Here's how it works: when you intrude, usurp my autonomy, or generally assume shit, you exacerbate my anxiety and depression and increase the degree to which I'm suicidal.
As you might imagine, it's a little difficult to operate like that; this means I need to work on bringing those things down. Continuing with your shit just makes that process longer.
We went to see a parade in Barrington today for the 4th. This already feels like it's going to sound like a play-by-play and disjointed but oh well.
Towards the end, there was this girl handing out BBQ pulled-pork (I think? Can't remember) samples for a restaurant in the downtown. It was pretty good so, for lunch, we all decided to go down there.
I still don't remember if I was simply caught off guard (we happened to notice the girl who gave us the samples behind the counter when we arrived) or if there really was just something there but I was rather thoroughly struck by…I dunno, how open and friendly the other girl behind the counter seemed.
I don't know whether I've necessarily ever discussed here (or anywhere, for that matter) why I always keep such a buoyant outward mood to the point of (I feel like it sometimes becomes) being exaggerative (I was going to also say hyperbolic but I think, given the definition of hyperbole, I would actually be okay with it being hyperbolic; it fits the bill). Yes, sure, there's the old I-have-depression-and-don't-want-to-drag-you-down-with-me but you don't have to even necessarily be outwardly happy to do that. Being anti-social and not talking to people could accomplish that one.
It's that, one, I legitimately just want to get along with everyone and like being nice to people. I know it doesn't fit the motif of being mysterious or withdrawn or stoic for masculinity but I just feel happier being open with people. I want to be friendly.
But it's also that people just seem to tend to be…unfriendly. And for seemingly no good damn reason. My brother and I were discussing race and I mentioned that, up North, I really don't seem to find that awkwardness that I've heard other people mention. He responded that he feels that all the time. Now, this is the kid who has diamond earrings and had an afro that is now dreadlocks; he's not exactly ducking into traditional white social mores in regards to his appearance. And I'm not saying that getting poor responses to his physical dress is not a problem; far be it for me to ever do that. Nor am I saying that the North is devoid of racism (one of the points of credit that the movie Premium Rush – about bike messengers in NYC – received was that it was one of the few Hollywood movies to depict the racial diversity of NYC more accurately to what NYC is actually like; to be fair, you'd never be able to levy such a complaint, ever, about Chicago and there's no way that that's an accident). And it's not like there weren't people in high school who found fit to define me by my race first (generally joking and friends I was close with so I generally didn't mind but, still, there was a slight trend which just highlighted further the fact that I probably knew a grand total of five other black students only once I got to my Senior year). And, certainly, being followed around in a convenience store is not the same as the number of racial jokes rising the moment I enter the group which is also not the same as people giving my brother dirty stares because of his hair style (which may just be because they're unfamiliar with the hair style and find it unkempt, etc.); those are all very different, complex situations.
But I find, even for generally straight-laced me, that people are continually just bizarrely rude. Or awkward (without, to me, reason to be but I can make a pretty mean awkward situation in my own right so I probably shouldn't hold anyone to task for that one). Despite my being overly friendly, people don't precipitate. And maybe it is a race thing; I dunno, maybe my brother's right. Regardless, people aren't friendly because they're generally stupid and so I just smile and be friendly and ask questions or make jokes and I don't give a damn whether you laugh or respond or shit.
But it also means I'm all the more happy and thankful when I find someone who actively tries to be friendly to others as well. I like friendliness. It's in low supply and helps the world go round.
In any case, my brother and I have gotten into the habit of, after running into a girl somewhere, questioning whether she was actively flirting with either of us. I think it's partially from irony given the fact that I generally assume not and tend to be the shy one of the group (the conversation usually goes with me saying, "Naw…" while my brother, and maybe a third party, going, "Ohh, yeah, it was definitely obvious!") but also just to be ridiculous. After all, friendliness certainly does not necessarily flirtation mean.
You can imagine how the conversation throughout lunch might go. This isn't helped by the fact that the girl stops over at our table to pet my sister's dog (though, to be fair, the girl came back later to ask if she could take a picture of Shiver to show her mom since she used to have a dog of the exact same breed; I may be bad at flirting but I'm pretty sure you use the dog to start the conversation and then direct your attention to whomever you're interested in flirting with).
Of course, my mother doesn't seem to exist for any other reason than to try to play matchmaker for all her children at every second of every day. And, being my mother, the reason she uses is that "She's pretty."
I actually would have said gorgeous but that's neither here nor there (I almost want to describe her but I can't really without beginning to strongly feel like I'm objectifying so I won't; the point for doing so is that, while not greatly, I think she fell outside, somewhat, "mainstream" beauty standards. Part of my own drawing, I imagine, and also why my mother described her as pretty while I'm using much stronger language).
But as I'm mulling these thoughts over…what real defense do I have to ask this girl out? I mean, I'm in an unfortunate place emotionally while trying to get my life together. I'm still not done with my hermit-ing to heal myself for the future that may lose me near to all my friends come the end (there's only so long any person should have to endure the isolation of another). That's not a wise position to start anything with anyone, really.
But, even beyond that…she seems really friendly and she likes dogs (something which is very wonderful in any person; pets can potentially tell you quite a bit about a person). And that's it. Well, she also works at this restaurant which potentially looks family owned. Which is interesting but doesn't necessarily mean anything. And when you compare that to the many more things that entail any form of a relationship, those few things are downright minimal. Certainly nothing that can justifying trying to start a relationship given the position I'm in with my life.
And, most of the time I was there, I found myself drawn to her…but on what basis? Even I couldn't really answer you that beyond that I found her pretty. And while I've played with the notion of how people look playing into who they are as a person, I more often find that that area is so phenomenally complex that you generally can't glean anything from there without knowing more about the person to start connecting dots (if physical appearance beyond how a person dresses/styles themselves can tell you anything at all). Even I tried, all I could really boil it down to is a hunch: she seemed interesting. Maybe she would be; I wouldn't know.
But it just overwhelmingly confronted me with the fact that, as a system, physical attractiveness still completely and utterly eludes any logical attempts to justify itself. Certainly to fit into just about any merit-based system that we, as humans, have ever devised (which, really, are just about the only systems I'm interested in using).
I think that I can honestly say that this, more than anything, is what makes me question the notion of a God that created an ordered and logical universe. The more I think about it, the more that it being just a byproduct of evolution and pure chance that worked seems to be the only answer that rightly explains its existence.
We went to the Pride Festival in Chicago today. I would have preferred to go to the parade but my sister's going down to Northwestern for a summer program on the same day so we couldn't. And she's never been to a pride event so, of course, I wasn't going to be having any of that (for the record, she wanted to go; I was just more than happy to aid).
On the way back, I happened to see Ariel in Union Station; I'll come back to this.
About a week or so ago, I happened to run into Joan. There's a principle difference between Joan and Ariel in relation to me, simply by virtue of history. I met Ariel when she was doing Operation Obvious (a campaign to recognize the LGBT movement as the next civil rights movement of our time). She eventually joined The Wit (the high school's literary magazine), which I was also on. I believe she was two years under me and joined The Wit her Sophomore year so, clearly, our interaction was not extensive. That being said, she's a fantastically nice person and someone who I have to admire for the conviction of her beliefs and willingness to pursue them.
Joan, on the other hand, I met through Shane. I haven't really kept in touch with Shane but I took to Joan. I suppose that it always struck me as odd because she was a Freshman during my Senior and I didn't get to know many (a year simply isn't much time, etc.). Perhaps in part because her friends and my friends tended to overlap, I spent a decent amount of time hanging out with Joan my last year of high school and I'm really rather fond of her.
I ran into Joan at a restaurant the family and I were going to. I sort of was walking past – thinking to myself, "Does that girl look familiar?" – and did a double take when I realized it was Joan. She was with someone and I was with the family so there really wasn't much room for catching up. I really should send her a message sometime, in spite of my recent reclusiveness. I know it's not very likely to blossom into a lifelong best friendship or even go far beyond that message (largely my own invertedness and social awkwardness to blame) but I'll probably do it because it's important to let people know they're valued. Even if my close ring of five or less best friends is my constant in life, that certainly doesn't mean those friends I'm less close with aren't very important to me.
In any case, I mention this because, when I saw Ariel today, I was struck by this very particular feeling/thought. The reason I bring up Joan (other than to mention that I was really glad to see her; it's been an…odd year) is that I didn't have the same reaction. I was glad to see Joan but seeing Ariel was markedly different.
While I would certainly like to know Ariel better, I think a good description of us would be acquaintances (which is not something trivial to me, as I've covered before here). But I would certainly describe Joan and I as friends; so, if that was what triggered the reaction, it would have occurred with seeing Joan as well.
While we were at the pride festival, I remember just feeling…comfortable. Safe. It was particularly interesting since my dad was there but maybe it just added to that feeling that I was entering a different community. Memories of the QSU kept coming to me. A girl that "looked like" a lesbian handed me a flyer on becoming a vegan. The guys behind the bar were down to just their underwear. a drag performer was performing on one of the stages. And I'm not trying to say that these groups are in some way fixed (there were women down to just their underwear there as well) but there was familiarity there. And, for whatever flaws I've found or find in my Queer community (whether they're correct or not), I felt safe. Certainly welcomed but also safe. In some ways, it was better than the parade. Sure, there were commercial vendors here as well but, outside of the food, there were causes that directly related to our community here and people who cared about them (and about us) behind those booths and fighting for them.
While I don't quite understand it in total, it would seem that community is actually really important to me, verging on dependent to my well being. While, particularly in relation to discussing and making sense of mental illness, I've become more and more of a fan of the idea of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs as time goes on, my own social interactions seem to follow a similar trend. When I'm not doing well, I rescind into myself, hard. Only those who are closest to me do I let in, at times only keeping in touch sparing (sometimes cutting off even them). When I feel more comfortable, I'm far more willing to let others in. But the thing is, a true community doesn't just include your closest friends. It includes your friends and it includes your acquaintances.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm always very happy to see those acquaintances very much. And it's not just that I like people: people in general take importance for me and even those who I don't spend much time with are important to me. Ariel is someone I think highly of and there will always be the fact that I met her through The Wit, a group that was very important to me. I'm not going to have the same reaction seeing her as I might if I saw Laila unexpectedly but she's important to me. I feel like I'm repeating myself but I like to be thorough.
My point I am slowly hinting towards is that my reaction, upon seeing Ariel, was a sense of community. I guess I used to wonder, back in high school when – wading through the masses of 5,000 students – we would often stop a million times in the halls saying hello enough times that we barely got through a conversation with the person we were walking with, why we did it. I mean, take Sarah Greenawalt. I always liked Sarah (there was a warmness she always greeted me with which I always appreciated) but our relationship didn't extend beyond a similar friendbase (or at least history) and seeing her in the hall from time to time. I don't see Sarah anymore and am likely not to (wouldn't mind seeing her again one near bit but it's not very likely). So…what was the point (alright, this is a hilarious question because I never think meeting or getting to know any person is ever a waste of time by any measurement; the question doesn't even deserve a response, in my mind; not to mention, like I said, I rather like Sarah as a person)?
I guess it goes without saying that I never really look at anyone I just meet with the expectation of remaining at the level with them forever. With all people, I sincerely want to get to know them better and become best buds with them. But, obviously, that level of friendship doesn't exist with all people at all times. So, while Laila is certainly of more importance to me (I severely don't like the phrasing of that but I'm struggling for a better one) than Sarah, Sarah isn't unimportant (just as I expect I'm "less important" to Sarah in comparison to others Sarah is closer with and has a more extensive history with). Does that make sense?
So, when I saw Ariel today, there was more than just a "Oh! Ariel; I haven't seen her in ages. I should most definitely say hello." moment (this plan went horridly wrong, in the comedic way my life is good for; I spent most of the time in Union station trying to figure out if it was her without being creepy; funnily enough, this usually works just in time in spite of my sluggishness and avoids approaching people that actually just happen to look exceedingly similar to the people I know. This time, though, our train arrived before I said hello. In spite of this, we wound up in the same car anyway. After more trying to make sure it was her – and trying not to look creepy –, I left a comment on her Facebook saying I thought I saw her and wanted to see how she's been. She asks where I am; by the time I respond, she's fallen asleep. And she eventually gets off at her spot. Probably the most successful two hours of my life and best "catching up" scenario I've had).
There was this distinct jolt of community, if that makes sense. And it wasn't just that she was probably in Chicago for the pride festival as well. It was that sense of my home state, the state of my community in high school, where I can still run into a large gamut of people I know. I mean, I didn't get to know Ariel that well in high school (a shame, as I've said, but so ist das leben). And yet, in that same way I'd pass by Sarah in the hall and stop and ask how she's been and what she's up to despite our otherwise limited interaction, I was going (to attempt and fail) to stop by and say hello to Ariel. And it was like, for the first time in a long while, I had a full sense of a community again. Not raggedly thrusting all my weight onto my close friends to pull me forward or silently licking my wounds in the dark and just biding recovery: walking through those halls and having the energy to pay attention to those people who don't loom as large in my life but who are, none the less, very important to me.
I told Antal once that I had realized that I don't seem to fully ingratiate to a community until about four to five years (I think high school was a sped up process, in part thanks to the phenomenal class of '09). I'm not entirely sure what it is; maybe it's just that sense of safety in knowing that I'm amongst people I like and who like me; maybe it's that same connectedness and support I felt walking amongst the pride festival, knowing that – to some degree – we all supported each other and cared about each other even though we didn't really know each other (this actually seems to imply a larger level of separation between myself and Sarah and Ariel than I want to imply but hopefully it gives an idea of what I'm getting at). I don't know.
This isn't a thread that I've made full sense of yet. I don't know what the relevance is of community to me (though I'm fairly certain it has relation to my feelings about people and humanity and my own bizarre need for physicality in spite of my driving tendency to isolate myself; things I shall have to cover at a later time). There's a lot here that I'm not entirely certain about but I've been chewing these ideas and concept for a while. They're coming to slow solidity but they're odd because I'm not used to discovering such fundamental aspects of myself this far into my life.
On a last note (to be honest, I'm not sure if it's related), I've just never understood not wanting to get to know people. It's such a universalizing expectation (so I don't entirely like holding it) but, on a really fundamental level, I don't understand that concept. How do you meet people and not want to know more? How do you not consider it a rare privilege for someone to share parts of their life with you? My immediate reaction is to ask that they continue. My instinct is to throw aside whatever it is I had (something I haven't been entirely the best at doing recently, as my post regarding Amanda noted) to pay attention. How is it not to care and worry and put first? That isn't explaining it right. I can understand how one might not do those last listed three things on accident; what I mean is, how can your reaction to a person not be to want to know more and not be elation at a return of that interest? I suppose that sounds weird until you consider that the whole of our culture pretty much revolves around human connection. Even if it's with just one person, we want human connection. I just want to meet and celebrate every person I meet for every bit of uniqueness they possess. And I don't know why, exactly. I mean, I can come up with a logical defense, obviously. I think I started with that and this emotional reaction has gotten stronger over the years (I think that's largely because it took time to have deeper human connections that, without, I couldn't have ever realized were possible and, thus, have particular emotional responses). But I've always had a strong love for people that I sort of just assumed everyone shared. Not to say people can't be shit. I've known quite a few. But knowing some of the amazing, spell-binding people that I have (and the passion they have and the aspirations and potential abilities and care that they can command) – how do people not see the astounding potential in everyone they meet?
It's not quite related but it's a thought I've been having so I'm tacking it on the end here. While actually trying to orchestrate such a thing would probably never run smoothly (and potentially be astoundingly awkward for all involved), I'd like to see what might happen if all my exes were to meet and get to know each other for a day (that's a nicer way of saying it instead of "plop them all into a room and tell them, "Interact!") – and not just the ones I liked (though I actually would like all the exes that I truly consider to be amazing people to meet each other simply because such phenomenal people deserve to meet other such phenomenal and life-changing people like themselves).
No, I'd like all of them to meet each other because I'd be interested to know what I was to them. Was I sweet? Was I mean? Was I too sarcastic? But, more importantly, was I supportive? Was I helpful? Or was I destructive? Careless? Flippant? Cruel? Did I give them memories worth keeping, in spite of whatever fallout may've occured? Did I give them anything?
I remember there was one moment my brother, eager about music as he often is, was mentioning a line from a rap song he had heard recently that he really liked. Unsurprisingly, this sparked a comment from my mother about how much she hated rap. My father chimed in as well, noting that what he particularly couldn't stand was the arrogance and bragging. My mother notes that there's "just too much cursing".
In regards to the bragging, my brother gives the argument that's been given before: they strove so much to get where they are and came from so little; they've earned, to quote Kanye, the "right to be a little bit snobbish".
I ask whether Catcher In the Rye would be the same novel without Holden's candid expletives.
My father says he feels that's different.
I'd have to agree.
Granted, I think the notion has weight in the context of a well-put-together album such as Reasonable Doubt or the like. And I think there is something interesting and worth studying in seeing a genre – that is largely produced and put out by a group of people consistently kept economically deficient – should find a study of wealth to literally be a past-time. Kanye, in particular (or at least I'm most familiar with him), is rather good at illuminating the source of such consistent and, arguably, negative habits within rap.
However, – much as the sexism and misogyny in rap often tries to be explained away – I don't think all bravado can be so cleanly explained away. Some of it's irritating; and some of it really isn't healthy (within the culture of hip hop and for human beings in general, though I wouldn't say all of it is). And, in general, I don't think most of the bragging and trash talk can be explained with simply "You deserve to be able to do this".
I just don't care.
Granted, I grew up as a kid off of Detroit rap (largely because my introduction into rap was Eminem). So I have a particular affinity for rap battling. Add to that that Midwestern rap does have an appreciation punchlines and wordplay and that my second area of interest was East Coast rap, I have a large appreciation for clever wordplay and creative raps.
I really like trash talk, so long as the trash talker can back it up. Other than working on sentence structures in writing (in part because I'm more of a nerd than I know what to do with), there's a great rush from hearing someone talking about how great they are and then proving it. I dunno, I imagine it's the same rush most rap listeners (or, given the influence rap has had on pop music, any music listener of the 21st century) have to listening to someone brag. I guess it's some vicariousness we've got going on. I dunno.
But, for an example that makes more sense, there's also this real rush to hearing a really clever punchline or witty bit, particular those that make you have to think about it for a moment so that you laugh more than you really should once you get it.
I like the juvenile wordplay of Da Ruckus:
I told you once, but you forget so here's a flashback
"You couldn't be shit, if you came out my asscrack"
Or Beastie Boys':
So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself
Or Juice's pun:
I haven't even started my reign: I'm only drizzling
Or even corny ones from Jay-Z that I still enjoy just because I somehow managed to miss it the first time around:
Flyer that a piece of paper bearing my name
Or other ones which I just can't seem to think of at the moment because I'm blanking.
Sometimes, you just want to hear good, old-fashioned, clever trash talk.
The vibe is unsettling: as soon as the verse cuts,
I kill 'em with the medley and then ready the hearse up
Overflowin' on the levy and it's ready to burst up:
Those that wanna get me, wanna sweat me, get burned up
I make 'em feel like they flows is in the amazon,
On the land being stampeded, gettin' trampled on
They can't beat it: so damn heated, they can't respond
And I'm so damn weeded, I can't see 'em – so carry on…
Yerp, that'd be the stuff.
Well, @XxbutterflyknivesXx tapped me for this so here I go. The idea is 16 things about-yourself/you-like.
1. I'm still becoming a writer because I want to see God.
2. I use someone's name when trying to get to know people (and also because I'm terrible at remembering names and this helps). It grabs zir attention (a truly difficult thing to keep for people, it would seem) because you address zem directly, points that ze's notable to you because you've remembered zir name, and makes a sentence more personalized.
Or, at least, so goes my reasoning; I don't know if it actually works as well at it might logically seem to. People have a tendency to generally not gravitate to reserved, and often dry, Me at initial meetings (which can extend into further acquaintances).
Within the past few years, it's turned into my own quirk of a way to signify that someone has grabbed my attention or that I see and recognize zem and would like to get to know zem better. While I've never bothered to keep track of how often I've used people's names, I don't think I do this as much with those I know well or am close to (given they should already know that I want to know them as people, etc.). But for those I don't know as well, it's a sort of signifier (even if I'm the only one aware of it or what it means).
3. I have attempted over a period of time to test out every type and amount of sleep in an attempt to reign it in. For reasons I have no understanding of, my body wants 12 hours of sleep or more; there is actual medical evidence of people having this condition with no known reason and no known cure. In college, going to sleep became an ordeal because you slay half of your day this way and completely obliterate the ability or morale to do work. When my depression would get particularly bad, I'd stay in bed for as long as 24 hours. While I think it was the depression that kept me from wanting to get out of bed, I think my body was perfectly fine with going back to sleep. It literally never tires of it.
I think the best sleep I ever get (with a feeling that the sleep was actually regenerative) is going to bed on complete and thorough exhaustion or when my body wakes up after a short interval of sleep (3, 4.5, or – at most – 6 hours) on its own because I've been forcing myself to wake up after short hours (ranging from between 15 to 30 minutes or the previous hours I gave). Of course, 12 hours of sleep results in me being tired again in 6 hours and the short bursts of sleep are not remotely retainable.
I kept myself strictly aiming for no more than 4.5 hours or sleep but getting between that and 8 hours for two or three months not too long ago. This eventually gave way to my body sleeping as much as it could again.
I'm just sick of being perpetually exhausted.
4. I love individuals, hate people, and idealize humanity.
5. I tend to attach a lot of symbolic value to things (one of the fallouts of being a writer?). For example, I, undeniably, adore Caroline. I've known her ever since Junior year of high school, she's wonderfully loyal, and an amazing friend who has always stuck by me, no matter what. But, in spite of those things (or maybe they are because of this), Caroline also came to me through Victoria. Well before she was my Freshman, she was Victoria's. And, as we already know, I think very highly of Victoria. She could've just as much as said anything in high school and I would've taken it into consideration. So, in a sense, Caroline comes with Victoria's seal of approval. I doubt Victoria put that much thought into it. She probably met Caroline and simply took to the girl. But Caroline will always have that sense of approval and connection in my eye. That sort of, "Well, anyone who's a friend of _______ is a friend of mine," rationalization we often use; I don't know anything about you – but you're from ______'s camp and that's enough for me. That sort of loyalty and trust that goes with such a sentiment.
Likewise, Lauren was one of the first people I ever met at Williams and was in my Freshmen orientation group. We got along, had a bit in common, and did some activities together. Nothing exceedingly great. I think we saw each other a total of 5 individual times after orientation over my four years at Williams. We weren't exactly best buds or anything (though she's a pretty cool person so I'll always be fond of her). Yet she was one of the first people I met and got along with in a new state at a new school miles from home and familiarity. She will always be someone I consider important to me because of this, regardless of how close we stay or become over the years.
For yet another example, we randomly made a pact we were going to get a pug at one point, Lizzie. As such, this will still occur.
6. I have a creeping suspicion that I have some form of anxiety. This actually is terrifying to me.
As I've said already in a million different places a million different times, life is performance for me a good 90% of the time. And it's so thoroughly tiring. Beyond having to use just about all my concentration to read social cues and follow them whenever I interact with people, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every fortnight of every month of every year is a continual and constant process of keeping control of my emotions and keeping myself stable. Not even happy, just maintaining stability and keeping myself from depression.
While it's a taxing process that circumvents what I can do during a particular moment (despite the insistence of tasks or activities I should do and micromanagement of others every other day), I still have control. Anxiety, quite simply, is not control. I imagine it's controllable; I know there are those who manage panic attacks and the like every day. But it's yet more work to tack on and I don't know I have the strength for it. Nor the time.
7. I imagine the above is the reason I cannot stand when others don't bother to play nice or even bother to show an attempt at being friendly when I consistently do so. I am holding back and keeping in check my emotions in spite of that difficulty when I would much like to have the freedom to yell or be blunt about my feelings (if this xanga is not evidence enough of) or simply react slack-jawed because it's effort to even display emotion or even talk sometimes and you can't even muster being friendly back at me?
8. I can be a massive pack-rat. It's partially because items carry not only memory but information about their time and place and partially because items can often be reused or used later.
For an example, I was pasting and cutting some files before realizing that I didn't want to move them quite yet. Stupidly, I hit cancel. Well, the transfer was in the middle of moving a video of a band induction ceremony (thus the only version being the one I had taken). Canceling is caused the video to be half moved, creating a new 4 minute copy of the 8 minute clip. Panicking and not being able to think of any way to restore the file or if I had (stupidly, I had not) made a copy of the file, I decided to look through the my backed up files from before I dual-booted my computer with Windows and Linux. I have about three backups from different years. Not only was a copy of the video in one of them but it's not the first time some file has been lost (not always my fault) and I had it stored in an old backup.
People keep telling me that it's an inane habit and yet I have so many instances in which I've found joy and use from my packrattiness.
9. I never fully understood the whole concept of not being friends with your exes or members of the opposite sex (maybe because my bisexuality sort of would mean a person would have to worry double time) due to your current SO feeling uneasy about it.
First off, (if you can't trust the person to that extent) you're probably going to have a bad time.
Secondly, most of my friends are female and a few of my exes are some of the closest friends I have. I've always believed a proper relationship, even if failed, should bring the people closer together and that has definitely happened for a few of them. Arguably, you could say that all of my few best friends are female. As such, I fully intend to stay friends with them and that will include future activities like going to see shows or getting lunch, etc. If I'm with someone, it is with full commitment so long as I am with zem. If you can't trust my word on that…well, deal?
10. While I've often jokingly noted that most Bruce Springsteen fans are twice my age, I've been lucky in that my favorite artist is still alive and producing work (even if I've been critical of that later work). I don't think many people get the luck of having their childhood artist, the one they grew up on and memorized and spent far too much time obsessing over, still alive and active. Hell, I've been to two Springsteen concerts. Nothing legendary but I still get the bragging rights to say that.
And, sure, Black Sabbath and Ozzy are technically still around. But, for every other artist I listen to, I've either stopped or had my expectations lowered or they're no longer active/living.
And I'm becoming keenly aware that that's not going to be forever. There isn't likely to be a moment where I trail a bunch of his shows or see one of those legendary live performances or even get to look forward to new material because he's either going to retire or, unfortunately, die.
But even beyond that, – in death – it's not like I'm going to be able to follow what he's doing in the news or read interviews, etc. An individual, even if from afar, who was a mainstay of my life since childhood will be gone.
11. 99% of my sense of humor can be pinned down to irony. I realized this when walking with my cousin one time; I was (and still somewhat am) so surprised I'm able to define it so cleanly.
12. Part of the frustration of none of my cousins nor siblings nor myself being taught Haitian Creole is that I'm fairly certain I'm going to adopt children, on my own, in the future. And when it'll come to passing on heritage…there won't be much to do that with. My mother once got angry at me that I didn't post something on Facebook after the earthquake in Haiti. While I want to learn more about Haiti, – at this point in time – is it really all that surprising that I didn't? I don't speak the language, hardly know any others Haitians outside of my mother's side of the family, and have no real clue about the culture other than a collection of maybe five stories from my mother that all date back to before she emigrated (thus, thirty or so years ago). The little bit that I do have is a few Haitian recipes that I've grown up on. This means I can pass on a taste for Haitian cuisine (which I most certainly plan to do) but that's about it.
I haven't tried learning a new language because I'm generally bad at learning them. Plus anything which doesn't captivate my attention is going to be a struggle due to my depression and I already have more than enough things I have to do that aren't interesting and, thus, become a struggle to do. Plus, given that the English language is my area of study, I find wordcraft to truly be an art form and a beautiful one at that. There's something very satisfying about a skillfully crafted sentence and, having been as anal about grammar as I have, I think it's an utter waste to use words carelessly or sloppily. While I would never deter anyone from learning another language (I actually tend to look at zem in a much higher light for accomplishing something I haven't been able to), I would feel terrible for foisting myself into another person's language only to use it poorly and sloppily and hold it back from forming itself into the more complex capabilities language has potential for and becoming a far tighter and elegant system just because of my own ineptitude.
And yet I really would love to learn German or Creole. And it would at least give a stronger sense of heritage to my children. Recently, a feelings been creeping up on me that I may just bite the bullet; we'll see.
13. Speaking of grammar…
Technically speaking, I am not a prescriptivist when it comes to grammar. I believe language can change and does change. Indeed – as a system formed organically (and often haphazardly) from a grassroots sort of process –, I often think language should because it often manifests itself in ways that are nonsensical and poor. Basically, I think our language's rules should have reasoning behind them – and those which do not pass a test of sense should be discarded – but I do, at the end of the day, believe our language should have rules. I most certainly do not think that the fluidity of language gives us free range to run will-ze-n'ill-ze through language rules or rejoice at contradictory diversity within its body of rules. And, when at an impasse, I do tend to give precedence towards older rules and trends: this includes just about any usage that has prevalence in the language as well as any that may be created in the future (because, after all – at the end of the day –, I can't control how you use language). Generally, this tends to make me feel quite at home amongst prescriptivists – for a time.
While I haven't read through the whole blog yet and cannot necessarily give it a stamp of approval (it does, after all, have the phrase "Prescriptivism Must Die!" emblazoned on it), the blog Motivated Grammar gets its name from the same belief as mine. From zir site:
Grammar should not be articles of faith handed down to us from those on high who never split infinitives but always split hairs. Grammar should be rules that allow us to communicate more efficiently, clearly, and understandably. I’m not advocating the abolition of grammar,[explain to me why this comma exists] but rather its justification. I’m not quite sure what that will entail in the end, but I’m starting out by pointing out grammar rules that just don’t make sense, don’t work, or don’t have any justification. All I want is for our rules of grammar to be well-motivated.
Questionable comma aside, the above is beautiful (I tend to react more strongly to certain explanations when said explanation puts into words perfectly, for me, some feeling I was having difficulty expressing or even expressing clearly).
I should note that this doesn't apply to pronunciation, though the Midwestern accent is the most beautiful of English-speaking people (because I clearly have no bias; though I am also rather fond of the Irish accent and the Brooklyn accent, with Boston often piquing my interest). While I would probably prefer a standardization of pronunciation, that is literally impossible (plus there is some fun to that diversity). I was in argument with two friends of mine over whether Shakespeare would have to be standardized and I vehemently disagreed until we realized that I was under the impression we were solely talking about the text (silly English major). I'm inclined to believe that spelling (and possibly grammatical usage, though changes in that aren't likely to disrupt your Shakespeare too greatly) is likely to remain very standardized with the advent of the Internet Age and rising levels of education (and that's really all I'm concerned about maintaining). Of course, both were quick to point out (to my own persistent bafflement) that most high school students find they cannot understand the bard.
Also, in regards to the plural of octopus: the term comes from the Greek, ὀκτάπους (oktapous, "eight-footed"). If we follow the Greek to the plural form, we would get octopodes. The term octopi comes from the mistaken assumption that the term comes from the Latin (it does not).
I would probably accept the term octopuses, given that it follows standard English grammatical rules, but I'm not apt to like it.
Also, down with the singular They.
14. I really hate the term "bitch". As the above might give indication to, I'm not generally into abandoning any word. On the other hand, I generally despise reclamation of hate-terms.
You might argue that "bitch" isn't only used as a term of hate but I might disagree. I said to my brother once that there's never a non-gendered usage with it. It either frames women into that old stereotype of just bringing down all the fun everyone else is having by voicing their opinions or it connotes weakness and being dominated (particularly disturbing when you tie it back to the notion of the word meaning "female"), often sharing equal usage in this case to describe males.
I was technically wrong. When used as a noun, I think the term possibly escapes gendering (e.g. "Julie and the gang are up in this bitch!"). However, that, as far as I can see, is the only instance.
But even beyond that, I don't like the term because – like the term slut – it tends to carry a connotation with it that tends to overshadow its definition.
Okay, a woman who dates a guy just for his money and then movies on might not be a good person. Wouldn't it make sense to describe her as a bitch?
Arguably. But let me counter. Take the movie Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay: there's a scene where Kumar is reminiscing with his friend and love interest, Vanessa. He points out that she put used tampons in a Professor's purse (we're going to ignore the fact that they're literally tying the image of a period to why this woman deserved what she got; I can make my point without it). Even before Vanessa responds, I knew what the answer would be, in that sort of way you know something by routine.
Her response: Oh, come on. She was a bitch and you know it.
The problem with this (and, being connotation, I can't really prove it but you may anecdotally perceive this) is that the justification really isn't just that she was mean. I think it's important to note that it's Vanessa saying this. Bitch often is wielded as this sort of silencer. No girl wants to be a bitch and, if you are one, you sort of get whatever's coming to you. Unasked, you deserve it.
Vanessa's statement really reads as, "She was a bitch and, thus, she deserved it." And that's how the phrase is often put forward. She was a bitch. Umm, okay, on what criterion?
But, unless I'm mistaken, it just feels like it's carrying more meaning that it ever bothers to say. It's not just meant as a justification – like I said, it's meant as a silencer. She was a bitch; end of conversation, case solved. And it operates much as the terms queer and faggot and fairy used to: terms no man wanted to dare be called – and so universally agreed upon in their detestation as adjectives that they just operate as silencers. My mother once got into a fight with a guy pulling out of his driveway (I think; I was young and can't remember that well). After bickering back in forth, she said just one word: faggot. That was the moment he stopped bothering to argue (though there was a brief wash of surprise over his face) and just went to write down her licence plate. And I don't mean to display that as my mother beating up on and bullying this man; he wasn't very nice and may've started the shouting match. But the point remains: whatever the actual definition of the term, it has a stronger one as a silencer meant to end discussion. "Just don't call me that." And, in that way, it makes the caller lazy (and I generally make a strong case for the defense of expletives). Rather than calling zem a noun whose definition is often vague in comparison to the sentence it's used in, we should actually describe the faults of the person and make a proper argument.
Seriously, I really don't like that term.
15. I (over-?)analyze anything and everything constantly. Even if I forget to mention that I, eventually, came to agree with an argument you made, I'm likely to think over what you said well after the discussion is through. I'm earnestly interested in reaching a conclusion that makes sense and is justifiable and, if you're capable of helping me reach that point, I very much would like your input. If I disagree or stick in opposition to a point, it's because I earnestly believe it (or am not willing to accept the other argument quite yet), not out of any malice or ill-will.
As such, dismissing my point of view or not bothering to argue a point is one of the most insulting ordeals (yes, I know, I'm forming a list of them) you can put me through. I'll generally heckle after a point or a semantic because I'm earnestly interested in coming to an understanding of it. I'll never let go of being dismissed or being told I'm wrong (when I fully believe or aren't fully convinced that I'm not) because you're saying my reasoning is faulty. Rather than working with me towards understanding, you've pushed me aside (deeming me unsuitable of understanding) or've circumvented the argument process and, rather than pointing out why my reasoning is wrong, decided to deprive me of understanding. This is unacceptable and, above all, cruel. If you don't have much interest in the topic, simply mention so (I was also going to say if you didn't have the patience to explain it but that's stupid of me; impatience is unacceptable when it comes to other's needs).
I don't think it's unreasonable to want to have an point of view explained and I cannot fathom how others can not perceive blinding insult at dismissal of a query.
16. In spite of dating what some feel is a high amount of people (I really don't feel that it is), I am very rarely, truly pulled towards any one person, though I'm usually willing to try a relationship out if asked. I generally have high opinions of many and fall into crushes easily (I generally consider a crush any light infatuation that generally doesn't last very long because it isn't based on a large base). And, occasionally, there are those people who I start to seriously contemplate whether I should. But, in general, these aren't the things which cause me to consider, quite seriously, the risk of going for someone; there are some times when I'm simply blown away by a person, the type of infatuation where you want to devour the totality of your time with that person and immerse your senses in discovering further who they are because they are so stimulating of a personality. The difference between the last two of the three is that, in the former, I may consider the risk worth it: I may or may not ask zem out. In the latter, I know it's worth the risk because I am so thoroughly drawn to this person that every bit of me feels it.
Obviously, that last one is not a common occurrence. And it's one that tends to be predicated on having a past with the person and knowing them fairly well (given that, most generally, it's personality and opinions/ideals that make me attracted to a person). I suppose this is a phenomenon which could have only occurred later in life as I got an idea of the type of person I'm attracted to. Still, very rarely does anyone truly come along that thoroughly blows me away (though I may partially blame that on how little we truly get to know any one person that we meet over the spans of our lifetime), though they (often surprisingly) do occur.
Alright, time to tag some people for this: @IgorLollipop, @under_the_carpet, @mkmm87, @LyricalVent (we've been trying to re-figure-out/reclaim who we are for so long, maybe trying to write out just a fraction of it will help)
Recognizing similarities between my parents and me always tickles me (because irony, for whatever reason, always gets me), largely due to our "complicated" history.
The similarity between me and my mother (other than I'm starting to notice really creepily similar – I need a different word than similar now – habits we have in dealing with anxiety) is that we were both exceedingly harmed in life. This has resulted in us both being distrustful of others (notably, for reasons I still don't fully understand, the same can be said of my sister).
As I've mentioned in past entries, this has lead to results such as not trusting her own siblings fully or even her husband for the first years of her marriage.
And then it dawned on me that I could pinpoint the exact difference in our similarity.
My mother was hurt and she resolved to ensure that she would never be hurt again like that, no matter what. I was hurt and I resolved to ensure that no one else would ever be hurt like I had been, no matter what.
Father: Thanks, Jonathan. Like I said before, I read the stories and poems. They're not bad, but I do think you could do better. You should write more and write longer stories. I genuinely think you're a good writer.
Confusing length with good writing is a folly that I'm not sure I even know how to properly respond to. I would like to know upon what qualification he bases his arraignment. To think I've always wondered where I retained my ironic sense of humor.
Sorry, do I sound miffed? We'll put aside that each of the pieces I exposed revealed concepts which I've struggled with, particularly in trying to make sense of them (the pieces were "The Only Thing We Have", "The Darkling Plain", "The Phonecall", "Fabrication to a Love Ode", and "A Memory"). Really, in all honesty, that's not the point.
It's that he's, somehow, designated judgement without the least bit of reasoning. Perhaps I'd be more understanding if I were less certain about the pieces (so perhaps my peeve is, once again, the complete lack of assumption of possible, even remote, fault in such an assured statement).
Sure, the pieces, to a degree, could be perceived as mere exercises in writing (and thus not trying to achieve something exceedingly beyond the pale at the sacrifice of the obsession with a particular technique or concept); I've always seemed to have a taste for the technical. I've also preferred doing a job that leaves no room for fault, even if that means it's short and doesn't achieve fame-level work. "A Memory" is not significant for being the next "Paradise Lost". It's significance lies in what it's able to accomplish and communicate in a mere three sentences; it may not be Hamlet material but it is well done.
I mean, there were five fucking pieces in that document. That's five pieces to dissect and tear apart and pillage for meaning. And how do you summate five pieces of writing? "They're not bad[…]."
Forgive me; perhaps I'm undercutting his sentences. The full sentence is, "They're not bad, but I do think you could do better." This is followed by the advice that I should write more and longer stories. Seeing that the following sentence moves focus from the writings I provided to future writings, I can only assume that his take on the pieces was that, "Sure, they're writings in the proper sense; but, really, give me something which I don't have to give, at best, one sentence of attention to."
On that note, here's an old piece I've done some revision to. You can find the original here. I've cut out good chunks of it just to trim the fat. Notably, it changes the focus of the piece a bit; certainly makes it more of a meditation on depression, though it also fleshes out the technique I was trying for the piece (even if not for as long of an amount of text).
I'm still on the fence about it, given that it really doesn't reach for much; it's certainly not nearly as busy as "Fabrication to a Love Ode". But it is an interesting technique and not one immediately noticeable; plus I think it captures what living with depression is like quite well. Oh well, here's my short piece of writing that's not even worth the time for a likewise-length dissection.
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"Wha– sorry. Could you say it again? I jus-I wasn't listening. …. I see. Well…heh, well, who's to say? I mean – I suppose I just don't understand denial.
It just becomes…suffocating, sometimes. It’s like I'm continually under this expectation to match every single internal and external action with the right response. Because when you respond incorrectly, that sends the wrong message. Which I'd hate to do. Because it's not unreasonable! Remember a birthday, remember Mother's Day, look happy to see someone when you say hello, go see the play your friend has been working on for God knows how long, check in on them when they're sick keep in mind when they had an interview attend their speech talk during the conversation respond make eye contactnodarcheyebrowsblinkbreathe
"I spent the entire last weekend in my room. Heh – yeah…the entire thing. I just…didn't see the point in leaving. It took too much effort to get out the bed. And I was tired. So I tried to make sense of my computer screen for 36 hours. And it was…nice, because I didn't have to put any effort into anythin- no, I – I got lonely. I jus-
I just needed to breathe.
Mother: Jonathan, could you come here, please?
Me: Yes'm?
Mother: Did you know that your brother is having sex?
Me: Uhh…what?
Mother: Did…you know…that…your brother…is having sex?
Me: So…you found the condom in his wallet*, huh?
Mother: So you knew‽
Me: Well, Mom, you really should have seen this coming. Umm…that pun was actually unintended.
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Brother: So, what were you and Mom talking about on the couch when my friends were over?
Me: Oh, just discussing your sexcapades in college.
*Both I and him burst out laughing*
Brother: Well, if you don't go digging through people's stuff, you don't find out things you don't want to know.
*As discussed here, you should never put condoms in a wallet. This chafes them and wears them out.
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