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?

Why me? I'm nothing special or all that attention grabbing.
Really? I would beg to differ.
Do you think I'm that way? Hardly. No one thinks that they're special or attention-grabbing but other people around them are.

At some Hardy Party a few years ago – as my tipsy boyfriend wanted to just make out and I wanted to cuddle and talk –, Andrew illustrated that the difference between our two worldviews (particularly when it came to physical attractiveness) was that I derived goodness, or morality, from function while he derived it from beauty; as he had put it then, something has worth from its beauty alone.

While an interesting dynamic, he had my worldview wrong. While I don't think I've given any large defense on the importance of art, my own appreciation for it (and, thus, its implied importance) is rather evident throughout the whole of my xanga. I mean, after all, I majored in English in part because I'm a (thus far recreational) writer; clearly art is of importance to me. And, once again obvious from my xanga, I generally don't take a all-art-is-equal approach to it. In this regard, I seem to agree fully with him that a ranking by beauty is fully acceptable and even encouraged (though it is notable that I assess art largely through a logical criterion in which emotional response is often less important than the other facets of said criterion (at least outside of personal assessment of art); more important to me is form (though often the second least important aspect), symbolism, message, etc. Of course, this may be in part due to my complicated relationship with emotions and that they are, for the most part for me, derived from how I logically and intellectually assess things rather than any instinctual, thoughtless emotional response).

Yet, when it comes to physical attractiveness (and the point which caused Andrew to make this distinction), I take, at my most extreme, the exact opposite approach. Now, the reasoning behind it is less ideal, to me, because it's necessitated by a technicality of life rather than on a merit of its own; of course, this may be a result of the fact that, while I think it important, this notion of upholding and celebrating beauty for the sake of beauty actually has no clear basis (as far as I've seen thus far) on my morality (hurting a person or restraining zir autonomy is immoral).

The technicality of my defense of beauty in general and an opposition to physical attractiveness is that, when it comes to a person, you should only judge based on their merit; judging someone based on how they were born is one of the cruelest and unacceptable positions to take. Contrasting that, art has no ability to create itself and no feelings; thus, we can judge the fuck out of it (of course, that may just be an extension of the fact that the artwork doesn't make itself and, thus, we are judging the creative work of another person).

 

All of this is to preface my difficult relationship with accessories that often intersect with ideas of physical attractiveness (clothing, makeup, etc.). For example, I had been against makeup; while I personally don't like it, my bigger reason was that I felt it was an extension (or remnant) of the patriarchy's attempt to control women's appearances (though I often mentioned the latter far less than the formal due an uncertainty about an sound argument for the latter). However, in the long run (in spite of our habit to try to universalize all personal opinions), I have to come to the understanding that all notions of "cool" or "nice looking" in relations to clothes, makeup, etc. are socially constructed ideas; while – to some degree – still speculating for others, my own styles are very much based on the decade I grew up in as well as an interest in the 1920s. Really, that's it. There isn't some larger, more logical reason for it. And, while the lack of logic hurts my soul and I would swear up and down that tastes such as these can have some objective element to them (otherwise why else would I have such a seemingly instinctual response to certain styles‽), the only thing that makes any logical sense as to why tastes would reasonably form for people or why we do end up differing is that it is firmly subjective.

And, truly as a side note, that isn't to say that makeup didn't play a large part within the patriarchy. Or that certain tastes in types/styles of makeup aren't simply an unconscious outgrowth of demands as to what is considered legitimately pretty by the patriarchy. It simply means that such tastes can outgrow the patriarchy (and, more importantly, no one should be making assumptions as to why anyone decides they enjoy a particular style). After all, my own objection – were I into policing people – could easily be used as part of the patriarchy's formation of what it thinks women ought to be.

Of course, understanding all of this doesn't necessarily make it easy to implement (perhaps the reason its easy to reject physical attractiveness so wholesale for me is that I started following that reasoning as far back as the beginning of high school); as you cultivate a taste, you want to reject that which doesn't match it (perhaps another defense for my rejection of humoring physical attractiveness).

In any case – as I work through that moral dilemma –, the below article is fantastic and well illustrates what I'm outlining above. The original thing can be found here: http://tutusandtinyhats.wordpress.com/2012/11/01/fashion-policing-a-playground-of-oppression/.

 

 

 

The deeper I get into the fa(t)shion world, the more I come across examples of fashion judging and policing, even within spaces that are explicitly body-positive.

It pisses me off immensely. First, because one person’s style is no one’s business but their own. Period. Second, because it’s inextricably tied up with pretty much every prejudice under the sun: sexism, ableism, ageism, racism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia…

Warning: epic rant ahead.

A few examples I’ve come across recently:

1.) Sal at Already Pretty did an interview with three women who dress within a defined aesthetic. I found it interesting, especially since I, like Sal, enjoy dabbling in many different styles. Some days I feel goth, other days pink bubblegum with a touch of fairy kei. Sometimes I just want to be Effie Trinket, or a flapper, or a slightly more sophisticated version of my seventh-grade self (Nirvana t-shirt and wide-leg jeans represent!). And my favorite outfits tend to involve combining multiple styles. So it’s cool to read about people who approach fashion differently.

But this statement, from Candice of Super Kawaii Mama, set my teeth on edge:

And the other thing that I feel very strongly about is raising the bar for the next generation. As a society we have never been so well off (historically) or had such ready and cheap access to good clothing and beauty options. We spend billions on advertising in these markets, spend our pay-checks on magazines of celebrities looking fantastic, and yet never as a nation have we been so poorly dressed / presented. It is a maddening irony and one that will only change if people are brave enough to challenge that status quo and raise that bar.

ARGHHHH NO. Just no.

I like glamour. I really do. But it’s only fun when it’s optional. Sometimes I don’t need or want to be glamorous–like when I’m on my way to go hiking, or sick, or dealing with shitty New England weather, or just in a yoga-pants-and-T-shirt-and-no-makeup mood. I don’t expect anyone else to prioritize glamour or any other aesthetic, or to justify their clothing choices to me.

And I certainly don’t define bravery as “dressing in a way that I like.” You want bravery? Try the NYU Hospital nurses who carried ICU infants down nine flights of stairs in the dark, manually providing them with air and ventilation.

If you find other people’s outfits “maddening,” that’s your problem, not theirs. No one has a responsibility to dress in a way that you like. And the very concept of “poorly dressed” is completely arbitrary. One person’s “eww” is another person’s “awesome.” One person’s clashing is another person’s oh my God your coat is so amazing, I almost want to go to England and steal it from you.

Also, just because we’re well-off overall as a society doesn’t mean we don’t have poverty. It doesn’t mean that everyone has access, financial or otherwise, to the clothing they would like to wear.

Especially if they wear plus sizes, and even more so if they wear a size above 22 or 24. Especially if they lack reliable transportation to stores that carry their size, or the money to pay for shipping. Especially if they have a disability that makes getting dressed difficult, or sensory issues that make certain fabrics uncomfortable. Especially if their weight has changed (for intentional reasons, or due to childbirth, aging, medications, post-diet rebound, health problems, stress, etc.), and they haven’t had the time or money to assemble a new wardrobe. Especially if they’re busy and overworked, or un(der)employed and searching for a job–both of which are currently huge problems in the US and many other countries–and don’t have the energy to put into caring about clothing. Or some combination of these things.

As just one example, if you saw me on the street today, you might think, “why is that lady wearing a lovely goth-meets-business-casual outfit with butt-ugly running sneakers?” I hate how these sneakers look too, believe me. But I’m wearing them because I have plantar fasciitis in my left foot, and sneakers are the only footwear that doesn’t exacerbate it. I can’t even wear cute sneakers, like Converses–my feet are both wide and flat, which makes finding shoes that fit nearly impossible. I take what I can get, regardless of whether they fit my style. And if people want to judge me for it, that’s their problem.

2.) I don’t normally read MSN Style, or other mainstream fashion sites/magazines/blogs. But I happened to come across this article somehow, and it’s a perfect example of everything I hate about fashion policing.

In the slideshow “8 Fashion Mistakes Men Make,” two fashion “experts” criticize various men’s outfits.

The female “expert” says: “Oh, I see. Those don’t just look like lady’s [sic] capris… they fit like them too. The cardigan, shades and even the black case are so sleek, but the pants need a do-over.”

Maybe they are womens’ capris. So what? Some male-bodied people like to wear women’s clothing. Maybe they’re transgender or genderqueer. Maybe they subscribe to Kate Bornstein‘s philosophy: “I think love, sex and gender are like Pokemon, and I want to catch ‘em all!” Or maybe they just like to wear dresses, like Michael of His Black Dress.

The male “expert” says: ”I’m sorry, but I could never take anyone seriously if they walked into a room wearing those pants.”

Fuck that noise.

I doubt it’s a coincidence that gay and transgender people face high rates of workplace discrimination and harassment. Contributing to a culture of gender-policing has real, harmful consequences.

3.) A while back, there was a Fatshionista thread about whether there are age cut-offs for cutesy accessories. The original poster mentioned that she will soon be working in museums, and I think it makes sense to tone down your look for work. But what you wear at work is one thing, and what you wear during your free time is another.

In comment thread, one person said:

If I saw something like this http://virtualneko.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/kawaii-girl1.gif on a person older than 15, I’d judge.

She went on to say:

In my opinion the key is not to look like someone who desperately tries to look way younger than he is.

I hate the assumption that wearing certain clothes or accessories means you’re trying to look younger. I don’t wear Hello Kitty stuff because I want to look younger–I wear it because I like it. I’ll probably still be wearing HK when I’m 80, and I’m ok with that. (Also, I’m kind of looking forward to the day when my hair turns gray/white, because I’ll finally be able to dye it pink without bleaching it first.)

If you like it, and enjoy wearing it, you’re not too old for it. Period.

The same commenter mentioned that she is a huge Dr. Who fan, but limits her fan needs to small pins, socks, and bookmarks. Which is her choice to make, but she’s missing out on some pretty awesome stuff–like the amazing TARDamask shirt one of my coworkers wore recently.

4.) I like Trystan’s blog, CorpGoth, where she writes about keeping a goth edge while dressing appropriately for an office job. So I was disappointed to find two posts in which she makes privileged pronouncements about how people should dress.

In one, she repeats the popular meme that leggings are not pants. Which is so tied up with judgment about women’s bodies–especially fat women’s bodies. With the belief that we need to hide our shapes. With disdain for one of the cheapest and most comfortable clothing options.

In another, she declares:

Let it be known that I am firmly in the camp with those who believe that the casualization of clothing in the U.S. in the late-20th & early-21st centuries is the first step to the downfall of our civilization & that wearing pajamas in public is a sure sign of the coming apocalypse.

I know it’s hyperbole. It’s still not funny.

I feel that people are allowed to wear PJs outside the home exactly three times in their lives: (1) once when you have the flu & need to make a trip to the drugstore for tissues & meds, (2) once when you’re miserably depressed & need chocolate &/or booze between the hours of 2am and 6am, & (3) one additional time to be used judiciously, carefully, not in broad daylight or among more than a dozen people, & it can only last for no more than 10 minutes.

Thanks for deciding what other people are “allowed” to wear. You do know that people have the right to wear whatever they want, right? And that there are a million factors that affect what people wear, and judging them for it is an assholey move?

I could rant more, but instead, here’s a picture of me wearing pajama pants.

Me: Come to think of it, did you know I managed to never date a Catholic girl until my senior year of college?
Mother: Really?
Me: Yes; it's bizarre. Also, I have yet to date a Jewish girl. That is a travesty I sorely need to correct.

Why me? I'm nothing special or all that attention grabbing.
Really? I would beg to differ.
Do you think I'm that way? Hardly. No one thinks that they're special or attention-grabbing but other people around them are.

My Facebook currently says I'm in a relationship. This is, to the best of my knowledge, false. At first, I was busy with finishing off finals, let alone getting sleep again. As I was reaching the end of that, I figured she was busy (just getting home and all) and, I reasoned as a side thought, probably best to let her end it, so she could hide anyone else from seeing it (she's not a fan of attention); if I do it, it changes to simply listing her in a relationship without listing with who, which is bound to be noted. She might hide FB from listing being single but that already identifies a change.

However, it has now been five days since we've supposedly broke up. We both agreed going in that the best course of action would be not continuing the relationship, seeing as I'm graduating and she's only a Freshman. It's not the…ideal scenario, but both of us know a long-distance relationship isn't the best course. Neither of us are good at keeping up communication over anything further than a driving distance (i.e. in person). Had it been more than a mere three months, I might've considered it; but not over so short a time period.

There was this moment, two or three days after I was finally finished and attempting to get my energy back, where I, through the sleep, was duly aware that, when I woke up, there wouldn't really be anyone I could go to as a means to talk to or lean on so wonderfully as she had allowed; don't get me wrong, Holly, Allan, Maia, Margaret (both), and Antal are all wonderful, but there isn't something quite the same, for reasons I can't articulate in words yet. And, well, that was a little upsetting.

Every relationship since Allison has been this bizarre question of, "What will happen?" Because, as much as I thought I understood what I wanted, it didn't quite go as planned. Neither did curly. I forget if I mentioned here, but, at least at the beginning (first month or so), there was always that question with Emma; not enough to worry me but just under the surface. I don't like unpredictability, but it's there just the same, for whatever reason.

I haven't actually had a relationship with an expectation to end, truly. Emma did end, for very much the same reasons, but I hadn't seen it coming (should have, mind you, graduating and all, but it was the first time having to even think about that question). Yet, perhaps because I was used to relationships ending and because I had been contemplating the question of the uses of having short relationships (there is, if my memory serves me, a post a short while back on here where I resolve to get to know people, because time is short and people are fascinating and hardly deserve to remain undiscovered; I'm certain, tied to that, I must have said that meant also getting into another relationship, even if unlikely to succeed, even if certain – from the outset – to end), I was fine with the idea that this would, at the end of the school year, end (only other word coming to mind at the moment to diversify that sentence is terminate and that one's just depressing).

I mean, I had been waiting on someone to fascinate me, and then Arantza comes along and – good fuck, fascinating barely covers it. Funny as all Hell, smart and perceptive, interested in politics (and dye-in-the-wool liberal, hard Left as far as average Americans go), fascination with the past, conscious of race, etc. etc. And I meet her in the second half of my senior year of college. But, Hell, she said yes (February 20^th). There was no way I was going to say no.

So it seemed logical – neither of us wanted to enter into a long-distance relationship; come the end of the year, we would split. It seemed reasonable, couldn't be helped; it'd be bittersweet come the end, but one would hope so if it was remotely a good relationship.

But something happened a little sooner than the end of the year. We were listening to records when suddenly – I've always hated the explanation "I just feel it". It's a cop out, something personal which detracts the information from everyone else. Yet those types of instances seem to be cropping up more and more these days. I still think any feeling can be explained in the end, made sense of. However, until that point, all I can say is that something felt different, leaving that room that time. A longing for her not to go so quickly. Before then, it had mostly been like any other friend, other than the fact that I was kissing her; it was very much still like since I had met her. And then it changed.

Maybe because I had been getting to know her better. As I've said here and to several times, to be open at all is to be vulnerable. And it's in that vulnerability that our relationships have any meaning – because a person has the choice to hurt you but does not; yet, more than that, it would hurt them to do so. Of course, everything, it's seeming, these days boils down to depression and my crappy childhood for me, so maybe the willingness to protect, to not hurt, and to care emanate from those personal experiences. But I hesitate to say that definitively yet.

Whatever the reason, there was that change. Which I feel is necessary to say that it's different than you feel for a friend. In that, I mean, I care very deeply for my friends. You don't want your friends hurt nor do you not miss them (something just about everyone already knows). Yet you might want to spend time with a significant other over friends at times. What is that distinction? I don't know how to put it to words. Yet that was part of the feeling. That desire to spend time with someone who has become more than a friend. That's the best I can do to detail it.

So here I am. About to make it "Facebook official". Everything has an end, even if I don't like it.

And, should you find this, Arantza, the Bessie Smith record sounds positively amazing; I'm playing it now, and it's a shame we never gave it a spin earlier.

I biyaâ, i oj ån lak ut ƿж kie.

Note: I wrote this 24 hours ago, but was only able to reach internet to post it until now.

 

Long time readers will remember that I attempted the Überman sleep schedule sometime roughly around last year. After one of my posts, I simply ceased mentioning it, not mentioning whether I failed, decided I didn't like it, or succeeded.

I had intended to give a quick detail, but I was in the middle of my semester at the time. And my temperance has become more and more a slave to tempering my mood these past few years, as I've mentioned before.

I forget if I mentioned it them but, while others tend to feel immense tiredness during the process, I didn't have that problem as much. But I've noticed, as I've played with sleep deprivation more and more these past three years, that I seem to be able to handle myself without sleep shockingly well (even when I anticipate there being a problem). The main problem was the same problem I've always suffered with: not staying up but waking up.

Every so often I'd wind up oversleeping my alarm and, interestingly, wake up three hours later on the dot. Notably, I think such a pattern might fit in with the Everyman-3 schedule, which shocks me since I have skepticism of anything between a siesta sleep schedule and the Überman. Regardless, not only was such oversleeping problematic (I overslept two of my classes during that time), it was reduntantly pointless; overshooting my naps was not going to break me into the Überman, only provide a slightly uncontrollable sleep schedule that didn't yield the same clarity and lack of exhaustion that I could more often achieve on a monophasic sleep schedule (in retrospect, it's interesting to note that one of the reasons I ditched monophasic sleep was that it was, for me, disgustingly bloated and kept me feeling groggy every time I first woke up. The only time I actually seemed coherently energized to my fullest was when nighttime hit, so maybe I didn't actually lose anything during my polyphasic sleeping given that I was tired in both cases and my appetite for 12+ hour naps isn't exactly the definition of control either).

Given this situation, I decided to ditch the schedule given my certainty I would need a partner to even reach a point where I could finally determine if this thing was even possible, considering my inability to wake myself. No one at school was going to sign on to that.

 

Recently, I decided to rescind this decision. Notably, the smart decision would have been to start trying to accomplish this before three (going on two now) weeks until I go back to school. But I suppose it gives some slight comfort to know that jumping into things and discovering what can go wrong along the way is an impulse which hasn't died entirely in me yet.

However, there are other reasons why I need to do this. Once again, the amount of time I'd gain from only getting 3 to 2 hours of sleep per day are unspeakable. Particularly in the advent of upcoming school? I'm pretty certain that I couldn't have gotten done first semester last year had I not been operating on the Überman. It just opened up so much more time.

Which, of course, beats my need for over 12 hours of sleep (something continually set back until the weekend each week as I must wake up for class each day)…only to wake up groggy and, half the time, sore (not to mention the weakening of back muscles).

However, more than anything, my depression needed it. If you've read my xanga from its very beginning, one of the things I've continually lamented is – at times – a seeming slip in control. At first it was emotions and, I think (funny, no?), memory. Recently it's simply been life. For the past 2 months straight, I've been bogged by a consistant depression. As in, it has not lifted. There was no change, alteration, or simple peace for the past two months. It's like hitting a rut and just staying at that low.

Add to that lack of control my sleep schedule (plus the depression at times). I missed Easter Mass simply because I could not get out of bed. Muscles were working fine, but the brain seemed terrified by the very notion. I stayed in bed for 24 hours that day because of a combination of depression, anxiety, and exhaustion. And, of course, these things feed on each other. Stress and depression make you tired. Being incapable of making arrangements with friends makes you bitter, feeding the depression. And, above all, a feeling of lacking control is not something I can tolerate.

I can put up with people, most days. I can put up with everyone disagreeing with me or even the stupidity that humanity (particular en masse) can exhibit. But I need control. Part of why I can stick by what I say, think, and do is because I know backwards and forwards why I do it. I believe in it. I can back it. That's all I need to know. As long as I know I'm in control of what I'm doing and have a grasp on my surroundings, I'm okay. Being thrown into a new environment (college) and reliving just how socially awkward I am and incapable of doing things when uncertain of myself (mark that with being sociable in general) obviously doesn't help this. Adding depression and an inability to get out of bed? That's too much.

These past two months I've been drifting, more so than even I would want to. I've been distant, I've not bothered to instigate meeting up with people, and I've been beyond my usual un-initiating distant that I usually have with people. Sure, I've always maintained that I friend more extroverted and outgoing people because I need people who will remind me to meet up and keep in touch. But I've fallen behind in nearly all correspondences I've even started. I flat out missed meeting up with Allen this summer. I still have a slew of FB catch ups I need to respond to (including catching up with Emily Lin, for fuck's sake!). I've avoided IM to avoid talking to people. I've just been distant, too thoroughly comfortable with isolating myself like this. I have duties, such as working on Williams Catholic and the Moocow band's websites. But no.

As I've said before, I need purpose, and I need direction. For whatever reason, I lack at the moment. Since starting to try to jump into polyphasic sleeping again, I've broken that depression after two months; I have a goal, and I'm actually trying to accomplish it. Part of it too is, again, how my mood is affected. Having less time in a day exacerbates a feeling of being unable to do anything, which worsens my depression, which worsens my ability to do any of of the simple tasks in the paragraph above.

I need all hours of the day. I work in the night, when it's peacefully beautiful, and I can be alone. The morning, again beautiful, lets me rejuvenate. The day is generally dedicated to everyone else's needs (work, club responsibilities, shopping, etc.). Remove one of these and I don't have enough time. And my depression makes doing anything that belongs during a different time of the day grating because, simply, my depression doesn't want to do it (aren't mood swings fun?).

 

As to the drawbacks, I've never quite understood them. Sure, you have 6 half hour naps placed throughout the day. But they're only 30 minutes. I don't drink, as it is, so I don't have to worry about it crashing my drinking. If I was staying up, I can't imagine anyone I would hang out with would really be bothered by it. Further, if you're staying out for, say, 6 hours – you only miss a half hour of it. Plus, you can nap anywhere (if how they describe your reaction to the schedule is correct). And all the other benefits completely sideline this.

Further, I've already said I handle sleep deprivation fine. I already have to stay up to make up all the responsibilities I have to get done usually, so why the Hell not. Lastly, I have depression – living is a health concern. I get more stress than I normally should. Like I've said before on here, I will be shocked if I don't get type II diabetes by age 25. Shocking me in terms of everything I know about how I treat my body already, the doctor has told me the only thing wrong with me is my good cholesterol (it's scarily low) – so why not free up some time to do the exercise I need to fix that? Lastly – I'm young. And clearly my depression is the only one in favor of doing anything slowly, burning out like a candle.

And, like I've said before, death just doesn't scare me. Not that I don't think it's around the corner (everyday I feel like I could grab it and put it in my own hands, actually) – my quarter life crisis should make that one clear. If anything, I feel far older than I know I have any right to feel. I just…don't give a damn; and, really, this is the best choice. I need this.

I've kept oversleeping the first two days. I thought I found a fool-proof method by using headphones so that the alarm would shock me awake, but I would up sleeping through it for an hour and a half past my wake-time this morning at 8 (which probably wasn't any good for my ears, either…). I don't want to give up yet, though. If I can get past the first two, maybe three, days, I think I'll be golden. We'll see.

 

 

Earlier in the summer, I met up with Victoria and Laura. I forget the surrounding discussion but, at some point, Victoria mentions that Michelle and I should happen as a couple. This was, if my memory serves, shortly after Jeff's graduation party, during which Michelle and I wound up shoving cake down each other's clothes, make snide remarks at each other the entire time, and wound up watching the movie Jeff wanted to show us with me sitting on top of her the entire time (at first in an attempt to annoy her, then not bothering to move because apparently the pressure wound up helping some sore muscle). So, admittedly, I can see where she might've gotten the idea.

Regardless, I immediately told her no (I think my exact response might've been cocking my eyebrow and asking, "Why?"). I told her, for one, that I had a strong feeling that Michelle would say no right out the gate. And, even if that wasn't the case, Michelle and I – I think, at least – wouldn't be a good match. If she was also interested, sure, why the Hell not. But there isn't enough incentive for me to go out on that limb as things stood. Neither of us were so let's leave it at that.

Yesterday (alright, two days ago technically), I came across Michelle's OKCupid account. And I still have no idea what the Hell happened. I was amused and messaged her, both of us bantering as usual. And then…I started looking at her differently. And, again, I have no idea why. I don't know what exactly changed at that point from the other 5 years of our friendship, let alone the time between talking to Victoria and now.

So, it seems I've got a crush – which even I can admit is irresponsible and unwise. Why?

First and foremost, as I said before, Michelle and I don't really make matches for each other. While not a comment on it's supposed accuracy, even OKCupid ranks our chances of being a match at only a 67%. Yeah, I know, people don't have to match up on everything to be a fit but – in my case – they tend to have to.

I don't think I'd describe Michelle as a distant person; we've had serious moments in our friendship where we've really connected, though we haven't spent much time at all expanding that (though, admittedly, I realize now that our friendship hasn't been developed in a lot of ways, which is why we tend to stay on the annoying each other waveline most of the time). That said, though, Michelle even says in her profile that there needs to be a fair level of teasing in the relationship (if Larry was any indication, nothing too different that Michelle and I's friendship right now). And she at least says and puts on a higher self-esteem by far than me (though I do have slight reservations on that assessment). While I seem to be drawn to those with at least a somewhat extrovert personality, I like (really, need) someone with a fair dosage of insecurity, in part to balance my own and in part for other reasons I've listed out here in the past. Laura, jess, and Allison are all perfect examples of this.

Because, while clearly I can have an animated personality and my xanga is a perfect example I can be tersely caustic and raise a little Hell, I'm more often…not. I'm an introvert at heart, and I like myself that way. But, more pertinent to the point we're discussing (and as I said before), I'm insecure. I'm hesitant. I'm, all too often, severely emotional. I have a habit of taking care of others and need to be close to people. And – more than anything – if you're looking for someone wholly independent, I'm not. I've got baggage, a good 15 years of it.

Of course, I could be wrong. Our personalities might mesh just fine. But, from my very limited view, it seems to me that what we would want and need out of a relationship would vary too greatly for us to work long term.

There's also the timing of the stupid thing. Two weeks before I go back to school, I remind. While, actually, I might be more willing to do long distance with her while I explicitly didn't go chasing after other people for that very reason, distance was the splitter for her and Larry. While it seems she might've burned out her need to kinda run freely (again, me guessing), I wouldn't want to launch into something as restrictive as long distance can be on her, especially when that's the opposite of what she wanted out of college to begin with.

Then there's also the fact I've had a crush on Margaret since before she went abroad – and I've been waiting for a semester and a summer until she came back. Of course, while to not the same degree as Michelle and for different reasons, I have a suspicion that Margaret and I aren't quite a perfect fit either. But I know too well what fruits come from constant hesitation. Besides, not like anyone else at Williams has caused me to linger for so long.

But, the overall block that makes any other consideration superfluous is that I'm pretty certain that, even if I asked Michelle out, she'd say no.

And, while I don't really have anything to give evidence that Michelle would do this (and, hence, will not bother to contemplate if such is the case), this whole conversation highlights in my mind a trend I've been noticing with just about anyone I've had an interest in or who has thrown a bit of interest towards me since Laura.

It goes along the line of, "You're a really nice guy and very sweet, etc. but…"

not good enough.

There is something which just holds the person back, makes them willing to pass over me. Now, I know I'm not usually in the habit of building myself up, unless it's clearly joking hyperbole. Excluding a few particular traits, I'm usually willing to find fault. That said…I'm not that bad of a guy.

I'm nice and you basically have every guarantee I'm not going to cheat or deliberately hurt you; any person who's known me since Sophomore year of high school knows that one. I've worked for it; I've been very loud and public about the need to make sure others are alright – there's a reason that's how most of my friends describe me, there's a reason people I've met tend to wind up confiding in me more or coming for advice.

I'm patient; I'm understanding. I'm compassionate. Apparently there's a decent contingent of people who even find me funny.

And, no, even I wouldn't call myself the best catch out there. If you want confidence, probably not best to make me your first choice. I'm eternally awkward in oh so many ways. And, sure, you have to put up with my many high principles; I've got my fair share of what people might call odd habits. I don't fit mainstream appeal, sure.

But if you're asking me to shave, or "do something" with my beard, I have to wonder if you're even acknowledging me.

I've always been very loud about my feelings toward physical appearance. I've written on the subject here God knows how many times. I'll run your ear on the subject if you let me. I actively am particular with my language on account of it and am quick to explain it if you ask me a question along its lines. It's kinda my hallmark crusade, other than Queer rights. It's what I've come to be known for, for some people.

So I cannot understand people who continually ask me if I'm going to shave it, or ask over and over it again why it's a big deal. It's like asking a religious person, "Oh, I know this means a lot to you but could you please urinate on your holy text, for me?" This is one of the central tenets of my ideals. Like, it's very fundamental reason for existence is based on how I feel you should treat others – you remove or violate this and you basically stab everything I hold dear. There's no reason for me to give a damn about anyone else. I mean, I usually like to think there is no one out there as bad as my mother but you operate with the fundamental stupidity she seems to possess when you do this. Because she asks if I'm willing to shave, I explain the whole point of it all, then she asks, "Well, how about we just trim it? See, it won't be that much." And then I explain it again, and we repeat this process indefinitely.

How little it is isn't the point.

And her complete inability to use basic logic to take my explanation and understand why I refuse demonstrates her limited intelligence – people give a complete damn about their appearance, everyone. It can't even enter her head otherwise. And, the mainstream and majority of people she meets do as well. So it must be true. Therefore, it doesn't matter what I say. In her mind, the reason I refuse is because of how much hair I'm cutting. Because, from her mindset, this is the only piece that fits.

And that is the brain-dead intelligence you wield when you ask me the same question.

But more importantly, I can't remember if I've discussed point of view on here much. People's inability to see things from other people's point of view is one of my biggest complaints. It would resolve a lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, for one. But, two, it doesn't seem like such a difficult ability to me; yet it seems to be.

But I'm fascinated by other's point of view. My obsession with the human personality (and, thus, a person's life experiences) fascinate me. I'm willing to try to understand where someone is coming from. I might not agree with them in the end. But I'm interested. Notice that I've described here a willingness to date a person if they also show interest (admittedly, as Dodi once said, someone liking me can often go a long way in having me like them). I might be hesitant to try it otherwise, but I'd certainly be willing to try it out if they're interested in me.

I'm willing to give it a chance.

It just seems to be that no one is really interested in even bothering to consider what I hold dear and what I find to be amazing. I mean, sure, if it was something like archaeology and no one else found it interesting (not that no one would date me because I like it, because that'd just be stupid of people), I would say, "Fine, fair." And this is not me asking rando number 3 off the street, either. This is, for one example, Monica, someone I've known for years now, someone (of all people) who should know my politics by now. Yet the very most fundamental aspect of me, the one to which – I would argue – you have to understand in order to understand me, comes with an "Well, if…" criteria.

Once again, as if no one quite gives a damn; as if my very principles (and cares) are negotiable and excusable as far as the world is concerned.

I just feel alone.

 

 

J: If I were a fermata, would you hold me? 

    Btw, I'm sensitive and you have a habit for teasing, it seems. Do you think that could feasibly be a problem??

M: With a beard like that, NOTHING is a problem. But I'm going to have to call you ducky. Do you like purple drink?

J: Haha, well, I think ducky is a small concession in comparison to that *last* question. But you're too tempting for me to resist, my belle Juive.

M: There is no way you could handel me, ever. But nice try. I am faster better stronger smarter prettier and I win more. You will never beat me. NEVER, I SAY!

J: Who said anything about beating you?! That's completely a fabricated stereotype about black males in relationships, you must know that!

    However, it seems you're issuing me a challenge. And I can be quite stubborn on principle.

M: You know what, Jawn? Suck. My. Cock.

    While you're at it, order me a pizza and tell me I'm pretty.

J: Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty.

    And have I ever told you how you always just seem to glow? Your graciousness and joyous nature inspires everyone in the room. It's no wonder they hang on your every word. Aphrodite herself would blush deeply red in jealousy of the way your eyes catch the light, or the coaxing passion of your smile. You are radiant, m'dear.

M: Why thank you, vagina face. I love you, too. YOU NEED TO HANG OUT WITH US BEFORE YOU GO BACK TO SCHOOL, YOU ASSHAT D:<

    I miss being mean to you ):

 

I realized today that there's nothing that could make me care about much of anything in the world. I'm so damn used to every path in life that I tend to already know what the end'll be plus a good dose of just general apathy towards everything spurned on by depression. I can't get excited about anything these days anymore and I'm more forcing attachment than having any real affection or emotion for anything. And I'm tiring quickly; 90% of any day is just an internal monitoring of my emotions to stay as close to stable as possible. "No, don't get too excited! You might lose control. Well, now you're just getting depressed; you'll feel like shit if you keep at that. Get interested in something to pull yourself out of the rut." And repeat; it's fun.

The thing I've always struggled with was whether I could have motivation without some sense of a goal. I've said before how most things have to be literally processed in my head rather than instinctively done like for most people. I've always halfway wondered if what had become internalized for me was emotional responses not based on social cues from people or expectations from society but, instead, a clear purpose in my head. If I could make a solid argument as to why I should do something or believe something, I responded fine. But those days I didn't have anything to do (like convince people of an argument or try to stem some sort of social ill (sexualism, sexism, etc.), I've always felt listless. Life itself couldn't make sense to me. It's weird. As if life was supposed to be some sort of puzzle with an answer.

There's a conversation I had once over IM with Laura where we were discussing Dan, to which - at the end - she remarked, "Not that you'd want to talk about this." In response and being nice, I told her, "It's fine." She thanked me and said - as she has multiple times before this - that I was too kind to her.

I laughed and said, "It's my job." She told me she was being serious, to which I immediately responded, "So am I."

There's a reason I seem to inflict trust in those I never thought I made an impact on yet and that all my friends of about 5 years trust me without hesitance. I give. As a habit, as a duty. And I don't ask in return. I almost never complain, I solve my own problems, and I forgive three times over. It's my job. While certainly not everyone (I would say a minority) has taken advantage or just simply taken and then asked for more or just taken off, I'm not surprised that people would. As you all might've garnered by now, I generally don't have a high opinion of the human race (well, in certain areas). I expect people will be crap. The difference is I still give them the benefit of the doubt. And I've known some wonderful people.

So I play watch-guard. I'm there to swoop in and fix the problem if I can. I'm there to calm you down regardless of the shit going on in my life. I'm there even if it takes 6 months or more to make sure you get back on your feet. And I'm there to offer you redemption if you need it, to tell you, "Pick up again and start over anew. No point if you don't do things right the next time."

That's my job amongst my friends and they recognize it. I don't expect any kind of award or to get the happy ending in the end. I talk people together and make sure they actually communicate they want to be together (because they'd be too shy, God knows, otherwise), I help talk out the relationship problems, I help you get over the breakup, I get you the support you need for your addiction, I make sure the wrong people don't find it out, I mend the friendship problems - it's my job. And I'm perfectly fine with that, so long as I have use. So long as I fix something, so long as I'm making a difference.

But I'm losing whatever touch I apparently had; I barely know what to say these days to help. And you're all getting old now. And you're figuring out how to take care of yourselves. Or you're just old enough that you'll survive (and learn your lesson at the end of it). I'm not particularly needed anymore. And I'm readily seeing that I'm becoming a relic. I'm that paper weight in that only moderately-entered room that you're always glad to see on your desk because you've had it so long but, were it to go missing, there'd just be a reminded twinge of sadness every time you passed by.

That's part of it. That apathy that drains the color of everything as well.

 

I'm not leaving anytime soon, don't worry. We're parasitic creatures, really, particularly with life. We hang on out of instinct and fear and only once we're too damn exhausted do we question letting go. But I think I'll just be floating from now on. I just want stability, damn it. Give me a stable job that I can rely on being there the next day and keep me secure for a terribly modest living that let's me keep to myself a majority of the time (only coming out when called) and I might just keep my sanity. I said at the start of my senior year to grab life by the horns, take any risk, just go and find out the consequences along the way. And I've kept that up as best I could since. But I find the fear that makes me shy has found me again. I just want expectancy again and no changes. I just want to float, without even thinking.

Oh, hey, Freshman/early Sophomore year of high school all over again.

It seems the theme of this month has been "Let's revisit all the relationships you fucked up Senior Year." Not that I don't deserve it, mind you. I don't think I've listened to this much ABBA in a while.