2012
The Remedial Honors Class
It may be emerging from my previous posts that I struggle quite a bit with FEELINGS of inadequacy. One constant struggle is the number of books I read in a year. My goal recently has been to read one hundred books or more every year, and to increase that number as time goes by. I've tried diligently to reach this goal, and have almost always nearly succeeded. If you noticed several qualifiers in that sentence, you're a smart cookie. The truth is I've never read one hundred books in a year. The reason is because I can't.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
April 10, 2012
Guilt
One of the decisions I made after being turned down for a car loan, a bank loan, and an apartment recently was that I would trudge on, using the credit I do have and paying on it every month to establish a trustworthy credit history. Maybe if my parents can pay on the car loans, credit cards, and tax obligations they have and establish a history of trust they might be able to co-sign for me sometime in the near future. I don't know when that will be, but I'll just have to keep on truckin' and try again to get out of this situation a few months down the road.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
April 8, 2012
April 3, 2012
Hate
I spend a lot of time wondering what I represent to my nephew that has caused him to hate me so much.
I wonder if he sees me as someone successful, even if I myself don't feel the same, because the adults in his life are uneducated, lazy, and wasteful. Some of the adults in his life never received a high school diploma or GED. Most of them live in filth, often with tiers of empty pop cans, stained floors, and uninvited guests. None of them have anything of value because all of their money is spent in cigarettes, beer, and drugs. They jump around from job to job. His father is never home. His mother is never happy.
And here's me. I went off to school, which he (like his mother) mistakenly believes my parents paid for. I earned a higher education than he even knows exists. I'm messy, but I rearrange and clean my room regularly, mainly because it's tiny and I desperately seek the perfect combination for some kind of feng shui. I have a fantastic computer (hexacore), beautiful clothing, a car I paid for despite the fact it's in my father's name, and a small refrigerator bursting with healthy food. I've been at my albeit crappy job for more than six years. My father is retired and likes it that way. My mother can be made happy with a strawberry sundae.
I think it's because I was a kid when he was born, and he finds it hard to think of me as an adult. I think his mother whispers in his ear that I am not a grown-up because I live with my parents and so I supposedly don't have any bills. I think whispering must be the only way to communicate, because no one hears it when I shout that she isn't a grown-up either if that's the definition as she lives here, too, with her parents. He doesn't understand that the phone he uses, the cable he watches, the net he surfs wouldn't be there if we hadn't had my name to put them in or me to make the payments on time every month. He wouldn't have a car to get around town, or to take his girlfriend to school, or to pick up his friends for a sleepover only to return them hours later after a childish fight. He wouldn't have had the freakin' awesome tacos we made tonight, because while his mother paid for the hamburger, I bought the shells, the cheese, the seasoning, the taco sauce, and some refried beans - which were yummy.
He hates me because I refuse to do the dishes on most nights, and so his mother is forced to do them, which isn't fair either because he, his girlfriend, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend, all of whom live here, won't do the dishes because that's not their job, and they've never had to do chores and they're not about to start, and I'm a bitch because when I won't help, his mother gets angry and yells at him and his girlfriend and that's my fault because if I would just do the dishes all the anger would go away.
He hates me because after an eight hour day I just want to relax, read a book, watch a TV show, listen to music. But he wants to pretend to be a drummer in the shower, and I'm a bitch because he can beat on the wall of the shower (the wall of my bedroom) all he wants. Besides, that's just how he gets his pubic hair off the razor.
He hates me because I'm one of two people who have ever taken him down when he has physically threatened someone. I'm sorry that it resorted to violence, but he's not going to tell me how he's going to kick my head in and just walk away. I won't be afraid of him. I stand up to him, and while I know it just makes his antics escalate I can't imagine living with myself if I did nothing, ever, when he intimidates, threatens, or insults me.
He hates me because when he asks me for help with his homework, I teach him how to do it and expect him to learn. When I walk past the basement as his mother helps him, I can hear her read him a passage, read it again, reword it to give him the answer to the question, ask him if he's listening, tell him to put down the game controller, tell him to listen, repeat the reworded passage, give the answer, tell him good job, force him to write the answer down so it's in his handwriting. Then I try to pretend to be excited when his report card has A's on it.
He hates me because I've told him "no" since he was a baby, and I'm the only one. I told him, "No, you can't go outside and play until three o'clock," and though he screamed for four hours I didn't cave. I told him, "No, you can't leave the living room until you clean up the mess you made," then blocked the entrances until he cleaned up the mess. I told him, "No, you can't steal from my underwear drawer and give it to your girlfriend," then put a padlock on my bedroom door that I lock every single day whenever I leave the house and occasionally when I take a shower.
He hates me because last year I began planning to leave. He hates me because when I said I was going to get my own apartment, I actually went to viewings, filled out applications, tried to get co-signers. Tried to get out. He hates me because I had an interview last year that could have taken me to a beautiful city with a wonderful salary. He hates that he sees the opportunities I have. He hates that his mother wasted the money that could have gotten them out of the basement. He hates that I pay all of my bills on time. He hates that his father never pays child support.
A lot of the hatred stopped until that time last year, now that I think about it. When I began talking about my own apartment, a better job, a new city, he began writing messages to me on the mirror. About how much of a bitch I am.
I think he hates me because, unlike his mother, I haven't had to give up yet.
I wonder if he sees me as someone successful, even if I myself don't feel the same, because the adults in his life are uneducated, lazy, and wasteful. Some of the adults in his life never received a high school diploma or GED. Most of them live in filth, often with tiers of empty pop cans, stained floors, and uninvited guests. None of them have anything of value because all of their money is spent in cigarettes, beer, and drugs. They jump around from job to job. His father is never home. His mother is never happy.
And here's me. I went off to school, which he (like his mother) mistakenly believes my parents paid for. I earned a higher education than he even knows exists. I'm messy, but I rearrange and clean my room regularly, mainly because it's tiny and I desperately seek the perfect combination for some kind of feng shui. I have a fantastic computer (hexacore), beautiful clothing, a car I paid for despite the fact it's in my father's name, and a small refrigerator bursting with healthy food. I've been at my albeit crappy job for more than six years. My father is retired and likes it that way. My mother can be made happy with a strawberry sundae.
I think it's because I was a kid when he was born, and he finds it hard to think of me as an adult. I think his mother whispers in his ear that I am not a grown-up because I live with my parents and so I supposedly don't have any bills. I think whispering must be the only way to communicate, because no one hears it when I shout that she isn't a grown-up either if that's the definition as she lives here, too, with her parents. He doesn't understand that the phone he uses, the cable he watches, the net he surfs wouldn't be there if we hadn't had my name to put them in or me to make the payments on time every month. He wouldn't have a car to get around town, or to take his girlfriend to school, or to pick up his friends for a sleepover only to return them hours later after a childish fight. He wouldn't have had the freakin' awesome tacos we made tonight, because while his mother paid for the hamburger, I bought the shells, the cheese, the seasoning, the taco sauce, and some refried beans - which were yummy.
He hates me because I refuse to do the dishes on most nights, and so his mother is forced to do them, which isn't fair either because he, his girlfriend, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend, all of whom live here, won't do the dishes because that's not their job, and they've never had to do chores and they're not about to start, and I'm a bitch because when I won't help, his mother gets angry and yells at him and his girlfriend and that's my fault because if I would just do the dishes all the anger would go away.
He hates me because after an eight hour day I just want to relax, read a book, watch a TV show, listen to music. But he wants to pretend to be a drummer in the shower, and I'm a bitch because he can beat on the wall of the shower (the wall of my bedroom) all he wants. Besides, that's just how he gets his pubic hair off the razor.
He hates me because I'm one of two people who have ever taken him down when he has physically threatened someone. I'm sorry that it resorted to violence, but he's not going to tell me how he's going to kick my head in and just walk away. I won't be afraid of him. I stand up to him, and while I know it just makes his antics escalate I can't imagine living with myself if I did nothing, ever, when he intimidates, threatens, or insults me.
He hates me because when he asks me for help with his homework, I teach him how to do it and expect him to learn. When I walk past the basement as his mother helps him, I can hear her read him a passage, read it again, reword it to give him the answer to the question, ask him if he's listening, tell him to put down the game controller, tell him to listen, repeat the reworded passage, give the answer, tell him good job, force him to write the answer down so it's in his handwriting. Then I try to pretend to be excited when his report card has A's on it.
He hates me because I've told him "no" since he was a baby, and I'm the only one. I told him, "No, you can't go outside and play until three o'clock," and though he screamed for four hours I didn't cave. I told him, "No, you can't leave the living room until you clean up the mess you made," then blocked the entrances until he cleaned up the mess. I told him, "No, you can't steal from my underwear drawer and give it to your girlfriend," then put a padlock on my bedroom door that I lock every single day whenever I leave the house and occasionally when I take a shower.
He hates me because last year I began planning to leave. He hates me because when I said I was going to get my own apartment, I actually went to viewings, filled out applications, tried to get co-signers. Tried to get out. He hates me because I had an interview last year that could have taken me to a beautiful city with a wonderful salary. He hates that he sees the opportunities I have. He hates that his mother wasted the money that could have gotten them out of the basement. He hates that I pay all of my bills on time. He hates that his father never pays child support.
A lot of the hatred stopped until that time last year, now that I think about it. When I began talking about my own apartment, a better job, a new city, he began writing messages to me on the mirror. About how much of a bitch I am.
I think he hates me because, unlike his mother, I haven't had to give up yet.
New Info
Well, at least I'm learning now about credit.
I just did some research and my credit score from the three major agencies isn't even important, really. They aren't my FICO score, so they don't matter. And so most likely, my FICO score really is that low, one hundred points lower and so I'm going to die here.
I guess I really will have to find a crappy apartment in an unsafe place (the only one I can afford I've seen anywhere, including craigslist, is on the street most people in this town would say you never, ever, ever want to live on). I guess I'll have to take my chances of being mugged and/or worse every night, just to get some kind of rental/credit history.
But that won't even help my credit. So my best bet is to continue paying the bills I have, continue shaving off the debt I've accrued, and try again soon. I just wonder why the dealership man said my credit was fine when, actually, after researching the score my bank sent me, it's actually really, really bad.
And now my tacos are ruined. I am so pissed.
I just did some research and my credit score from the three major agencies isn't even important, really. They aren't my FICO score, so they don't matter. And so most likely, my FICO score really is that low, one hundred points lower and so I'm going to die here.
I guess I really will have to find a crappy apartment in an unsafe place (the only one I can afford I've seen anywhere, including craigslist, is on the street most people in this town would say you never, ever, ever want to live on). I guess I'll have to take my chances of being mugged and/or worse every night, just to get some kind of rental/credit history.
But that won't even help my credit. So my best bet is to continue paying the bills I have, continue shaving off the debt I've accrued, and try again soon. I just wonder why the dealership man said my credit was fine when, actually, after researching the score my bank sent me, it's actually really, really bad.
And now my tacos are ruined. I am so pissed.
Credit Scores
Yesterday, I paid to get my credit score from TransUnion. The other two are Equifax and Experian. Not too long ago, Equifax sent me a credit report and score and so I know what they say my score is. When I tell my friends, family, and coworkers those scores, they say they're not too bad (either not much lower or even higher than most of their scores).
Last week, I applied for a loan through my bank. They denied me, saying the three factors are credit score, work history, and credit history. I assumed they denied me because of my credit history, because while I've worked hard to make it better than it once was it's still not stellar. A few credit cards I paid off are still on there (and will be for a few more years) and my school loans still reflect that until about two-and-a-half years ago I was deferring them. Okay, I can live with that. I will continue to work on my credit until I reflect two years of payments and trust - a requirement the loan officer said I would need.
But then. Today I received a letter from my bank saying they wanted me to know my credit score. And it was a hundred points lower than the one I paid for yesterday. That's not ten points. That's not twenty points. A hundred points. It says on the back of the letter that if I want to dispute any claims on this report, I need to call the agency that reported it. According to the letter, it was TransUnion, the agency I bought my score from yesterday. I am pissed.
I will call them. I'm off on Friday so I can wake up, have my coffee and eggs, get my blood going, get a shower, sit down, and call them. I will ask them why my bank received a credit score one hundred points lower than the one I paid for. If they tell me the one the bank received is the accurate one, I will ask them for my money back. And then I will cry, because the one I received, the one I paid for, reflects everything I've been trying to accomplish in the past few years. The other one, the one one hundred points lower, is actually worse than the score I got a few years ago, before I even started paying off all these debts.
It's obvious that the car company and the rental office must have received the lower score. It's the only reasoning behind my inability to get anything, anywhere. If that lower score is my real score, I might as well consign myself to being stuck here, again, for eternity.
Last week, I applied for a loan through my bank. They denied me, saying the three factors are credit score, work history, and credit history. I assumed they denied me because of my credit history, because while I've worked hard to make it better than it once was it's still not stellar. A few credit cards I paid off are still on there (and will be for a few more years) and my school loans still reflect that until about two-and-a-half years ago I was deferring them. Okay, I can live with that. I will continue to work on my credit until I reflect two years of payments and trust - a requirement the loan officer said I would need.
But then. Today I received a letter from my bank saying they wanted me to know my credit score. And it was a hundred points lower than the one I paid for yesterday. That's not ten points. That's not twenty points. A hundred points. It says on the back of the letter that if I want to dispute any claims on this report, I need to call the agency that reported it. According to the letter, it was TransUnion, the agency I bought my score from yesterday. I am pissed.
I will call them. I'm off on Friday so I can wake up, have my coffee and eggs, get my blood going, get a shower, sit down, and call them. I will ask them why my bank received a credit score one hundred points lower than the one I paid for. If they tell me the one the bank received is the accurate one, I will ask them for my money back. And then I will cry, because the one I received, the one I paid for, reflects everything I've been trying to accomplish in the past few years. The other one, the one one hundred points lower, is actually worse than the score I got a few years ago, before I even started paying off all these debts.
It's obvious that the car company and the rental office must have received the lower score. It's the only reasoning behind my inability to get anything, anywhere. If that lower score is my real score, I might as well consign myself to being stuck here, again, for eternity.
March 29, 2012
Eternity
I'm going to be stuck here for eternity.
Today I went to apply for my first car loan. I expected them to say I had bad credit or that I needed more money down. Had they said either one of those things I would have sucked it up and continued to work on my credit and continued to save money.
But that's not what they said. They said the same thing all the apartment rental places said. They are words I've come to dread as much as, "You're over-qualified," or "You need more experience." They said, "You need a co-signer."
I don't know what to do. No one in my family has good enough credit. I know they don't, I've tried to use them as co-signers before. The car dealership told me I actually have fairly decent credit and that they could get me a nice loan, but because I have no history of any major financial loans (student loans don't count) they can't finance me alone.
The people in my family with good credit won't take a chance on the "losers" of the family. My parents are the only ones out of all 22 of their siblings who don't own a home. My parents can never make it to family reunions becaue they can't afford the trip. My brother and sisters and I don't have careers, we have jobs. We're black sheep.
I had one window of opportunity. My parents have filed for bankruptcy after bankruptcy ever since I was a child. My only chance was when I left for graduate school, when my parents each qualified for a car loan and paid off each car. If I had only known then that was the one moment I had a chance, I would have done something. Have I ever talked about the three most useless words in the English language? Could, woulda, shoulda.
My parents keep saying that they'll go to one of those "buy here, pay here" places and get a car. I keep telling them that won't help me, because that won't be a major loan for them and so five years down the road they still won't be able to co-sign for me. It won't get me into position to get out of here.
In January, my sister got $5000 from her income taxes (just in federal), $800 in child support, $2000 from her online school to buy a computer, and $900 in paychecks. That's $8700. She bought dinner three times. She put gas in the car every few days. She gave the standard $400 a month she has agreed to for living with my parents. And that's it. No way in Hell that equals $8700. And yet she was angry when my mother asked her to give me some money to put down on a car, seeing as what ran my good car into the ground was her brood needing to go everywhere under the ever-loving sun. She reluctantly handed over the money ($400), claiming it to be the last she had. For four years, my parents have waited for tax season every year because my sister says she's going to move out this time, she's not going to waste her money, she's going to get her driver's license and a car and an apartment and $8700 was by God enough for that and she still didn't. Just like last year. Just like next year.
I don't know how to get out of this. My only option, really, is to get either a second job or a better job and start saving money. I'm afraid of even that, because when someone gets $8700 and doesn't even pay one bill, doesn't offer extra help in any way, and so still my parents are struggling to pay the electric bill and turn to me to come up with it on the day of the disconnect notice, I don't know how to say no. Everyone tells me to just say no, but how can I? I live here and it would be my electric being turned off, too. If the water is turned off, how will I shower for work? If there's no insurance on the car what would happen if I got pulled over for my headlight being out, like last year? It isn't as easy as it sounds to just pretend I shouldn't have responsibility.
Last year, when I had the money and the means to get out of here, I applied for a few apartments. Everyone needed a co-signer and no one was good enough. I don't know how to climb out of this hole. It seems like the dirt just gives way and I fall back in, covered with that dirt.
Today I went to apply for my first car loan. I expected them to say I had bad credit or that I needed more money down. Had they said either one of those things I would have sucked it up and continued to work on my credit and continued to save money.
But that's not what they said. They said the same thing all the apartment rental places said. They are words I've come to dread as much as, "You're over-qualified," or "You need more experience." They said, "You need a co-signer."
I don't know what to do. No one in my family has good enough credit. I know they don't, I've tried to use them as co-signers before. The car dealership told me I actually have fairly decent credit and that they could get me a nice loan, but because I have no history of any major financial loans (student loans don't count) they can't finance me alone.
The people in my family with good credit won't take a chance on the "losers" of the family. My parents are the only ones out of all 22 of their siblings who don't own a home. My parents can never make it to family reunions becaue they can't afford the trip. My brother and sisters and I don't have careers, we have jobs. We're black sheep.
I had one window of opportunity. My parents have filed for bankruptcy after bankruptcy ever since I was a child. My only chance was when I left for graduate school, when my parents each qualified for a car loan and paid off each car. If I had only known then that was the one moment I had a chance, I would have done something. Have I ever talked about the three most useless words in the English language? Could, woulda, shoulda.
My parents keep saying that they'll go to one of those "buy here, pay here" places and get a car. I keep telling them that won't help me, because that won't be a major loan for them and so five years down the road they still won't be able to co-sign for me. It won't get me into position to get out of here.
In January, my sister got $5000 from her income taxes (just in federal), $800 in child support, $2000 from her online school to buy a computer, and $900 in paychecks. That's $8700. She bought dinner three times. She put gas in the car every few days. She gave the standard $400 a month she has agreed to for living with my parents. And that's it. No way in Hell that equals $8700. And yet she was angry when my mother asked her to give me some money to put down on a car, seeing as what ran my good car into the ground was her brood needing to go everywhere under the ever-loving sun. She reluctantly handed over the money ($400), claiming it to be the last she had. For four years, my parents have waited for tax season every year because my sister says she's going to move out this time, she's not going to waste her money, she's going to get her driver's license and a car and an apartment and $8700 was by God enough for that and she still didn't. Just like last year. Just like next year.
I don't know how to get out of this. My only option, really, is to get either a second job or a better job and start saving money. I'm afraid of even that, because when someone gets $8700 and doesn't even pay one bill, doesn't offer extra help in any way, and so still my parents are struggling to pay the electric bill and turn to me to come up with it on the day of the disconnect notice, I don't know how to say no. Everyone tells me to just say no, but how can I? I live here and it would be my electric being turned off, too. If the water is turned off, how will I shower for work? If there's no insurance on the car what would happen if I got pulled over for my headlight being out, like last year? It isn't as easy as it sounds to just pretend I shouldn't have responsibility.
Last year, when I had the money and the means to get out of here, I applied for a few apartments. Everyone needed a co-signer and no one was good enough. I don't know how to climb out of this hole. It seems like the dirt just gives way and I fall back in, covered with that dirt.
March 27, 2012
Writing Strong Women
My latest kick has been watching a marathon of the TV show Criminal Minds. A lot of writers shun watching television programs and prescribe a regiment of reading and writing every waking moment. Well, first of all, I call shenanigans if any writer in the modern day tries to say he doesn't watch television. It's just implausible to imagine he doesn't indulge in guilty pleasures. Second of all, it goes against the study of writing. A high percentage of television shows are scripted (even a good deal of "reality" shows) and particularly scripted television series can teach a writer about pacing, character, and plot.
Case in point: on the show Criminal Minds the main character is an FBI agent named Aaron Hotchner (played by the very handsome Thomas Gibson) who in the beginning of the series had a fairly happy marriage with a baby on the way. During the course of the first few seasons, his wife became more and more disenchanted with his demanding job and his random schedule. Eventually, she filed for divorce and took their son.
I completely understand her feelings. Especially after the birth of their child, it must have been difficult when she needed support and he couldn't be there. It must have been lonely trying to juggle doctor visits and grocery shopping and showering with less help than she would get if her husband had a nine-to-five job. It must be frustrating to plan a family picnic only for her husband to be called away at the last minute and either have to go without him or cancel. I bet it's hard to adjust to that kind of life.
But on the other hand...people like firefighters, police officers, lawyers, doctors, and investigators are everyday heroes. There are women who marry them (and men who marry women in those professions) who can sacrifice that idea of the perfect marriage because they understand their spouses can't just say "No, I won't come help with emergency surgery when there was a ten car pile-up and the hospital needs extra surgeons." If fire spreads to neighboring houses and is raging out of control, how can a firefighter say he won't come help? How can an FBI agent say he can't go save the missing victim of a serial strangler because his wife planned a family birthday party?
One might argue that there are plenty of doctors, firefighters, and FBI agents and that shows like Criminal Minds aren't an accurate depiction of how often one specific person would be called to an emergency. Fires don't really often rage out of control to the point of needing to call in back-ups. Hospitals are usually staffed with the right amount of doctors at any given time for routine emergencies. There are scores of qualified FBI agents who would be sent to a given crime scene and it's silly to portray this set of FBI agents as the only ones who are ever called and who could possibly be trusted to solve a case.
But I think that argument makes the women in these series look even worse. If we take into account the logistics of a TV show, there are on average 20-22 episodes which are usually spread out over about two days of fictional time (because they are often working against a clock where if they don't find the missing person, statistics say she won't be found alive). That means Agent Hotchner is called away from his wife once about every two weeks. He spends approximately forty-four days out of 365 not in a nine-to-five routine (with occasionally longer cases). That's actually pretty normal for anyone who has a job where he travels; he may even spend less time away than, say, a training manager or a high profile insurance salesman.
And to boot, he saves lives. This isn't being called away to Japan on business to close a multi-million dollar corporate deal. This is being called to the scene of a serial rapist whose violence just escalated to smashing the woman's head in. He's the best FBI agent to call for assistance. How would his wife feel if she were one of these women, or the family member of one of these women, and she didn't get the best because his wife feels a little lonely?
I just think it's detrimental to women to paint them as never being able to handle a marriage that isn't perfect. I think it makes women look selfish and weak. He isn't going out drinking with his buddies or intentionally pushing her away. He isn't leaving for days on end with no contact and returning with lipstick on his collar. He isn't abandoning her.
I believe women in her situation have every right to have feelings of frustration, loneliness, and anger. I believe they should express those feelings to their husbands and see if there are any compromises that can be made. I believe they have every right to decide they can't cope with those feelings and need more stability. I believe they have every right to leave that situation and seek a more satisfying marriage.
But for once I want to see a woman who struggles with these feelings but makes the decision to sacrifice herself. I know it's like throwing fuel on the fire to suggest women should sacrifice more than they do, but it takes a really strong woman to be able to make that extra sacrifice. I was reading a blog the other day where a woman said that if her husband of thirty years died she would be fine because she's a strong woman who doesn't define herself by the man she married. I find issue with that statement as one of arrogance instead of strength. I don't see how that will prove how independent she has remained. There will be a hole in her life and it shouldn't matter the gender of the person who occupied it.
But sometimes, being a strong woman is being able to accept the "traditional" role, and the strength is in the fact that she had other options but made a choice to support her husband in his difficult but necessary job. It doesn't make her less than the women who make the choice to find happiness elsewhere. I just...I just want to see a balance between these choices. I want people watching (and when they read or see a movie or any kind of written media) to know all of the options. I want them to know feminism is not defined by hating men - an all too common perception, unfortunately. I want them to know that on one hand a woman can go her whole life without needing a man to "complete" her but on the other hand another woman may feel empowered by giving her husband a loving home to return to when he's seen the horrors of the world.
When I was in college, I had a class about the philosophy of feminism. We read an article about a woman who had decapitated her two children on the lawn in front of her house. In the article, there was a round table with other women where they identified with her, joking about how there are days they feel they could follow in her footsteps. The discussion in class was about the new power women had to express these kinds of feelings - to be able to joke about post-partum depression and their feelings of hatred toward having to be the rock of the family. I'm afraid of this power. This wasn't a woman who shared her feelings of depression; this was a woman who acted on it by murdering innocent children. I expressed this feeling in class and was met with shouts that I have probably felt the same in my life. I argued and argued about the difference between discussing feelings and acting upon them. It isn't feminism to identify with a murderer. It was argued that she was suffering from a common illness and so I couldn't judge her. I understand. But I also don't. I don't feel like the article made any woman who read it go into therapy to deal with her own depression and feelings. I feel like it gave feminist dissenters an article proving that feminism is destructive.
I believe feminism is a move toward options. The woman above had options other than murdering her children. That was proven by the women who had similar feelings but found other options to release those feelings (I just wish that had been clear in the article). I just want there to be more depictions of the decisions women make and why they make those decisions, and why it's okay to make either decision but also why one is not better, more feminist, or a sign of more strength than the other (it will always be a sign of more strength to not murder children, though). I argue with my boss constantly about how people don't have to come to the same conclusions or make the same decisions she has because their lives have led them to different needs or situations. It frustrates me when she uses the phrase, "That's not what I would do if I was her." You're not. If you're worried about her choices help her see her options.
I judge people all the time. I'm not above it and I wouldn't pretend to be. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I have recently found myself thinking more and more about a book I read last year - The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. In my original review I said "I enjoyed it well enough." I think maybe I enjoyed it more than I understood at the time. It was about the roles women were expected to play, and funny enough, it was about the new kind of woman being just as shocked by women making choices that seemed foreign to the "feminist idea." I think I may change the grade on that book. I may have to dig it out and reread it.
Case in point: on the show Criminal Minds the main character is an FBI agent named Aaron Hotchner (played by the very handsome Thomas Gibson) who in the beginning of the series had a fairly happy marriage with a baby on the way. During the course of the first few seasons, his wife became more and more disenchanted with his demanding job and his random schedule. Eventually, she filed for divorce and took their son.
I completely understand her feelings. Especially after the birth of their child, it must have been difficult when she needed support and he couldn't be there. It must have been lonely trying to juggle doctor visits and grocery shopping and showering with less help than she would get if her husband had a nine-to-five job. It must be frustrating to plan a family picnic only for her husband to be called away at the last minute and either have to go without him or cancel. I bet it's hard to adjust to that kind of life.
But on the other hand...people like firefighters, police officers, lawyers, doctors, and investigators are everyday heroes. There are women who marry them (and men who marry women in those professions) who can sacrifice that idea of the perfect marriage because they understand their spouses can't just say "No, I won't come help with emergency surgery when there was a ten car pile-up and the hospital needs extra surgeons." If fire spreads to neighboring houses and is raging out of control, how can a firefighter say he won't come help? How can an FBI agent say he can't go save the missing victim of a serial strangler because his wife planned a family birthday party?
One might argue that there are plenty of doctors, firefighters, and FBI agents and that shows like Criminal Minds aren't an accurate depiction of how often one specific person would be called to an emergency. Fires don't really often rage out of control to the point of needing to call in back-ups. Hospitals are usually staffed with the right amount of doctors at any given time for routine emergencies. There are scores of qualified FBI agents who would be sent to a given crime scene and it's silly to portray this set of FBI agents as the only ones who are ever called and who could possibly be trusted to solve a case.
But I think that argument makes the women in these series look even worse. If we take into account the logistics of a TV show, there are on average 20-22 episodes which are usually spread out over about two days of fictional time (because they are often working against a clock where if they don't find the missing person, statistics say she won't be found alive). That means Agent Hotchner is called away from his wife once about every two weeks. He spends approximately forty-four days out of 365 not in a nine-to-five routine (with occasionally longer cases). That's actually pretty normal for anyone who has a job where he travels; he may even spend less time away than, say, a training manager or a high profile insurance salesman.
And to boot, he saves lives. This isn't being called away to Japan on business to close a multi-million dollar corporate deal. This is being called to the scene of a serial rapist whose violence just escalated to smashing the woman's head in. He's the best FBI agent to call for assistance. How would his wife feel if she were one of these women, or the family member of one of these women, and she didn't get the best because his wife feels a little lonely?
I just think it's detrimental to women to paint them as never being able to handle a marriage that isn't perfect. I think it makes women look selfish and weak. He isn't going out drinking with his buddies or intentionally pushing her away. He isn't leaving for days on end with no contact and returning with lipstick on his collar. He isn't abandoning her.
I believe women in her situation have every right to have feelings of frustration, loneliness, and anger. I believe they should express those feelings to their husbands and see if there are any compromises that can be made. I believe they have every right to decide they can't cope with those feelings and need more stability. I believe they have every right to leave that situation and seek a more satisfying marriage.
But for once I want to see a woman who struggles with these feelings but makes the decision to sacrifice herself. I know it's like throwing fuel on the fire to suggest women should sacrifice more than they do, but it takes a really strong woman to be able to make that extra sacrifice. I was reading a blog the other day where a woman said that if her husband of thirty years died she would be fine because she's a strong woman who doesn't define herself by the man she married. I find issue with that statement as one of arrogance instead of strength. I don't see how that will prove how independent she has remained. There will be a hole in her life and it shouldn't matter the gender of the person who occupied it.
But sometimes, being a strong woman is being able to accept the "traditional" role, and the strength is in the fact that she had other options but made a choice to support her husband in his difficult but necessary job. It doesn't make her less than the women who make the choice to find happiness elsewhere. I just...I just want to see a balance between these choices. I want people watching (and when they read or see a movie or any kind of written media) to know all of the options. I want them to know feminism is not defined by hating men - an all too common perception, unfortunately. I want them to know that on one hand a woman can go her whole life without needing a man to "complete" her but on the other hand another woman may feel empowered by giving her husband a loving home to return to when he's seen the horrors of the world.
When I was in college, I had a class about the philosophy of feminism. We read an article about a woman who had decapitated her two children on the lawn in front of her house. In the article, there was a round table with other women where they identified with her, joking about how there are days they feel they could follow in her footsteps. The discussion in class was about the new power women had to express these kinds of feelings - to be able to joke about post-partum depression and their feelings of hatred toward having to be the rock of the family. I'm afraid of this power. This wasn't a woman who shared her feelings of depression; this was a woman who acted on it by murdering innocent children. I expressed this feeling in class and was met with shouts that I have probably felt the same in my life. I argued and argued about the difference between discussing feelings and acting upon them. It isn't feminism to identify with a murderer. It was argued that she was suffering from a common illness and so I couldn't judge her. I understand. But I also don't. I don't feel like the article made any woman who read it go into therapy to deal with her own depression and feelings. I feel like it gave feminist dissenters an article proving that feminism is destructive.
I believe feminism is a move toward options. The woman above had options other than murdering her children. That was proven by the women who had similar feelings but found other options to release those feelings (I just wish that had been clear in the article). I just want there to be more depictions of the decisions women make and why they make those decisions, and why it's okay to make either decision but also why one is not better, more feminist, or a sign of more strength than the other (it will always be a sign of more strength to not murder children, though). I argue with my boss constantly about how people don't have to come to the same conclusions or make the same decisions she has because their lives have led them to different needs or situations. It frustrates me when she uses the phrase, "That's not what I would do if I was her." You're not. If you're worried about her choices help her see her options.
I judge people all the time. I'm not above it and I wouldn't pretend to be. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I have recently found myself thinking more and more about a book I read last year - The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. In my original review I said "I enjoyed it well enough." I think maybe I enjoyed it more than I understood at the time. It was about the roles women were expected to play, and funny enough, it was about the new kind of woman being just as shocked by women making choices that seemed foreign to the "feminist idea." I think I may change the grade on that book. I may have to dig it out and reread it.
March 18, 2012
Random Updates
I've been sick for the past four days. Just a little flu bug that knocked me out. Luckily I had the past four days off from work and was able to leave early Wednesday, the day I first felt signs of being under the weather. The bad part was my work called me both Friday and Saturday, basically trying to convince me that I should be well enough by now to fill in and they needed someone to fill in. Well, too bad, because I didn't feel well enough, I wasn't scheduled, and I can tell you no anytime I want to for any reason I want to. Today I had my first cup of coffee in three days and I'm high as a kite right now. They said I should be able to make it through since I would have been sick Wednesday and Thursday and would have recovered Friday and Saturday. Well, unfortunately illness doesn't work on a set schedule for the conveniences of retail.
This happens frequently at my work. Someone will need to call off, so all the other employees not already working get called to see whether they can fill in. If anyone says no, their reasons are grilled to the point of ridiculousness. You know, if they weren't scheduled when the schedule was posted (and initialed as complete) they don't have to give any reason whatsoever as to why they can't fill in. I've tried to tell my boss this on several occasions but she argues that part of their job descriptions is flexibility. I say, yes, but not spontaneous flexibility. The agreement is the schedule is posted two weeks prior to the dates it covers and at that point becomes a contract. We argue constantly over whether we should sign the schedule when it's posted (agreeing to work the days scheduled) or after it has transpired (agreeing it accurately depicts the hours we worked). While the handbook states the latter, I think I'm going to start practicing the former.
As stated in my previous post, I'm just an idiot when it comes to commenting on anything on the internet. I've received several replies to my statement that I didn't like the comedian, including one that just said, "god ur dumb." I let myself get roped in, wasting precious moments of my life trying to convince all of these people that I'm entitled to say I don't like him and they should just agree to disagree. Of course I'm going to get a thousand emails saying people have responded to my comment and even though I will probably ignore them, I know they're all going to just continue the insanity and I'll be tempted to see just how much hate I can possibly cause. Am I a troll?
Also while sick, I've been reading some back issues of Poets and Writers. One thing I've learned - I can't be interested in every article and should just skip the ones I'm not interested in after the first paragraph. One article I loved, though, was about book lists (with commentary from Tony Doerr!). The author of the article (not Tony Doerr!) talked about how he realized one day that he would never, ever be able to read all the books on his list and how this had depressed him greatly. Eventually, he was able to come to grips with the fact that it is impossible to read even a fraction of the books that are published in even a given year (thousands upon thousands), especially in the growing market of self-publication through e-readers. He also talked about the guilt many writers feel when they think a so-called canon masterpiece is crap. He had to convince himself it's okay to put down that masterpiece and pick up something more personal - and that whatever an individual chooses to read is just fine as long as she is reading. Tony Doerr(!) said something along those lines as well. This is a constant issue I struggle with, often not feeling these masterpieces are really all that masterful and are really more pieces of.... Anyway, the author of the article suggested making a list of the ten or so books we enjoyed reading the most every year and see if there's any theme. I liked this idea very much.
My sister is in the hospital with an infection in her spinal cord. She had a bed sore at her tailbone that became infected and spread up her entire back, and is now swollen to the size of a basketball. She will need surgery to try to remove the infection and plastic surgery to repair her back. Part of her tailbone is actually sticking through the bed sore. We don't know when the surgeries will happen or what exactly all of the surgeries will entail, so I'll keep updating.
I know all of this seems a bit random, but my mind is a bit addled right now and I was just writing as things came to me. I'm hoping I'll be able to drink some coffee tomorrow and not feel like I'm floating on a cloud. I have to pick up my new glasses tomorrow morning (with transitions lenses, thankfully) and then spend my evening at work, so I'm just hoping I won't be this loopy. I guess it will be a fun evening if I am.
P.S. I've edited this to add that it's Poets & Writers magazine. One of the articles was all about the ampersand, and how certain poetry editors think it's just so annoying and basically would pause before considering a poem just because the author used an ampersand. That's ludicrous. It's a symbol. A well known one. It means "and." Get over it.
This happens frequently at my work. Someone will need to call off, so all the other employees not already working get called to see whether they can fill in. If anyone says no, their reasons are grilled to the point of ridiculousness. You know, if they weren't scheduled when the schedule was posted (and initialed as complete) they don't have to give any reason whatsoever as to why they can't fill in. I've tried to tell my boss this on several occasions but she argues that part of their job descriptions is flexibility. I say, yes, but not spontaneous flexibility. The agreement is the schedule is posted two weeks prior to the dates it covers and at that point becomes a contract. We argue constantly over whether we should sign the schedule when it's posted (agreeing to work the days scheduled) or after it has transpired (agreeing it accurately depicts the hours we worked). While the handbook states the latter, I think I'm going to start practicing the former.
As stated in my previous post, I'm just an idiot when it comes to commenting on anything on the internet. I've received several replies to my statement that I didn't like the comedian, including one that just said, "god ur dumb." I let myself get roped in, wasting precious moments of my life trying to convince all of these people that I'm entitled to say I don't like him and they should just agree to disagree. Of course I'm going to get a thousand emails saying people have responded to my comment and even though I will probably ignore them, I know they're all going to just continue the insanity and I'll be tempted to see just how much hate I can possibly cause. Am I a troll?
Also while sick, I've been reading some back issues of Poets and Writers. One thing I've learned - I can't be interested in every article and should just skip the ones I'm not interested in after the first paragraph. One article I loved, though, was about book lists (with commentary from Tony Doerr!). The author of the article (not Tony Doerr!) talked about how he realized one day that he would never, ever be able to read all the books on his list and how this had depressed him greatly. Eventually, he was able to come to grips with the fact that it is impossible to read even a fraction of the books that are published in even a given year (thousands upon thousands), especially in the growing market of self-publication through e-readers. He also talked about the guilt many writers feel when they think a so-called canon masterpiece is crap. He had to convince himself it's okay to put down that masterpiece and pick up something more personal - and that whatever an individual chooses to read is just fine as long as she is reading. Tony Doerr(!) said something along those lines as well. This is a constant issue I struggle with, often not feeling these masterpieces are really all that masterful and are really more pieces of.... Anyway, the author of the article suggested making a list of the ten or so books we enjoyed reading the most every year and see if there's any theme. I liked this idea very much.
My sister is in the hospital with an infection in her spinal cord. She had a bed sore at her tailbone that became infected and spread up her entire back, and is now swollen to the size of a basketball. She will need surgery to try to remove the infection and plastic surgery to repair her back. Part of her tailbone is actually sticking through the bed sore. We don't know when the surgeries will happen or what exactly all of the surgeries will entail, so I'll keep updating.
I know all of this seems a bit random, but my mind is a bit addled right now and I was just writing as things came to me. I'm hoping I'll be able to drink some coffee tomorrow and not feel like I'm floating on a cloud. I have to pick up my new glasses tomorrow morning (with transitions lenses, thankfully) and then spend my evening at work, so I'm just hoping I won't be this loopy. I guess it will be a fun evening if I am.
P.S. I've edited this to add that it's Poets & Writers magazine. One of the articles was all about the ampersand, and how certain poetry editors think it's just so annoying and basically would pause before considering a poem just because the author used an ampersand. That's ludicrous. It's a symbol. A well known one. It means "and." Get over it.
March 12, 2012
My Big Fat Opinion Piece
Which will all be about opinions on the internet. So, there's a part of me that hates the internet because I think it has bred a generation of people who think their opinions are completely entitled. Now, it's fine to have an opinion. It's even fine to express said opinion. If said opinion is expressed thusly:
"I like this show."
"I don't like this show."
...all is well and good. There can even be a bit of exposition on why or why not the show is liked by said individual. Even if the exposition turns into a rant about the qualities of the show it's okay. My problem lies with attacking someone else's opinion by calling him names or insinuating something about his intelligence because his opinion differs. I see this all the time. I experienced it myself two years ago.
I hate The Colbert Report. I can't watch it. I've never been able to watch anything Stephen Colbert has appeared on because I just can't stand him or his humor. It's something about his delivery. He rarely smiles. He was on Whose Line Is It Anyway once and I can't watch that episode because he just seems too serious throughout. I understand he's trying to stay "in character" and that a lot of improvisers find it unprofessional to even smile while "in character" but Whose Line has never been established as a serious show. I also hated him on The Daily Show because he would often do the segments I absolutely despised. Namely, he would do the mock interviews with real people who it seemed didn't know they were being mocked, and it was actually infuriating to me to watch it dawn on them that they were the butt of a national joke. The few times I've seen The Colbert Report I just can't seem to laugh even though I understand what Colbert is doing is actually mocking the very thing his "character" is supposedly supporting. I understand it's basically a mock show. I just don't like Stephen Colbert and, by proxy, don't like his show.
One day I was talking to a co-worker and he expressed his opinion on loving The Colbert Report. When I expressed the opposite opinion, the first words out of his mouth were, "Well, you obviously don't understand what he's doing." I was enraged. I mean, I've rarely been so insulted. I'm not an idiot. And my co-worker knew I wasn't an idiot. But his first inclination upon hearing an opinion opposite his own was to degrade me and make me feel inferior to his own knowledge. No. Just no.
I see this everywhere on the internet. I was just watching a British program called The Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2006, and there was a celebrity appearing on it who many people find annoying. Many people expressed this opinion in the comments. And instead of just posting their own comments saying, "Well I like him because..." a lot of responders had to attack the first people by "explaining" what it is those first people aren't "getting." No, I get it. The celebrity is "in character" as a smarmy know-it-all who can't relax and wants to win and can't take it when the game doesn't play by the rules. It's a freaking TV show - there's no prize (except a cheesy trophy), no money goes to charity, no advantage next year or "reigning champion" titles. It's just a game that's supposed to be fun and make fun of the news from the year gone by. And maybe some people find his "character" funny. I don't. I'm allowed to express that and so are the thousands of other people who feel the same way.
One of the comments was about how much this certain poster loves this celebrity, and people who don't should keep it to themselves. Well, no. When people go overboard and get violent, vitriolic, or nasty about something (particularly something as stupid as a celebrity on a game show) that's one thing. If someone were to come on and say, "I hope that guy dies in a fire because he's a fucking retard," that bothers me. That's not an opinion, that's just offensive. But nothing is universal. There is no celebrity, book, piece of art, issue, or human right that anyone can agree on. Not even the death penalty or gender equality. Do I feel there are issues I can't believe people don't agree on? Of course. Do I want to call them morons when they spout hate speech or racial slurs or other offenses? You betcha. Do I want to go off on a rant like this one when they feel themselves superior to others because they "get" the issue and others "don't"? Fuck ya. And, well, I do, to an extent. As seen here.
But what I try not to do is call them names whilst in an actual debate with them. Just now, in the comments on The Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2006, I made a comment asking people to just say "I like him" or "I don't like him" and move the fuck on. There were two other celebrities who are quite polarizing, who were actually not taking the game seriously AT ALL, and there are plenty of people who were annoyed by that. And that's fine. In the end those two (who I liked) were straining everyone's patience a bit. It's fine to not like something. It's not fine to force other's into that same opinion.
Wearing down someone's feelings in effect does force them into adopting the opposite opinion. We've all grown tired of an argument to the point we just concede to end the argument altogether. Look, I know this seems trivial, because it's a TV show and who cares? It's not a real issue. Except, for this generation their manners are being learned in this capacity, and since our abilites to deal with greater issues stem from how we handle smaller social issues as we age, my fear is the future of society is going to be even worse than it is now because the latest generation can't hold a civil debate or compromise to someone else's ideas. I never knew it was a talent to agree to disagree. Some might call it indifference, but I call it necessity. I think it's why we can't come to an agreement on how to handle certain situations.
Let's talk, incredibly briefly, about gay rights. I'm totally for complete rights for homosexuals. However, I'd be willing to compromise on the issue of gay marriage by saying that if each state would legalize gay marriage (recognizing it as equal to heterosexual marriage in the eyes of the law) it could also be mandated that individual churches would have jurisdiction over whether they would allow gay marriage ceremonies to be held on their premises. There are plenty of churches that have begun to accept homosexuals. If a church declares that within its culture homosexual marriage isn't accepted, so be it. Those churches and their parishioners can continue to practice their religion as they choose fit. Just keep it out of the government and out of my chosen culture/religion. There are, of course, many other issues surrounding gay marriage, but I said "briefly."
The reason I can compromise is because I'm indifferent to others opinions or practices as long as it doesn't hurt me or another human being. It may seem like I've leapt from something stupid to something serious but, well, yeah. And I can because I've learned how to debate from the social situations I've been put in previously. I used to play with a little girl who wanted her way, all the time, and if she didn't get it she didn't want to play anymore. Well, after a while, no one wanted to play with her and she was lonely and she learned to take turns. But it took a long time and several experiences of her friends going home or telling her they didn't want to come over at all before she came to her revelation of compromising. On the internet, where a good deal of kids spend their lives interacting these days, everyone is anonymous or easily replaced. If a kid can't compromise she just clicks off that tab or changes her screenname or moves to a different chat room. She doesn't have to compromise. She doesn't have to learn.
This worries me.
"I like this show."
"I don't like this show."
...all is well and good. There can even be a bit of exposition on why or why not the show is liked by said individual. Even if the exposition turns into a rant about the qualities of the show it's okay. My problem lies with attacking someone else's opinion by calling him names or insinuating something about his intelligence because his opinion differs. I see this all the time. I experienced it myself two years ago.
I hate The Colbert Report. I can't watch it. I've never been able to watch anything Stephen Colbert has appeared on because I just can't stand him or his humor. It's something about his delivery. He rarely smiles. He was on Whose Line Is It Anyway once and I can't watch that episode because he just seems too serious throughout. I understand he's trying to stay "in character" and that a lot of improvisers find it unprofessional to even smile while "in character" but Whose Line has never been established as a serious show. I also hated him on The Daily Show because he would often do the segments I absolutely despised. Namely, he would do the mock interviews with real people who it seemed didn't know they were being mocked, and it was actually infuriating to me to watch it dawn on them that they were the butt of a national joke. The few times I've seen The Colbert Report I just can't seem to laugh even though I understand what Colbert is doing is actually mocking the very thing his "character" is supposedly supporting. I understand it's basically a mock show. I just don't like Stephen Colbert and, by proxy, don't like his show.
One day I was talking to a co-worker and he expressed his opinion on loving The Colbert Report. When I expressed the opposite opinion, the first words out of his mouth were, "Well, you obviously don't understand what he's doing." I was enraged. I mean, I've rarely been so insulted. I'm not an idiot. And my co-worker knew I wasn't an idiot. But his first inclination upon hearing an opinion opposite his own was to degrade me and make me feel inferior to his own knowledge. No. Just no.
I see this everywhere on the internet. I was just watching a British program called The Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2006, and there was a celebrity appearing on it who many people find annoying. Many people expressed this opinion in the comments. And instead of just posting their own comments saying, "Well I like him because..." a lot of responders had to attack the first people by "explaining" what it is those first people aren't "getting." No, I get it. The celebrity is "in character" as a smarmy know-it-all who can't relax and wants to win and can't take it when the game doesn't play by the rules. It's a freaking TV show - there's no prize (except a cheesy trophy), no money goes to charity, no advantage next year or "reigning champion" titles. It's just a game that's supposed to be fun and make fun of the news from the year gone by. And maybe some people find his "character" funny. I don't. I'm allowed to express that and so are the thousands of other people who feel the same way.
One of the comments was about how much this certain poster loves this celebrity, and people who don't should keep it to themselves. Well, no. When people go overboard and get violent, vitriolic, or nasty about something (particularly something as stupid as a celebrity on a game show) that's one thing. If someone were to come on and say, "I hope that guy dies in a fire because he's a fucking retard," that bothers me. That's not an opinion, that's just offensive. But nothing is universal. There is no celebrity, book, piece of art, issue, or human right that anyone can agree on. Not even the death penalty or gender equality. Do I feel there are issues I can't believe people don't agree on? Of course. Do I want to call them morons when they spout hate speech or racial slurs or other offenses? You betcha. Do I want to go off on a rant like this one when they feel themselves superior to others because they "get" the issue and others "don't"? Fuck ya. And, well, I do, to an extent. As seen here.
But what I try not to do is call them names whilst in an actual debate with them. Just now, in the comments on The Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2006, I made a comment asking people to just say "I like him" or "I don't like him" and move the fuck on. There were two other celebrities who are quite polarizing, who were actually not taking the game seriously AT ALL, and there are plenty of people who were annoyed by that. And that's fine. In the end those two (who I liked) were straining everyone's patience a bit. It's fine to not like something. It's not fine to force other's into that same opinion.
Wearing down someone's feelings in effect does force them into adopting the opposite opinion. We've all grown tired of an argument to the point we just concede to end the argument altogether. Look, I know this seems trivial, because it's a TV show and who cares? It's not a real issue. Except, for this generation their manners are being learned in this capacity, and since our abilites to deal with greater issues stem from how we handle smaller social issues as we age, my fear is the future of society is going to be even worse than it is now because the latest generation can't hold a civil debate or compromise to someone else's ideas. I never knew it was a talent to agree to disagree. Some might call it indifference, but I call it necessity. I think it's why we can't come to an agreement on how to handle certain situations.
Let's talk, incredibly briefly, about gay rights. I'm totally for complete rights for homosexuals. However, I'd be willing to compromise on the issue of gay marriage by saying that if each state would legalize gay marriage (recognizing it as equal to heterosexual marriage in the eyes of the law) it could also be mandated that individual churches would have jurisdiction over whether they would allow gay marriage ceremonies to be held on their premises. There are plenty of churches that have begun to accept homosexuals. If a church declares that within its culture homosexual marriage isn't accepted, so be it. Those churches and their parishioners can continue to practice their religion as they choose fit. Just keep it out of the government and out of my chosen culture/religion. There are, of course, many other issues surrounding gay marriage, but I said "briefly."
The reason I can compromise is because I'm indifferent to others opinions or practices as long as it doesn't hurt me or another human being. It may seem like I've leapt from something stupid to something serious but, well, yeah. And I can because I've learned how to debate from the social situations I've been put in previously. I used to play with a little girl who wanted her way, all the time, and if she didn't get it she didn't want to play anymore. Well, after a while, no one wanted to play with her and she was lonely and she learned to take turns. But it took a long time and several experiences of her friends going home or telling her they didn't want to come over at all before she came to her revelation of compromising. On the internet, where a good deal of kids spend their lives interacting these days, everyone is anonymous or easily replaced. If a kid can't compromise she just clicks off that tab or changes her screenname or moves to a different chat room. She doesn't have to compromise. She doesn't have to learn.
This worries me.
February 22, 2012
On the Art of Suggestion
When I was going through workshops for writing, the most common mistake fellow writers would make during their critiques was to offer no solutions to augment the criticisms they gave. They would vaguely say, "I didn't like the part where the boy died" or "I got confused when you started writing in fragments on page ten." That's nice, and while it helps the author to some extent because he knows he has something to fix (possibly), he may not be able to see why he needs to fix it because he doesn't understand why it was unpleasant or confusing. Generally, fragments are confusing because they are unfinished thoughts, but maybe there were effective fragments and uneffective fragments and being pointed in the general direction of the effective ones would help. Telling him to cut his entire tenth page or to change his ending so the boy doesn't die isn't enough either. What if the boy dying isn't really the problem but some misconception about the events leading to his death? What if the reviewer just can't handle death scenes or just would have liked a different ending and is pouting about not getting what she wanted? What if the author does change that ending and the story suffers because the death wasn't really the problem at all?
I think about this when I read people's critiques of various projects. Take for instance Dan Savage's "The Trevor Project," a series of articles and videos directed at kids who are questioning or declaring their sexuality. Many of the videos in particular are celebrities talking about their own experiences with bullying or violence and how they felt like the pain would never end. The message is that while the world seems too cruel a place for any kind of happiness to be conceivable, there is hope and these people are glad they made it through the pain because their lives are better and they hope in turn to make the world better for kids who are experiencing the same as they did.
Now, look, I understand the common argument against this project. The argument is that the message shouldn't be directed toward the LGBTQ or generally bullied community, but instead the message needs to be directed toward the bullies and those who allow them to continue acts of hateful violence. Too true. But...I think that's very idealized. I would love to see every single school, office, city, state, and country adopt policies completely protecting the rights of every person to live their lives as peacefully and happily as they can imagine. I truly believe in the idea of protecting life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
But I also understand that this cannot happen overnight and it can only happen in small steps. That's why I don't understand why anyone would call a project like "The Trevor Project" a failure or critique it for what it's trying to do. One major outcry I hear is that kids don't care about the future because they live in the present and only the present. First of all - NOT true. Kids dream. They imagine their lives ten years down the road. They imagine their weddings and their children and their careers. True - a lot of kids in violent are otherwise harmful situations can't always think about the future because it seems so far away and unreachable, but that does NOT equate to only living in the present. In fact, they are in the very essence of that idea thinking of the future - albeit thinking of it as something they're unsure will ever come. But they dream about it coming, nonetheless. Even the smallest hint of how the future can be better can give their dreams a reality they had never dreamed of before.
Secondly, I hear the message isn't good enough. How can telling them it gets better make their current pain go away? It doesn't. I and the dissenters say the same thing though in different contexts. They say it doesn't go away in a condemnation of slapping a Band-Aid over a ten-inch cut. The kids are still in pain, they are still being bullied, they must still face intolerance every day with nothing but some silly message about how someday they'll wake up and it's all better. Well, yeah. It doesn't go away but that's not the point of the message. The point is to reach out in any way possible to help in any way possible. My question is, how can reaching out possibly be wrong?
Thirdly, I hear it's patronizing and demeaning to the intelligence of these kids. I think that is a slap in the face to the thousands, no, millions of kids who have posted comments about how much hearing someone else share their pain has helped them. I just read a comment about how an adult who had suffered through bullying in her youth would have given ANYTHING to have felt some shred of normality, to have felt like she was not alone. That's what I hear from so many kids I know, these kids who believe their feelings or desires or dreams are wrong because they don't know anyone else who thinks like they do. You know what "The Trevor Project" gives them? Knowledge. Knowledge that other people do think as they think. Others dream as they dream.
All of that said, what I want out of the critics is a solution if they don't think "The Trevor Project" is good enough. I want them to build upon this project - because ultimately a project is something that will be worked on, hypothesized, theorized, rearranged, carried over, torn down, rebuilt, rinse, repeat. Many famous authors say that a story is never finished, not even if it's been published for a hundred years. Make a video pleading for zero-tolerance as a government mandate in all schools. Write an article about how to approach the parents of a bully to get to the root of the problem. Start a campaign to force authority figures (such as principals) to complete some kind of psychology training to prepare them for the violent mentality of those who cannot accept differences. "I'm just talking, folks, ya get it? I'm talking. I'm talking. Talking. You talk to people, you find out about them. Maybe you reveal a little bit about yourself in the process. But the main thing is you get to know them, you go inside their head. You find out what their dreams are, what their hopes are...." (Believe it or not, that quote is from the first episode of Night Court.)
The other day I desperately pulled a teenager I know aside to talk to her in the only five-minute time I knew I had to be alone with her. Her world is turning upside-down right now. You know what I said to her? I told her to talk to me. That's it. I asked her how she was doing. I told her she could tell me anything that was bothering her, worrying her. And she did. She knew we didn't have much time. At first she was reluctant. One reason is another friend of ours made the comment that this girl shouldn't have anything to be depressed about because what do teenagers have to be depressed about? She said that to the teenager. I was horrified. She has everything and nothing and everything to be depressed about. The teenager told me how much she hates high school because the other kids are just assholes who go around making everyone around them miserable. I told her how I felt the same way and how much better college had been for me. In other words, I told her it gets better. I will never, ever forget her smile. I told her she will have so many more options for friends and situations in college. I told her how I thought I would know the people from my high school forever...and how I didn't even recognize a personal bully when I saw her ten years down the road. She had faded from my life like a pressed flower. I asked the teenager if she was getting therapy. She is. She's really stressed out by her mom right now, too. The other day, her mom came and told me and the other friend that the teenager is manipulating people and not to be sucked into her lies. But you know what? Even if that's true, what if it's not? I've never known this child to manipulate me. What if her mother is the reason she's crying out for help? You know what's going to happen when she goes away to college? She'll get away from her mother. And maybe it will get better.
So I watch the videos on "The Trevor Project" where these kids talk into a computer screen and feel like they're talking to someone, anyone. And while they receive messages that are unkind, they also receive an outpouring of support they never dreamed possible. In any way possible. Let's take this idea and build upon it. Let's shape it into something less confusing. I don't like that the boy died. But I do know how we can begin to fix it.
I think about this when I read people's critiques of various projects. Take for instance Dan Savage's "The Trevor Project," a series of articles and videos directed at kids who are questioning or declaring their sexuality. Many of the videos in particular are celebrities talking about their own experiences with bullying or violence and how they felt like the pain would never end. The message is that while the world seems too cruel a place for any kind of happiness to be conceivable, there is hope and these people are glad they made it through the pain because their lives are better and they hope in turn to make the world better for kids who are experiencing the same as they did.
Now, look, I understand the common argument against this project. The argument is that the message shouldn't be directed toward the LGBTQ or generally bullied community, but instead the message needs to be directed toward the bullies and those who allow them to continue acts of hateful violence. Too true. But...I think that's very idealized. I would love to see every single school, office, city, state, and country adopt policies completely protecting the rights of every person to live their lives as peacefully and happily as they can imagine. I truly believe in the idea of protecting life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
But I also understand that this cannot happen overnight and it can only happen in small steps. That's why I don't understand why anyone would call a project like "The Trevor Project" a failure or critique it for what it's trying to do. One major outcry I hear is that kids don't care about the future because they live in the present and only the present. First of all - NOT true. Kids dream. They imagine their lives ten years down the road. They imagine their weddings and their children and their careers. True - a lot of kids in violent are otherwise harmful situations can't always think about the future because it seems so far away and unreachable, but that does NOT equate to only living in the present. In fact, they are in the very essence of that idea thinking of the future - albeit thinking of it as something they're unsure will ever come. But they dream about it coming, nonetheless. Even the smallest hint of how the future can be better can give their dreams a reality they had never dreamed of before.
Secondly, I hear the message isn't good enough. How can telling them it gets better make their current pain go away? It doesn't. I and the dissenters say the same thing though in different contexts. They say it doesn't go away in a condemnation of slapping a Band-Aid over a ten-inch cut. The kids are still in pain, they are still being bullied, they must still face intolerance every day with nothing but some silly message about how someday they'll wake up and it's all better. Well, yeah. It doesn't go away but that's not the point of the message. The point is to reach out in any way possible to help in any way possible. My question is, how can reaching out possibly be wrong?
Thirdly, I hear it's patronizing and demeaning to the intelligence of these kids. I think that is a slap in the face to the thousands, no, millions of kids who have posted comments about how much hearing someone else share their pain has helped them. I just read a comment about how an adult who had suffered through bullying in her youth would have given ANYTHING to have felt some shred of normality, to have felt like she was not alone. That's what I hear from so many kids I know, these kids who believe their feelings or desires or dreams are wrong because they don't know anyone else who thinks like they do. You know what "The Trevor Project" gives them? Knowledge. Knowledge that other people do think as they think. Others dream as they dream.
All of that said, what I want out of the critics is a solution if they don't think "The Trevor Project" is good enough. I want them to build upon this project - because ultimately a project is something that will be worked on, hypothesized, theorized, rearranged, carried over, torn down, rebuilt, rinse, repeat. Many famous authors say that a story is never finished, not even if it's been published for a hundred years. Make a video pleading for zero-tolerance as a government mandate in all schools. Write an article about how to approach the parents of a bully to get to the root of the problem. Start a campaign to force authority figures (such as principals) to complete some kind of psychology training to prepare them for the violent mentality of those who cannot accept differences. "I'm just talking, folks, ya get it? I'm talking. I'm talking. Talking. You talk to people, you find out about them. Maybe you reveal a little bit about yourself in the process. But the main thing is you get to know them, you go inside their head. You find out what their dreams are, what their hopes are...." (Believe it or not, that quote is from the first episode of Night Court.)
The other day I desperately pulled a teenager I know aside to talk to her in the only five-minute time I knew I had to be alone with her. Her world is turning upside-down right now. You know what I said to her? I told her to talk to me. That's it. I asked her how she was doing. I told her she could tell me anything that was bothering her, worrying her. And she did. She knew we didn't have much time. At first she was reluctant. One reason is another friend of ours made the comment that this girl shouldn't have anything to be depressed about because what do teenagers have to be depressed about? She said that to the teenager. I was horrified. She has everything and nothing and everything to be depressed about. The teenager told me how much she hates high school because the other kids are just assholes who go around making everyone around them miserable. I told her how I felt the same way and how much better college had been for me. In other words, I told her it gets better. I will never, ever forget her smile. I told her she will have so many more options for friends and situations in college. I told her how I thought I would know the people from my high school forever...and how I didn't even recognize a personal bully when I saw her ten years down the road. She had faded from my life like a pressed flower. I asked the teenager if she was getting therapy. She is. She's really stressed out by her mom right now, too. The other day, her mom came and told me and the other friend that the teenager is manipulating people and not to be sucked into her lies. But you know what? Even if that's true, what if it's not? I've never known this child to manipulate me. What if her mother is the reason she's crying out for help? You know what's going to happen when she goes away to college? She'll get away from her mother. And maybe it will get better.
So I watch the videos on "The Trevor Project" where these kids talk into a computer screen and feel like they're talking to someone, anyone. And while they receive messages that are unkind, they also receive an outpouring of support they never dreamed possible. In any way possible. Let's take this idea and build upon it. Let's shape it into something less confusing. I don't like that the boy died. But I do know how we can begin to fix it.
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