Well thanks to the shitty quality of my writing, or more specifically the fact that I focus on personal problems, not any categorical problem that people can get riled about, nor do I present my narrative as a coherent drama, I'm in little danger of this blog ever being discovered. Still, the very fact that it can be found leads to questions of privacy, etc. So I'm going to write down my frustrations about not being able to share my thoughts, all while not being able to share my thoughts. Double layer of censorship. yaaay.
So. I found out that pursuing a relationship with my crush wouldn't have nearly the negative consequences I thought it would. Avoiding those consequences requires me to go against instinct and be forthright about everything. It's like standing on a stage with your arms stretched out, completely vulnerable. Try it sometime, and imagine the seats full of people, all eyes on you. If your heart doesn't start beating faster, you're not using enough imagination. That's the kind of scary pursuing an openly discouraged but disclosure-required relationship can induce.
And so, afraid that telling my friends who it is I like might fall under the spreading rumors, stalking or harassment clauses, I still can't share my joy. Out of fear.
And I'm pretty sure even my best friend thinks that its stupid for me to like this person, so telling my bestie may likely lead to a rift between us, leaving me feeling more alone. Especially if she comes to the obvious conclusion that I'm immediately going to pursue this. Which I'm not. Because I have forethought. Not. That. Dumb.
Time to go have dinner with someone that I am discouraged from having a relationship with, but there's no fucking policy so I don't have to give a shit who knows, or be especially afraid of anyone finding out or not or whatever. Except that I do not want this person, or anyone, except the one I (kind of, sort of) can't have.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
goodnight
Today was just a good day. Because, its like pole vaulting. You may never want to, but knowing you can't ever hurts. And so knowing that I can, especially when I want to, just makes my day brighter.
11:11. Make a wish.
I pray for serenity.
11:11. Make a wish.
I pray for serenity.
Private Institutions Rock
So, as it turns out, had I bothered to check the policy, my relationship with a superior within my institution, so long as he/she is not directly supervising or evaluating me, is discouraged but nonetheless respected. In fact, my institution does everything in their power to keep the relationship confidential if conflicts of interest do need to be ironed out.
Faith in humanity: restored. More specifically in independent, ie private organizations, where we are not subjugated to the mass paranoia of the state.
So now I can harbor thoughts of intimacy without the background noise of worry that our lives could be ruined. The key factor is full disclosure and consent, which are both hard things to achieve if anything you say to the effect of "I'd like to date you" can be interpreted as and will be taken seriously if presented as sexual harassment.
I think institutions need some guidelines of "harasser's rights" as it were. I mean, if I don't know that what I'm doing makes you uncomfortable, and I think it's within the realm of reasonable doubt that this can occur, then don't I have some right to defend myself on that basis before being labeled a sexual harasser? I feel like the first proposal of a date is a freebie; after that, yes you can totally claim harassment. No means no.
Faith in humanity: restored. More specifically in independent, ie private organizations, where we are not subjugated to the mass paranoia of the state.
So now I can harbor thoughts of intimacy without the background noise of worry that our lives could be ruined. The key factor is full disclosure and consent, which are both hard things to achieve if anything you say to the effect of "I'd like to date you" can be interpreted as and will be taken seriously if presented as sexual harassment.
I think institutions need some guidelines of "harasser's rights" as it were. I mean, if I don't know that what I'm doing makes you uncomfortable, and I think it's within the realm of reasonable doubt that this can occur, then don't I have some right to defend myself on that basis before being labeled a sexual harasser? I feel like the first proposal of a date is a freebie; after that, yes you can totally claim harassment. No means no.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Reading Signals
Human communication is terribly inefficient. We formulate a thought, then translate it into a variety of representations (sounds, body movements, etc) that hopefully other human beings can interpret back into the original thought that we attempted to convey.
I know a little of what it must have been like to live in Soviet Russia. In the search for drugs that I'm technically not supposed to have, I have to find the language in which I can talk to people who are willing to give me what I want, all without that language being interpretable by the authorities we wish to avoid the retribution of. And that is nearly impossible, because we are all human; in order to create a language others can interpret, it will be interpretable by all, even those we do not wish would listen in.
And so it is with my crush. I try to convey how I feel directly to him, without that message being intercepted by others, any others, because anyone might talk and then out of nowhere the hammer may come down. The worst is when you're afraid that the person sitting across from you, whose attention you want, may also be a risk for passing your message on to the persecutors. But I'm thoroughly convinced by now that he would do no such thing. But the fact still remains, that in order for my message to remain private within a public setting, it must be subtle, so subtle that perhaps even he isn't getting it.
I mention that I trust him enough to tell him the truth. Well, almost. There are two reasons I don't, even though I have reasonable opportunity within a reasonable assurance of privacy to do so. One: this is a very inconvenient time to start such awkwardness. It is at the point where his opinion of me cannot be twisted by such information. It is imperative that whatever objectivity he still holds on my account remain intact. Two: I'm not very happy with myself, physically, at the moment. And I'm not one that has an unattainable vision for beauty. I know this because I've self-actualized before. But I've gained weight since then and I want to get back into a body that makes me happy before I initiate anything with someone I care about. Because it is an indelible truth that physical attraction is a large part of a healthy relationship, and I want to be as attractive as possible in the moment that I make myself known. Which is not now.
Yet, here's the interesting part. I may be picking up subtle signals from him. You know how I was saying that, in order to defend oneself against persecution, one's signal must be so subtle as to be nearly undetectable? Well, I think it's that nearly-undetectable signal that I'm sensing. Because, while he may trust me, he may not trust me enough to put his entire career at risk to be blatant. And from his point of view, he is much more vulnerable to the hands of persecution than I am. It is hard to say which of us has more to lose. So its reasonable to believe that he has begun doing what I've been doing for the past few months... sending incredibly low amplitude signals, on the hunch that perhaps something may come of it, but easy enough to claim as unintentional if ever questioned on the matter, because he doesn't quite trust me not to turn him in, and I cannot and do not blame him for covering his ass. And for the same reason, its also reasonable to believe that I am completely delusional, seeing what I want to see, and that these so-called "signals" really are just personal quirks and have no indication of personal attention whatsoever.
I wish, I so wish, that this matter could be just between him and me, not him and me and a prejudiced institution. And it is prejudice. Like saying that because some black people commit crimes, therefore all black people are a threat, they have put in writing that because other romances like ours have not worked out well, that we can be punished just for pursuing it. As far as I'm concerned, as long as we are consenting adults, it no one's fucking business.
I feel like a basic tenant of "the code", or human rights as some would call it, is being broken. Its the basis of post-traumatic stress disorder. Seeing fighting and death is not what drives men mad. It's seeing people do what you never thought a human being was capable, within their conscience, of doing. And when you no longer trust humans to follow these basic laws, your entire world shatters. Granted, I am not being subjugated to anything "traumatic", but the basic tenant, the lack of trust and the utter dismay at how low humanity can sink, hurts me. But the thought of my man saves me from that, in some sense, because I can at least believe within myself that he lives by the code, a code, hopefully my code.
Strangely enough though, in this moment, because of the reassuring "signals" I've gotten from him, I am less afraid of the institution than I was before. Because as long as we don't make out in public, the only two people involved are people who have already expressed, with decreasing subtlety, that we are loyal to one another, at least in the sense of friendship, and will not rat one another out. The last boundary, really, is whether or not he feels the same way I do, or if he simply doesn't see me that way. Which I could live with, so long as 1) it didn't make things awkward (which lets admit, it usually does) and 2) it doesn't throw my ass in the fire, which I'm now sure it won't. So really its just #1.
The only thing left in this country to us is (greater than lesser) freedom from censorship. I won't get started on porn and cussing. But I encourage everyone to read "A Handmaid's Tale", and tell me how that story is so very different from this one, in the sense of being afraid of even one's friends, the lawful oppression. I get that that dystopia is much worse but... really. The feeling of loneliness is already manifest in our modern lives.
I can't even tell my best friends about my feelings, because if they get worried about me, they might to do something, in the pursuit of helping me, that actually hurts him or me. Or they might say something to the wrong person, etc. I simply can't risk it. I've taken enough risk as it is with the little I have said. There's only one person now with enough information to do real damage, and I cannot say anything more to her on the matter, and this pains me. Love should be celebrated, shared. That's how we as social creatures operate. This new world order... will destroy us from the inside, until we go mad. And of course, its not like that's the intended effect. The people who instituted it think they're helping. Let me make my own goddamn mistakes, on the off-chance it might not be one. It's a risk I'm willing to take, even if you think its such a bad idea that you'd put everything irrelevant to the situation but crucial to my life at stake to prevent me from pursuing my happiness.
Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness... how far we have strayed from this, in so many, many ways. The last two are so untrue as to make the first trivial.
I know a little of what it must have been like to live in Soviet Russia. In the search for drugs that I'm technically not supposed to have, I have to find the language in which I can talk to people who are willing to give me what I want, all without that language being interpretable by the authorities we wish to avoid the retribution of. And that is nearly impossible, because we are all human; in order to create a language others can interpret, it will be interpretable by all, even those we do not wish would listen in.
And so it is with my crush. I try to convey how I feel directly to him, without that message being intercepted by others, any others, because anyone might talk and then out of nowhere the hammer may come down. The worst is when you're afraid that the person sitting across from you, whose attention you want, may also be a risk for passing your message on to the persecutors. But I'm thoroughly convinced by now that he would do no such thing. But the fact still remains, that in order for my message to remain private within a public setting, it must be subtle, so subtle that perhaps even he isn't getting it.
I mention that I trust him enough to tell him the truth. Well, almost. There are two reasons I don't, even though I have reasonable opportunity within a reasonable assurance of privacy to do so. One: this is a very inconvenient time to start such awkwardness. It is at the point where his opinion of me cannot be twisted by such information. It is imperative that whatever objectivity he still holds on my account remain intact. Two: I'm not very happy with myself, physically, at the moment. And I'm not one that has an unattainable vision for beauty. I know this because I've self-actualized before. But I've gained weight since then and I want to get back into a body that makes me happy before I initiate anything with someone I care about. Because it is an indelible truth that physical attraction is a large part of a healthy relationship, and I want to be as attractive as possible in the moment that I make myself known. Which is not now.
Yet, here's the interesting part. I may be picking up subtle signals from him. You know how I was saying that, in order to defend oneself against persecution, one's signal must be so subtle as to be nearly undetectable? Well, I think it's that nearly-undetectable signal that I'm sensing. Because, while he may trust me, he may not trust me enough to put his entire career at risk to be blatant. And from his point of view, he is much more vulnerable to the hands of persecution than I am. It is hard to say which of us has more to lose. So its reasonable to believe that he has begun doing what I've been doing for the past few months... sending incredibly low amplitude signals, on the hunch that perhaps something may come of it, but easy enough to claim as unintentional if ever questioned on the matter, because he doesn't quite trust me not to turn him in, and I cannot and do not blame him for covering his ass. And for the same reason, its also reasonable to believe that I am completely delusional, seeing what I want to see, and that these so-called "signals" really are just personal quirks and have no indication of personal attention whatsoever.
I wish, I so wish, that this matter could be just between him and me, not him and me and a prejudiced institution. And it is prejudice. Like saying that because some black people commit crimes, therefore all black people are a threat, they have put in writing that because other romances like ours have not worked out well, that we can be punished just for pursuing it. As far as I'm concerned, as long as we are consenting adults, it no one's fucking business.
I feel like a basic tenant of "the code", or human rights as some would call it, is being broken. Its the basis of post-traumatic stress disorder. Seeing fighting and death is not what drives men mad. It's seeing people do what you never thought a human being was capable, within their conscience, of doing. And when you no longer trust humans to follow these basic laws, your entire world shatters. Granted, I am not being subjugated to anything "traumatic", but the basic tenant, the lack of trust and the utter dismay at how low humanity can sink, hurts me. But the thought of my man saves me from that, in some sense, because I can at least believe within myself that he lives by the code, a code, hopefully my code.
Strangely enough though, in this moment, because of the reassuring "signals" I've gotten from him, I am less afraid of the institution than I was before. Because as long as we don't make out in public, the only two people involved are people who have already expressed, with decreasing subtlety, that we are loyal to one another, at least in the sense of friendship, and will not rat one another out. The last boundary, really, is whether or not he feels the same way I do, or if he simply doesn't see me that way. Which I could live with, so long as 1) it didn't make things awkward (which lets admit, it usually does) and 2) it doesn't throw my ass in the fire, which I'm now sure it won't. So really its just #1.
The only thing left in this country to us is (greater than lesser) freedom from censorship. I won't get started on porn and cussing. But I encourage everyone to read "A Handmaid's Tale", and tell me how that story is so very different from this one, in the sense of being afraid of even one's friends, the lawful oppression. I get that that dystopia is much worse but... really. The feeling of loneliness is already manifest in our modern lives.
I can't even tell my best friends about my feelings, because if they get worried about me, they might to do something, in the pursuit of helping me, that actually hurts him or me. Or they might say something to the wrong person, etc. I simply can't risk it. I've taken enough risk as it is with the little I have said. There's only one person now with enough information to do real damage, and I cannot say anything more to her on the matter, and this pains me. Love should be celebrated, shared. That's how we as social creatures operate. This new world order... will destroy us from the inside, until we go mad. And of course, its not like that's the intended effect. The people who instituted it think they're helping. Let me make my own goddamn mistakes, on the off-chance it might not be one. It's a risk I'm willing to take, even if you think its such a bad idea that you'd put everything irrelevant to the situation but crucial to my life at stake to prevent me from pursuing my happiness.
Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness... how far we have strayed from this, in so many, many ways. The last two are so untrue as to make the first trivial.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Another One Like Me
Borrowed from a friend, without permission, without citation. Because it rang true.
Her lifestlye is exiting and interesting to me.
But thats not what im really attracted to
Im attracted to her physically as well as her personality.
She is beautiful in my eyes. She doesn't think she is but thats BS.
Shes very kind, intelligent, fun, weird.
Even
though she's miserable she emits this aura of positive energy thats
just intoxicating. Even for someone like me who feels like crap most of
the time, just being around her makes me and other people happy
she's also very good at making people smile
I
know this sounds bad but Im also attracted to people who are damaged
and have suffered in their life. I feel this way because I have been
there and it makes me incredibly sad to see people like that. I want to
help her.
i feel that two people who suffer can help one another
to cope with and surpass their misery
Sadly, I have been brick walled in my desire to be with her. Holding on to these feelings now would be caustic to my health.
So now I have nothing but a broken heart
and still have a desire to be loved
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Slag City
There is no storm I can't ride out
because I'm sailing in a pond
there is no drought I can't survive
because I sit at the foot of the river
there is no burden I cannot carry
my shoulders have grown broad and strong
in this land of plenty
and yet still my back is bent, my head hangs low
my eyes sunk in, my breath is spent
how is it, in a land of opportunity,
I feel so trapped, so wretched?
as if I'm in the slag pit, with an iron collar
no friends or siblings, mother or father
we've all been torn apart
in the pursuit of luxury
not even.
because I'm sailing in a pond
there is no drought I can't survive
because I sit at the foot of the river
there is no burden I cannot carry
my shoulders have grown broad and strong
in this land of plenty
and yet still my back is bent, my head hangs low
my eyes sunk in, my breath is spent
how is it, in a land of opportunity,
I feel so trapped, so wretched?
as if I'm in the slag pit, with an iron collar
no friends or siblings, mother or father
we've all been torn apart
in the pursuit of luxury
not even.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Ohh to be a blogger
I was actually kind of excited at the prospect of having readers from around the world. Then I find, its just spam search scripts from Russia. Why? Whats the purpose, the point? Is Russia spying on Americans and trying to get an inside look of the goings-on by randomly sampling personal blogs? I write down things that I could get in trouble for on a personal level because other people simply don't like it. Like being trans, or liking someone outside my age group. But, sorry Russia, there's no national secrets buried in code in this blog. It's just a digital diary of a cranky young person with no one trustworthy enough to talk to. Judgment is ubiquitous. But I like to think that God doesn't hate the love I have. Or the way I deal with it. I haven't made anyone uncomfortable (yet) so, I'm not going to punish myself. Go ahead and judge me Russia, I truly, truly, do not give a shit. My country can punish me for what I am, but not you; your judgment has no bearing on my existence. Now, I'm sort of pissed that your judgment has bearing upon the people within your country. It's cruel and unfair and they're probably even more scared than I am of discovery and wouldn't dare put their thoughts online. I'm lucky I don't have to be that scared. But shit's still fucked up when I can tell a man I love him because of how other people would react. (I realize I'm veering off the topic suggested by the title but no real person is actually reading this, so w/e my thoughts are my own)
There was one moment in Wuthering Heights that I connected to. "There is no Edward, there is no world, there is only you and me." And the pure bliss that that conjured, is how I feel about my situation. If the rest of the world didn't exist, we could be blissfully happy. But it does, and the dream is shattered. I feel sorry for the poor Russian son of a bitch that has to read scraps of this drivel looking for coded hints to bioweaponry breakthroughs.
There was one moment in Wuthering Heights that I connected to. "There is no Edward, there is no world, there is only you and me." And the pure bliss that that conjured, is how I feel about my situation. If the rest of the world didn't exist, we could be blissfully happy. But it does, and the dream is shattered. I feel sorry for the poor Russian son of a bitch that has to read scraps of this drivel looking for coded hints to bioweaponry breakthroughs.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I Realize It's a Dream, But It's My Dream Motherfucker
I can't stop thinking about your pretty face. Your unbelievably blue eyes. I've seen blue eyes before. Usually they freak me out. They're like ice, or they pierce. It's almost painful to look to look at. But your eyes are warm. Its like you're hugging me when you look directly at me. And I am enthralled by your embrace. I spent an hour and a half stealing glances at your butt. Petting your whole body, stroking your skin, reveling in your softness and your strength. Also you just have a really cute butt. And you're short enough for me to love! Short enough that I can press my body against yours and not stand on tiptoes or crank my neck to kiss you. My lover, my life, my darling, what the hell are you doing alone. There's no way in hell. You are not alone. So there's something under the table you're not telling anybody else, or you're really so fucking busy that you haven't made time in the past who knows how many years to find a woman. Even though there's a score of young women who admire you. And there's no way in hell that I could stand out (positively) among them, except that I would love your son as my own. I'm not pretty. I'm aware of that. I'm not an athelete. I'm not smarter than you, I don't know so much about my own field that I could really teach you anything you don't already know that you would actually want to know.
All I know is that we have the same thoughts about God, that my life is better with you in it, that I love you and I love your boy and even if on paper based on attributes I'm at the bottom of your list of potential courtiers, that has to count for something. Deep emotional devotion, not in the way that weakens me and makes me dependent, but empowers me and makes me a fucking mother bear if someone gets between me and your cub. Because he's my cub too and I will fucking rip the entrails out of anyone who tries to hurt him with my teeth. I am that violently protective of you and yours, if only you would be mine, let yours be mine. Fuck everyone else. Fuck my family. Mine are the kind that, if they kept talking to me at all, would spend every coversational moment questioning my happiness and underhandedly suggesting I would be happier with someone young and handsome. Because that's what they fucking care about. Pretty. Even though I'm not so why they would even contribute agh. Irrelevant. Which was my point in the first place.
You wouldn't be spending Easter by yourself. You wouldn't be coming home right after work to pick up your kid after he's been waiting at school for two, three hours just to go straight home and make dinner, help him with his homework, and have fun until you have to stay up until 2am every night be both a good professional and a good father. I can help you. I want to help you. I want to be his friend. I want to drive him to karate practice, and make dinner so that its ready when you get home. I want to streamline your life so that you're not on the phone every day figuring out who's gonna watch your kid from when to when. Or maybe I just want to be one of the people on the other end of the line. I want to be your go-to, your problem-solver, your what-would-I-do-without-you. I want to be the reason your kid gets two spend an extra half-hour with you out on the water every day, instead of waiting for you to finish making dinner. I want to be the reason you can go to every event you're invited to, that you want to go to. I want to be the reason you get enough sleep, and your constant jovialty is not quite as forced on those days. I love you, I'm ready to listen to you bitch about all the people who have a royal stick up their butt and need to take a chill pill. Like us.
1963. 1991. Big fucking difference, in a human lifespan. But in the evolution of human consciousness, not even a blip. We are sewn from the same fiber. I try to see the universe through your eyes, and it fascinates me. But its not so hard for me because I think we have the same vision; your's just has a broader picture and better focus. I yearn for your clarity, your circumscience. Yes I made that up. The cross between circumspection and omniscience. Don't laugh at me. Yes I read that out loud in my head too. Shut up.
I only wish that I knew what you were thinking. You treat everyone as well as you treat me, with that depth of personal investment and concern. How could I possibly know if I was special. I know how important your son is to you. And I know how I found out. I saw that you took on the role of the mother while acting like a father. You kept track of him. Distant fathers don't constantly know where their kid is, the way you did. Only attentive parents that are always on "where's the kid" duty have behavioral circuits like that. And so I knew he was big in your life. But I will never warrant a display of behavior like that which discerns from all the other fawners. Not because I couldn't be that special, but simply because I'm twenty, I can take care of myself; such focused concern wouldn't be appropriate, except in a situation in which all my friends would be that concerned. And I hope never to go back to that place. Despite the fact that very few people knew I was there. And even the people who knew, were never really worried. And I guess me writing this proves that they didn't have to be. But not having done it and not being at risk... it's going to take a lot of statistics to show that those two are the same thing. I carry my diary on my skin. I will not forget what I did to myself. And I'm okay with that. It's simply apart of my body now.
But I don't want you to know that. You'll see the scars, of course. You may or may not ask. My truest soul mate would rub his thumb over them and kiss me very tenderly, to show me that he knows they are there, he doesn't need to know what happened, and he loves me. Of course this man does not exist. But he looks and thinks a hell of lot like you. Except that you will probably ask, or tsk me in your head and not emote anything at all, and avoid the conversation. It really depends on how you see me; a malleable child, an inflexible adult? a self-pitying cesspool, a soul to be saved? I have to admit I don't know you nearly as well as I want to. And you hardly know me at all. But that's not because I'm a stalker. Let's admit it. If I had to stand in front of you talking for an hour and half straight multiple times a week, you'd learn a lot about me too, and may not ever be talking about me. Although you volunteer a disturbing amount of information about yourself. I doubt your blissfully ignorant of your fanbase, which me leads to me to wonder if you're knowingly encouraging stalkers. I guess its possible that you don't realize your own charisma. But you'd have to be daft. And no one that daft is that charismatic.
I love you, and I'm more scared of others loving you than you not loving me. I can prove myself on the competitive basis of familiar bond, if only I do not have a competitor on that platform. Because chances are, if there's another willing to be that dedicated to you and your family, they're also more attractive than me. And thats just numbers.
I will probably never fight for this. We will part ways without ever having said a final goodbye, more like a "see you later" to never be seen again. I will hold myself back until there's no longer context for it, and move on. With absence the force of the feeling will fade, but the affection will not be gone, and I will think of you fondly, and perhaps often. I still often think of the love I never had, whom I've heard hide nor hair of in five years. And I'm not old enough for that to be a short time. That was beautiful. But for another time. Tonight is your time.
Except now I'm derailed. I feel like proper respects is owed to the love I never kissed. I've been infatuated with many but this is the one that stuck. I feel like you'll be the only other one to recess in my daydreams. At least for this decade.
All I know is that we have the same thoughts about God, that my life is better with you in it, that I love you and I love your boy and even if on paper based on attributes I'm at the bottom of your list of potential courtiers, that has to count for something. Deep emotional devotion, not in the way that weakens me and makes me dependent, but empowers me and makes me a fucking mother bear if someone gets between me and your cub. Because he's my cub too and I will fucking rip the entrails out of anyone who tries to hurt him with my teeth. I am that violently protective of you and yours, if only you would be mine, let yours be mine. Fuck everyone else. Fuck my family. Mine are the kind that, if they kept talking to me at all, would spend every coversational moment questioning my happiness and underhandedly suggesting I would be happier with someone young and handsome. Because that's what they fucking care about. Pretty. Even though I'm not so why they would even contribute agh. Irrelevant. Which was my point in the first place.
You wouldn't be spending Easter by yourself. You wouldn't be coming home right after work to pick up your kid after he's been waiting at school for two, three hours just to go straight home and make dinner, help him with his homework, and have fun until you have to stay up until 2am every night be both a good professional and a good father. I can help you. I want to help you. I want to be his friend. I want to drive him to karate practice, and make dinner so that its ready when you get home. I want to streamline your life so that you're not on the phone every day figuring out who's gonna watch your kid from when to when. Or maybe I just want to be one of the people on the other end of the line. I want to be your go-to, your problem-solver, your what-would-I-do-without-you. I want to be the reason your kid gets two spend an extra half-hour with you out on the water every day, instead of waiting for you to finish making dinner. I want to be the reason you can go to every event you're invited to, that you want to go to. I want to be the reason you get enough sleep, and your constant jovialty is not quite as forced on those days. I love you, I'm ready to listen to you bitch about all the people who have a royal stick up their butt and need to take a chill pill. Like us.
1963. 1991. Big fucking difference, in a human lifespan. But in the evolution of human consciousness, not even a blip. We are sewn from the same fiber. I try to see the universe through your eyes, and it fascinates me. But its not so hard for me because I think we have the same vision; your's just has a broader picture and better focus. I yearn for your clarity, your circumscience. Yes I made that up. The cross between circumspection and omniscience. Don't laugh at me. Yes I read that out loud in my head too. Shut up.
I only wish that I knew what you were thinking. You treat everyone as well as you treat me, with that depth of personal investment and concern. How could I possibly know if I was special. I know how important your son is to you. And I know how I found out. I saw that you took on the role of the mother while acting like a father. You kept track of him. Distant fathers don't constantly know where their kid is, the way you did. Only attentive parents that are always on "where's the kid" duty have behavioral circuits like that. And so I knew he was big in your life. But I will never warrant a display of behavior like that which discerns from all the other fawners. Not because I couldn't be that special, but simply because I'm twenty, I can take care of myself; such focused concern wouldn't be appropriate, except in a situation in which all my friends would be that concerned. And I hope never to go back to that place. Despite the fact that very few people knew I was there. And even the people who knew, were never really worried. And I guess me writing this proves that they didn't have to be. But not having done it and not being at risk... it's going to take a lot of statistics to show that those two are the same thing. I carry my diary on my skin. I will not forget what I did to myself. And I'm okay with that. It's simply apart of my body now.
But I don't want you to know that. You'll see the scars, of course. You may or may not ask. My truest soul mate would rub his thumb over them and kiss me very tenderly, to show me that he knows they are there, he doesn't need to know what happened, and he loves me. Of course this man does not exist. But he looks and thinks a hell of lot like you. Except that you will probably ask, or tsk me in your head and not emote anything at all, and avoid the conversation. It really depends on how you see me; a malleable child, an inflexible adult? a self-pitying cesspool, a soul to be saved? I have to admit I don't know you nearly as well as I want to. And you hardly know me at all. But that's not because I'm a stalker. Let's admit it. If I had to stand in front of you talking for an hour and half straight multiple times a week, you'd learn a lot about me too, and may not ever be talking about me. Although you volunteer a disturbing amount of information about yourself. I doubt your blissfully ignorant of your fanbase, which me leads to me to wonder if you're knowingly encouraging stalkers. I guess its possible that you don't realize your own charisma. But you'd have to be daft. And no one that daft is that charismatic.
I love you, and I'm more scared of others loving you than you not loving me. I can prove myself on the competitive basis of familiar bond, if only I do not have a competitor on that platform. Because chances are, if there's another willing to be that dedicated to you and your family, they're also more attractive than me. And thats just numbers.
I will probably never fight for this. We will part ways without ever having said a final goodbye, more like a "see you later" to never be seen again. I will hold myself back until there's no longer context for it, and move on. With absence the force of the feeling will fade, but the affection will not be gone, and I will think of you fondly, and perhaps often. I still often think of the love I never had, whom I've heard hide nor hair of in five years. And I'm not old enough for that to be a short time. That was beautiful. But for another time. Tonight is your time.
Except now I'm derailed. I feel like proper respects is owed to the love I never kissed. I've been infatuated with many but this is the one that stuck. I feel like you'll be the only other one to recess in my daydreams. At least for this decade.
The Role of Music in Shaping Our Thoughts
It's usually considered shallow and crass to quote song lyrics to describe your life... but we've all been there, when we listen to a song and it just taps us... you're the singer, the song is about you, its like you wrote it if only you could put your thoughts together with enough poetry to get on the radio. You listen to the lyrics and faces of the most important people in your life become emboldened by those words.
But how much is music changing our perception of what's going on in our lives? How are our perceptions of the other people involved with us altered by the words we hear describing a similar, but not identical situation? It's an interesting thought, don't you think?
I'll look up the research on it later, given it exists. Which, lets admit, it probably does.
But how much is music changing our perception of what's going on in our lives? How are our perceptions of the other people involved with us altered by the words we hear describing a similar, but not identical situation? It's an interesting thought, don't you think?
I'll look up the research on it later, given it exists. Which, lets admit, it probably does.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Differences Among Individuals
Nothing is quite as important as good friends. And the person you hate most in the world could be the best friend of someone else, that you probably wouldn't care for either. But if they make each other happy, what's the problem? And wouldn't every single person benefit if all the crazy fuck-ups who make each other happy go off in their own corner and stop pissing the rest of us off.
But see, I think I'm one of those people, that pisses people off. Even though I try my damnedest to be nice to everyone, there are still those who think I'm the one who needs to be stuffed in a closet. But I'm in good with people who love me. Who cares what anyone else thinks about them or me? We're all happy together. That's what counts.
There's a theory of political philosophy called Utilitarianism. It relies on maximizing the sum of all people's happiness, regardless of whether they deserve it or not. I feel like there's a small number of changes we could make to the general order that could make more people happy. Even people whom we feel don't deserve to be happy. Each individual is largely determined by the individuals around them, by their environment. Change that environment, you can change a person.
In many ways our society is organized to foster competition, which albeit is our instinctual tendency. But what would be so terrible, about giving city kids the opportunity to experience being farmers? Let them decide if that's the life they want? Teenagers are committing suicide at a disturbingly high rate. Many of them feel trapped, like they're not suited for the life they're told they ought to lead. Well, why not give them more options?
I wanted to go to a school in the country, to be closer to God. I was talked out of it, talked into going to an inner-city school of high caliber so that my post-bachelor opportunities would be higher caliber too. As it turns out I'm happy where I went, but... I feel like I was bullied into abiding by someone else's idea of "best for me". How many other kids are falling into that same trap? And to what consequence? How many kids are told that they're "bad" because they can't do mathematics? You may be talking down to a horse whisperer, the best ranch-hand ever born! Teens with no academic talent whatsoever are told that they need to go to college. Why? College was not originally intended as a destination for the average. It was intended as a place of study for the people whose talent is studying. Why are we sending people with different talents there as well? The one-track mind needs to be derailed. Human capabilities outside of rote memorization and number processing needs to be valued, celebrated, and as well tended to in our school systems. I'm all for public education in concept. But its now being used as a weeding system to find the best candidates for academic work. What is actually learned is not otherwise useful. And that's a problem. We need to reroute our thinking about public school, away from 100% college prep that caters to the academically talented and more towards a well-rounded institution that prepares youngsters of all constellations for independent life. How to make a budget, do your taxes, make a resume, nutrition, first aid, changing a tire, rather than putting the just plain dumb into calculus class. No one needs calculus in daily life. Only engineers need calculus. The fact that almost every high school student is taught it (whether they learn it is a different story) just shows how biased the system is.
I want inner-city kids to have the chance to experience farming. I want farm kids to have the chance to experience business and politics. Student exchanges are the way of the future.
But see, I think I'm one of those people, that pisses people off. Even though I try my damnedest to be nice to everyone, there are still those who think I'm the one who needs to be stuffed in a closet. But I'm in good with people who love me. Who cares what anyone else thinks about them or me? We're all happy together. That's what counts.
There's a theory of political philosophy called Utilitarianism. It relies on maximizing the sum of all people's happiness, regardless of whether they deserve it or not. I feel like there's a small number of changes we could make to the general order that could make more people happy. Even people whom we feel don't deserve to be happy. Each individual is largely determined by the individuals around them, by their environment. Change that environment, you can change a person.
In many ways our society is organized to foster competition, which albeit is our instinctual tendency. But what would be so terrible, about giving city kids the opportunity to experience being farmers? Let them decide if that's the life they want? Teenagers are committing suicide at a disturbingly high rate. Many of them feel trapped, like they're not suited for the life they're told they ought to lead. Well, why not give them more options?
I wanted to go to a school in the country, to be closer to God. I was talked out of it, talked into going to an inner-city school of high caliber so that my post-bachelor opportunities would be higher caliber too. As it turns out I'm happy where I went, but... I feel like I was bullied into abiding by someone else's idea of "best for me". How many other kids are falling into that same trap? And to what consequence? How many kids are told that they're "bad" because they can't do mathematics? You may be talking down to a horse whisperer, the best ranch-hand ever born! Teens with no academic talent whatsoever are told that they need to go to college. Why? College was not originally intended as a destination for the average. It was intended as a place of study for the people whose talent is studying. Why are we sending people with different talents there as well? The one-track mind needs to be derailed. Human capabilities outside of rote memorization and number processing needs to be valued, celebrated, and as well tended to in our school systems. I'm all for public education in concept. But its now being used as a weeding system to find the best candidates for academic work. What is actually learned is not otherwise useful. And that's a problem. We need to reroute our thinking about public school, away from 100% college prep that caters to the academically talented and more towards a well-rounded institution that prepares youngsters of all constellations for independent life. How to make a budget, do your taxes, make a resume, nutrition, first aid, changing a tire, rather than putting the just plain dumb into calculus class. No one needs calculus in daily life. Only engineers need calculus. The fact that almost every high school student is taught it (whether they learn it is a different story) just shows how biased the system is.
I want inner-city kids to have the chance to experience farming. I want farm kids to have the chance to experience business and politics. Student exchanges are the way of the future.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
I'm going camping
I just don't give a shit anymore. I'm running away, into the woods, to stare up at the stars and think about the universe and let the vastness calm me because all the little things that stress me out really. don't. matter. at all. maybe a little bit, on our egoscopic level. but really the things we try to do here are a pastime. If we succeed, great. If not, well depends on the project I guess. But the real point is to stop caring about what other people think, especially the spoil-sports, who don't understand that a contribution inferior to their own (by their measure, mind you) is still a contribution. That every little bit matters and that each individual's unique way of contributing is necessary to our success as a whole. It sucks that I have to take time off to go stare at stars and swim in a lake to convince myself of this, but the first step to fixing a problem is admitting that there is one. Step two is actually addressing it. Suppressing the problem has worked... kinda. But I've made myself ill. I've crippled my brain and body trying so hard to keep up with extraordinary expectations that are rapidly becoming ordinary. Our conglomerate society is getting smarter faster than individuals can keep up. Even if our learning as a race, our body of knowledge, continues to grow in absolute time, every new person must start from the beginning, and it takes time for our brains to absorb knowledge that was discovered hundreds of years ago. We're going to get to the point that, by the time one has absorbed enough knowledge to contribute something new, one will be too old to conduct the study. But perhaps that explains the existence of graduate student henchmen who don't really know what they're doing; they're exploring the ideas of people who have had 50 years to absorb the entire knowledge base of their field and to identify questions that we haven't yet answered. But the drive to outrun ourselves is remarkable. This test of stamina, its basically a competition. But after a while, I have to wonder what we're competing for, and if its really important to me to win.
Nonsense
Sit and listen, I will tell,
a tale to entice my little bell
a story of a girl
who loved a man
she could not love
a man with a son
that she would call her own
if only he let her
but this man, you see,
my little bell
was kind and dear to one and all
so that a girl hoping for affection
could never know
if she was special
and so this girl was in a quandary
whether to sit and stay silent
or to jump up and tell
but the story is much more complex, you know
bed time stories leave so much out, just to show
that really, all love stories are the same
that no matter the parameters,
there are a limited number of conflicts
and even fewer outcomes
but every time, there is at least one option
that makes everyone happy
and we call this happily ever after
and little bells all over the world, just like you
sit and listen and hope
that the story will end happily
but what do you not know, little bell
is that there are few winds that blow all men good
and the more people involved,
the more likely that not everyone can be satisfied
and the heroine knows this
she knows that if the world were forgotten,
then this equation would be simple
but it just isn't so
not everyone has a stake or an opinion
but enough do, to make things
complicated.
It doesn't help for that all the words we use
to describe and categorize people
we do not have a language
that can truly capture individuals
even our names are repeated, and carry no meaning
between their bearers
all you need to know, little bell
is that in this story,
the world is a very strange place
the people do not live in tribes
but each as individuals in vast cities
and so, rather than growing up together,
growing around each other, with each other
and personalities forming through reciprocal influence,
these people grow through chaos,
impacted by influences that they cannot understand,
because they are not intimate with most of the people
that they interact with every day.
and so when lovers come together in this world,
they are usually people who met
long after they became people
and they must find a way to fit these personhoods together
or hope that, by the grace of God
they were drawn through the chaos
and formed into perfect fits, one for the other
and sometimes, if you are lucky,
you can spot the signs
that through a chaos you have not seen and cannot ever know
a person has been formed
so perfectly fitted to the person created
when you were drawn through your chaos
and all that's left
is for them to know it too
and that is the heroine of our story, my bell
a woman who has come through her fire
beaten, burned, honed, and hardened
emblazoned with amusement and passion
who has spotted a man
and though she knows nothing of his path
she sees what has emerged from the crucible
and what she finds pleases her
but as it is for all humans, bell,
he cannot read her mind,
and she cannot read his.
And so it is that the dance begins,
not of courtship, as it would be within a tribe,
had intimacy been formed with time,
this dance is delicate,
to create an intimacy without pushing,
to lay the basis for courtship,
without alarming the turtledove
and sending it to flight
or worse, spooking the entire flock
that would turn and attack her
if they knew her intent
for this is not a world where all love is celebrated
the people pick and choose what love they will accept
all without knowing the lovers involved.
Two boys, two girls, one old and one young;
these are seen as improper,
with no attention to the fit of the personhoods.
And this increases the delicacy of the dance
for not only must our heroine attain intimacy,
she must do so
without becoming prey to the masses.
It requires a shade of surreptitiousness,
that in itself implicates guilt
but no man, nor woman, should feel guilt
simply for harboring thoughts of love
nor should they be punished
for attempting to realize their dreams,
so long as the other person involved in this dream
does not repel them
only then is it a flaw in character
to continue to try.
And so my bell,
this is not a happy story,
it hasn't ended the way you would hope,
at least not yet.
The panther stalks, the dancers dance,
and our heroine still hopes to discover
whether she has a chance
with a man who in some far away circumstance
has been formed into her complement half
and whether her dreams could ever advance
from images in the brain, from phantom sensations
into a touch on the arm, words of comfort,
a look of affection more special than before
in a face so very, very weathered
and bright eyes so very, very blue.
a tale to entice my little bell
a story of a girl
who loved a man
she could not love
a man with a son
that she would call her own
if only he let her
but this man, you see,
my little bell
was kind and dear to one and all
so that a girl hoping for affection
could never know
if she was special
and so this girl was in a quandary
whether to sit and stay silent
or to jump up and tell
but the story is much more complex, you know
bed time stories leave so much out, just to show
that really, all love stories are the same
that no matter the parameters,
there are a limited number of conflicts
and even fewer outcomes
but every time, there is at least one option
that makes everyone happy
and we call this happily ever after
and little bells all over the world, just like you
sit and listen and hope
that the story will end happily
but what do you not know, little bell
is that there are few winds that blow all men good
and the more people involved,
the more likely that not everyone can be satisfied
and the heroine knows this
she knows that if the world were forgotten,
then this equation would be simple
but it just isn't so
not everyone has a stake or an opinion
but enough do, to make things
complicated.
It doesn't help for that all the words we use
to describe and categorize people
we do not have a language
that can truly capture individuals
even our names are repeated, and carry no meaning
between their bearers
all you need to know, little bell
is that in this story,
the world is a very strange place
the people do not live in tribes
but each as individuals in vast cities
and so, rather than growing up together,
growing around each other, with each other
and personalities forming through reciprocal influence,
these people grow through chaos,
impacted by influences that they cannot understand,
because they are not intimate with most of the people
that they interact with every day.
and so when lovers come together in this world,
they are usually people who met
long after they became people
and they must find a way to fit these personhoods together
or hope that, by the grace of God
they were drawn through the chaos
and formed into perfect fits, one for the other
and sometimes, if you are lucky,
you can spot the signs
that through a chaos you have not seen and cannot ever know
a person has been formed
so perfectly fitted to the person created
when you were drawn through your chaos
and all that's left
is for them to know it too
and that is the heroine of our story, my bell
a woman who has come through her fire
beaten, burned, honed, and hardened
emblazoned with amusement and passion
who has spotted a man
and though she knows nothing of his path
she sees what has emerged from the crucible
and what she finds pleases her
but as it is for all humans, bell,
he cannot read her mind,
and she cannot read his.
And so it is that the dance begins,
not of courtship, as it would be within a tribe,
had intimacy been formed with time,
this dance is delicate,
to create an intimacy without pushing,
to lay the basis for courtship,
without alarming the turtledove
and sending it to flight
or worse, spooking the entire flock
that would turn and attack her
if they knew her intent
for this is not a world where all love is celebrated
the people pick and choose what love they will accept
all without knowing the lovers involved.
Two boys, two girls, one old and one young;
these are seen as improper,
with no attention to the fit of the personhoods.
And this increases the delicacy of the dance
for not only must our heroine attain intimacy,
she must do so
without becoming prey to the masses.
It requires a shade of surreptitiousness,
that in itself implicates guilt
but no man, nor woman, should feel guilt
simply for harboring thoughts of love
nor should they be punished
for attempting to realize their dreams,
so long as the other person involved in this dream
does not repel them
only then is it a flaw in character
to continue to try.
And so my bell,
this is not a happy story,
it hasn't ended the way you would hope,
at least not yet.
The panther stalks, the dancers dance,
and our heroine still hopes to discover
whether she has a chance
with a man who in some far away circumstance
has been formed into her complement half
and whether her dreams could ever advance
from images in the brain, from phantom sensations
into a touch on the arm, words of comfort,
a look of affection more special than before
in a face so very, very weathered
and bright eyes so very, very blue.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Advice to Young Maybe-Transgender Kids
Search tags: Transexual. "I'm a girl but I feel like a boy on the inside what do I do?" "I'm a boy but I feel like a girl on the inside what do I do?"
(Adults) read stories about transgender youngsters who go on to be beauty pageant winners or pop stars because... they look nothing like their original sex! There's one way to accomplish that: hormone suppression.
I didn't learn about this until it was too late. I went through puberty, and those changes to my body are now only reversible by extensive surgery. A situation all transgenders should try to avoid. So if you're searching for answers, this is a place to start. If you haven't hit puberty and you're afraid that puberty will send you in the wrong direction, talk to a doctor immediately. If they're a good doctor, they will help you to get a prescription for puberty suppressing pills. This basically holds your unsexualized child's body in suspension; you are then free to choose your path by taking supplements of your choice sex hormone (ex: testosterone for female-to-male) or stopping the suppressants and continuing puberty naturally with your existing gonads. You can stay on these pills for many years if you're still not sure what you want to do with your body. But if you aren't sure, don't let your gonads choose for you before you're ready.
If you have a bad doctor and they say "ohh its all in your head, its a phase" then (in your head, not out loud) tell them to go fuck themselves and find another doctor willing to help you. I realize that as a child this can be difficult. Start with your paediatrician (pediatrician, kid's doctor) and if that doesn't work, then get your parent to take you to another doctor or a psychiatrist (if you're not ready to come out to mom and dad, saying "I'm sad a lot" might get you the appointment you need; childhood depression has some stigma but not nearly as much, and psychiatrists are usually better prepared to handle transgender kids than general doctors).
Note: As a person on their way to becoming a doctor, I can assure you: doctors are just people too. They have book smarts. That doesn't mean that they know what's best for you. Many kids will be inclined to believe what their doctor says because they're a doctor, even if its about their own feelings. Trust your feelings. Your doctor can't see inside your head. There are no mind readers or fortune tellers, even if some doctors are arrogant enough to act the part. This is not to say "don't trust doctors ever", but don't let one talk you out of continuing to pursue your best you; if you've found this page, you're probably pretty serious about it, and should not take no for an answer. The method I'm recommending is not a final decision either; its a chance to take some extra time to decide for yourself.
What to expect from puberty supressors: you will not develop body hair, you will not develop breasts or hips, your voice will not deepen, your hands and feet will not get bigger (boys). You can maintain this state of suspended development at least until 16 years old. If you trust your older self to make a better decision about your gender, then this is a great option. But if you intend to transition, you do need to suppress your body's default hormones, and that starts with the same medicine.
The transgenders who fully realize themselves are the ones brave enough to ask for help, usually from their parents. I was not one of these kids. If you, like me, are not ready to talk to your parents about the way you feel, or you think your parents will reject you, start by just getting yourself into the doctor's office. Fake a fever or stomach ache that won't go away. If you're really daring, make it a genital itch so that you can be in the examination room alone with a reproductive doctor. Do not waste this chance; your doctor is not allowed to tell your parents anything you tell them, unless you tell your doctor that you're going to kill yourself. And remember, this man or woman's judgment about you has zero consequences. So feel free to tell them exactly what you want; if they help you, great, if not, you never have to see them again and your parents will never know. If you're feeling really shy, write a note, stick it in your pocket, then hand it to the doctor when you see them. If they refuse to help, make sure to take that note back, and throw it away in private (or flush down the toilet for ultimate security).
I wish you the very best of luck, my friend; if you have any more questions or you just want to talk, comment on this post or email me at androbane@gmail.com. I don't claim to have the answers, but I can certainly help you look.
(Adults) read stories about transgender youngsters who go on to be beauty pageant winners or pop stars because... they look nothing like their original sex! There's one way to accomplish that: hormone suppression.
I didn't learn about this until it was too late. I went through puberty, and those changes to my body are now only reversible by extensive surgery. A situation all transgenders should try to avoid. So if you're searching for answers, this is a place to start. If you haven't hit puberty and you're afraid that puberty will send you in the wrong direction, talk to a doctor immediately. If they're a good doctor, they will help you to get a prescription for puberty suppressing pills. This basically holds your unsexualized child's body in suspension; you are then free to choose your path by taking supplements of your choice sex hormone (ex: testosterone for female-to-male) or stopping the suppressants and continuing puberty naturally with your existing gonads. You can stay on these pills for many years if you're still not sure what you want to do with your body. But if you aren't sure, don't let your gonads choose for you before you're ready.
If you have a bad doctor and they say "ohh its all in your head, its a phase" then (in your head, not out loud) tell them to go fuck themselves and find another doctor willing to help you. I realize that as a child this can be difficult. Start with your paediatrician (pediatrician, kid's doctor) and if that doesn't work, then get your parent to take you to another doctor or a psychiatrist (if you're not ready to come out to mom and dad, saying "I'm sad a lot" might get you the appointment you need; childhood depression has some stigma but not nearly as much, and psychiatrists are usually better prepared to handle transgender kids than general doctors).
Note: As a person on their way to becoming a doctor, I can assure you: doctors are just people too. They have book smarts. That doesn't mean that they know what's best for you. Many kids will be inclined to believe what their doctor says because they're a doctor, even if its about their own feelings. Trust your feelings. Your doctor can't see inside your head. There are no mind readers or fortune tellers, even if some doctors are arrogant enough to act the part. This is not to say "don't trust doctors ever", but don't let one talk you out of continuing to pursue your best you; if you've found this page, you're probably pretty serious about it, and should not take no for an answer. The method I'm recommending is not a final decision either; its a chance to take some extra time to decide for yourself.
What to expect from puberty supressors: you will not develop body hair, you will not develop breasts or hips, your voice will not deepen, your hands and feet will not get bigger (boys). You can maintain this state of suspended development at least until 16 years old. If you trust your older self to make a better decision about your gender, then this is a great option. But if you intend to transition, you do need to suppress your body's default hormones, and that starts with the same medicine.
The transgenders who fully realize themselves are the ones brave enough to ask for help, usually from their parents. I was not one of these kids. If you, like me, are not ready to talk to your parents about the way you feel, or you think your parents will reject you, start by just getting yourself into the doctor's office. Fake a fever or stomach ache that won't go away. If you're really daring, make it a genital itch so that you can be in the examination room alone with a reproductive doctor. Do not waste this chance; your doctor is not allowed to tell your parents anything you tell them, unless you tell your doctor that you're going to kill yourself. And remember, this man or woman's judgment about you has zero consequences. So feel free to tell them exactly what you want; if they help you, great, if not, you never have to see them again and your parents will never know. If you're feeling really shy, write a note, stick it in your pocket, then hand it to the doctor when you see them. If they refuse to help, make sure to take that note back, and throw it away in private (or flush down the toilet for ultimate security).
I wish you the very best of luck, my friend; if you have any more questions or you just want to talk, comment on this post or email me at androbane@gmail.com. I don't claim to have the answers, but I can certainly help you look.
Positive Reinforcement for Positive Employment
Hey so shout-out to my readers (all two of you) in Germany and Australia. Gotta love the internet.
So, I have a job. My boss expects a lot from her underlings. Which is fine. Except that when I meet those expectations, I get no positive reinforcement whatsoever, and when I slip up ever so slightly, she acts like the sky is falling, that its the worst mistake a human being could ever make. And even that I get, kind of. I mean, she's a boss. I have a job to do, and if I don't get a pat on the back for doing it right or I get barked at for a slip up, I guess that doesn't make me very different from, ohh, every other employee on the planet. She takes it further to describe me in terms of my faults, as if my entire being is encompassed by a missed meeting. No moral compass, no personality, just faults. Fine, whatever. I know that I am more than that (frankly I'm lucky that I have friends in my life to tell me so), and its unfair of her to say such things, but again, its what we deal with. And frankly I think she holds a lot back; she's the kind of person verbal abuse codes of conduct and political correctness were invented for.
So what have we concluded? My boss sucks, and life goes on. But life goes on differently, and noticing the ways in which it does has provided me with interesting insights. And reasons why kind and forgiving bosses will in some cases get better work out of their minions.
So we'll start with concessions--why the way she acts sometimes gets her what she wants--and frustrations--why I think that, in least in terms of me, her methods are counterproductive. We might even get to suggestions: how I as an employee and she as an employer could work synergisticly to improve this whole situation. Which hopefully will not require personality changes, because that's asking a bit much, but we'll see how it goes.
Concession#1: I am at fault for my mistakes. I missed a few meetings because I don't have the organization skills to keep track of when I need to be where. Bringing attention to my faults and how they disrupt the rest of my work environment informs me that I need to change my behavior. If I want my office to run smoothly (which I do) then I need to work within the terms.
Concession#2: After my boss really chews me out and informs me that my employment is in jeopardy, my efforts improve and I am able to counter my instinctual habits and do things her way for at least a few weeks. Being told that "this is the final straw!" or some such usually puts me under a full-system reset, in a positive way (as far as work is concerned). I may be lucky, and I don't pretend for a second that any sort of majority of people respond to super-criticism in this manner. But she wants to see a sudden drastic improvement, and that's what she gets. I concede that the "I've had it" method works.
Frustration #1: There is only so long you can keep someone under probation while they're performing up to task. If I am put on probation for missing a meeting, then don't miss a single meeting for ten weeks, if I then slip up again, is it really fair to say "need I remind you that you're under probation"? I have shown a clear improvement in performance and now my rate of mistake-making is similar to those people not under probation. Its less a matter of fairness and more a matter of keeping someone in a state of stress even when its clear that they are trying hard, and that the effort is paying off. This goes along with not being given a single "good job, keep up the good work" during those ten weeks that I was performing exceptionally, which brings me to...
Frustration #2: The most effective conditioning has two components: positive reinforcement of good behavior combined with negative reinforcement of bad behavior, occurring in time such that the correct events are associated. What I have gotten is time-delayed negative reinforcement of bad behavior, with absolutely zero acknowledgment of good work. If I were a dog, it would be clear to me what not to do, but a total vagueness of what to do. And we are not so different from dogs. All I'm saying is, it would be easier for me to do the right thing if it were rewarded (verbally) and thus the circuits of my brain to make that instinctual would be activated, rather than having to constantly think of what I need to do, and convince myself that its worth doing to not get yelled at. And these are just for the cases where I can clearly think of what behaviors deserve to be, and ought to be, positively reinforced. This only begins to touch upon....
Frustration #3: Ambiguous directions. I am told that I need to ask more questions, rather than forging ahead myself (which I always think of as "taking initiative" but apparently that's not valued in my line of work). Yet, whenever I ask a question, I am treated like an idiot for having asked such a question, as if I should have already known the answer or I should have looked it up and not bothered my superior. So here we have the promise of positive reinforcement that is then met in reality with negative reinforcement. I think that, in this case, my boss needs to remember that she told me to ask questions, and so encourage that behavior even when in her mind the question is a stupid one. Keep in mind that I'm entry-level; I'm not expected to know my profession and be able to operate autonomously.
This applies not only to questions, but also to "communication" in general. My experience has been that my interactions with my boss always leave me cringing. So its no surprise that I don't often initiate these encounters. But then, my boss almost never takes the initiative to talk to me either, not until I do something that she conceives to be "unacceptable", at which point she tells me I'm uncommunicative. Well, that's to be expected, ma'am, if you consider that every time we communicate I end up backing out the door with my tail between my legs. Who volunteers for that treatment? If you want to encourage your minion to interact with you, then throw a bone in at least some of those interactions. Which is all just a big part of...
Frustration #4: Understand your employee. I have difficulty scheduling. My method of existence is free-flowing. When I have a question, I want to ask it right then. If I have an hour now, I'll do that thing that I was going to do on Friday. If I'm tired at 3pm, I'll go home, take a nap and come back at 8pm to finish it up. It is not in my nature to have a question and request an appointment 5 business days in advance to resolve it.
> here's the really interesting thing that I find fascinating. My boss makes appointments to yell at me. She doesn't actually yell at me at the time she's mad at me. She sends an email saying that we need to talk, and asks for times when I'm available. Then I spend the next day to a weekend anticipating this ball-crushing session. Which, if you know much about psychology, makes the punishment dissociated with my actual mistake, and instead associated with my boss. Which is not productive to the ends she was hoping for, unless I consciously wrench my brain into changing the behavior that she was trying to address.
< Anyways. My boss clearly likes her stuff scheduled. So. In order for us to work together, something has got to give. If I'm forgetting appointments, and this is happening more than once, then a boss that wants to build a better employee helps their minion to find the tools they need, or adjust their own behavior to compensate. Example. I'm often just outside my boss's office at the time we're supposed to meet. She realizes that we're supposed to meet the moment the digital clock silently flashes to double zero. But she will SIT there waiting for me to come to her, then get mad at me for being late. Even though all she had to do was call my name and I'd be bounding through her door. Deciding something is not your job to the extent that it sabotages the smooth operation of your office seems just plain immature to me. I try my best to change myself to fit her needs; following the line of authority that seems fair. But when I can't change any further, a boss needs to realize that they either need to compensate, or lower their expectations. ergo...
Suggestion #1: Be flexible. I can't hold tightly to a schedule. So, give me a range of times to show up. Scheduling a weekly meeting to recap last week's progress and this week's objectives was one of the best decisions we made. It requires me to be communicative; it does not automatically hold the connotation of punishment. But mostly, it's every fucking week first thing Monday so it's easy to remember. But even then, I'm going to be late sometimes. Get over it. Keep doing the things you were doing until our appointment time. If I show up early, let me know whether you're ready to meet yet or if I should go do some other chores and come back in a few. If I'm sitting outside your office, holler out when you're at a good stopping place in your other tasks, instead of silently fuming at 4:00:00. It seems like communicativeness on your part could also make both our lives easier. But to encourage this chatter-box relationship...
Suggestion #2: When I'm doing a good job, tell me so. Let me know that you notice, that you acknowledge the progress that has been made. This also gives you an opportunity to identify exactly what it is I'm doing that you're pleased with, and what could still use improving. Help me identify for myself that strategies that are paying out, so that I can continue to use these to further my performance and thus get you more for what you pay for. At this point it can be broken down into efficiency. You pay me for so many hours of work per week. But what is each of those hours actually producing for you? The only way for me to do more of what you want is for you to tell me when you like what you're seeing. Don't just provide expectations; provide feedback, both negative and positive. and speaking of positive reinforcement...
Suggestion #3: be patient with stupid questions. They're not stupid to me, else I wouldn't be asking. If there's somewhere else I can find the answer, tell me the answer along with where I can find it. That way I'll still feel comfortable coming to you, instead of opting to waste time searching all our other resources first (which is something I get punished for as well).
All of these interesting dynamics are well and good; even if my boss doesn't change, I'll continue to work until I get fired. But in the meantime I've noticed a change in my behavior. When I produce something I'm proud of, I go outside my office for positive reinforcement. I invite even distant friends to see the work I've done, and I'm not usually the sort of person to show their work off even to their close friends. But because I feel such a lack of positive reinforcement, I seem to be seeking it from people who can't really appreciate all of the effort that went into this project. This change in behavior I see in myself is not necessarily good or bad: clingy and needy on the one hand, but appropriately proud of hard work on the other. But it certainly is a marked difference, and the predicted source of causality is thus a very strong force in my life. And that's something to ponder on.
So, I have a job. My boss expects a lot from her underlings. Which is fine. Except that when I meet those expectations, I get no positive reinforcement whatsoever, and when I slip up ever so slightly, she acts like the sky is falling, that its the worst mistake a human being could ever make. And even that I get, kind of. I mean, she's a boss. I have a job to do, and if I don't get a pat on the back for doing it right or I get barked at for a slip up, I guess that doesn't make me very different from, ohh, every other employee on the planet. She takes it further to describe me in terms of my faults, as if my entire being is encompassed by a missed meeting. No moral compass, no personality, just faults. Fine, whatever. I know that I am more than that (frankly I'm lucky that I have friends in my life to tell me so), and its unfair of her to say such things, but again, its what we deal with. And frankly I think she holds a lot back; she's the kind of person verbal abuse codes of conduct and political correctness were invented for.
So what have we concluded? My boss sucks, and life goes on. But life goes on differently, and noticing the ways in which it does has provided me with interesting insights. And reasons why kind and forgiving bosses will in some cases get better work out of their minions.
So we'll start with concessions--why the way she acts sometimes gets her what she wants--and frustrations--why I think that, in least in terms of me, her methods are counterproductive. We might even get to suggestions: how I as an employee and she as an employer could work synergisticly to improve this whole situation. Which hopefully will not require personality changes, because that's asking a bit much, but we'll see how it goes.
Concession#1: I am at fault for my mistakes. I missed a few meetings because I don't have the organization skills to keep track of when I need to be where. Bringing attention to my faults and how they disrupt the rest of my work environment informs me that I need to change my behavior. If I want my office to run smoothly (which I do) then I need to work within the terms.
Concession#2: After my boss really chews me out and informs me that my employment is in jeopardy, my efforts improve and I am able to counter my instinctual habits and do things her way for at least a few weeks. Being told that "this is the final straw!" or some such usually puts me under a full-system reset, in a positive way (as far as work is concerned). I may be lucky, and I don't pretend for a second that any sort of majority of people respond to super-criticism in this manner. But she wants to see a sudden drastic improvement, and that's what she gets. I concede that the "I've had it" method works.
Frustration #1: There is only so long you can keep someone under probation while they're performing up to task. If I am put on probation for missing a meeting, then don't miss a single meeting for ten weeks, if I then slip up again, is it really fair to say "need I remind you that you're under probation"? I have shown a clear improvement in performance and now my rate of mistake-making is similar to those people not under probation. Its less a matter of fairness and more a matter of keeping someone in a state of stress even when its clear that they are trying hard, and that the effort is paying off. This goes along with not being given a single "good job, keep up the good work" during those ten weeks that I was performing exceptionally, which brings me to...
Frustration #2: The most effective conditioning has two components: positive reinforcement of good behavior combined with negative reinforcement of bad behavior, occurring in time such that the correct events are associated. What I have gotten is time-delayed negative reinforcement of bad behavior, with absolutely zero acknowledgment of good work. If I were a dog, it would be clear to me what not to do, but a total vagueness of what to do. And we are not so different from dogs. All I'm saying is, it would be easier for me to do the right thing if it were rewarded (verbally) and thus the circuits of my brain to make that instinctual would be activated, rather than having to constantly think of what I need to do, and convince myself that its worth doing to not get yelled at. And these are just for the cases where I can clearly think of what behaviors deserve to be, and ought to be, positively reinforced. This only begins to touch upon....
Frustration #3: Ambiguous directions. I am told that I need to ask more questions, rather than forging ahead myself (which I always think of as "taking initiative" but apparently that's not valued in my line of work). Yet, whenever I ask a question, I am treated like an idiot for having asked such a question, as if I should have already known the answer or I should have looked it up and not bothered my superior. So here we have the promise of positive reinforcement that is then met in reality with negative reinforcement. I think that, in this case, my boss needs to remember that she told me to ask questions, and so encourage that behavior even when in her mind the question is a stupid one. Keep in mind that I'm entry-level; I'm not expected to know my profession and be able to operate autonomously.
This applies not only to questions, but also to "communication" in general. My experience has been that my interactions with my boss always leave me cringing. So its no surprise that I don't often initiate these encounters. But then, my boss almost never takes the initiative to talk to me either, not until I do something that she conceives to be "unacceptable", at which point she tells me I'm uncommunicative. Well, that's to be expected, ma'am, if you consider that every time we communicate I end up backing out the door with my tail between my legs. Who volunteers for that treatment? If you want to encourage your minion to interact with you, then throw a bone in at least some of those interactions. Which is all just a big part of...
Frustration #4: Understand your employee. I have difficulty scheduling. My method of existence is free-flowing. When I have a question, I want to ask it right then. If I have an hour now, I'll do that thing that I was going to do on Friday. If I'm tired at 3pm, I'll go home, take a nap and come back at 8pm to finish it up. It is not in my nature to have a question and request an appointment 5 business days in advance to resolve it.
> here's the really interesting thing that I find fascinating. My boss makes appointments to yell at me. She doesn't actually yell at me at the time she's mad at me. She sends an email saying that we need to talk, and asks for times when I'm available. Then I spend the next day to a weekend anticipating this ball-crushing session. Which, if you know much about psychology, makes the punishment dissociated with my actual mistake, and instead associated with my boss. Which is not productive to the ends she was hoping for, unless I consciously wrench my brain into changing the behavior that she was trying to address.
< Anyways. My boss clearly likes her stuff scheduled. So. In order for us to work together, something has got to give. If I'm forgetting appointments, and this is happening more than once, then a boss that wants to build a better employee helps their minion to find the tools they need, or adjust their own behavior to compensate. Example. I'm often just outside my boss's office at the time we're supposed to meet. She realizes that we're supposed to meet the moment the digital clock silently flashes to double zero. But she will SIT there waiting for me to come to her, then get mad at me for being late. Even though all she had to do was call my name and I'd be bounding through her door. Deciding something is not your job to the extent that it sabotages the smooth operation of your office seems just plain immature to me. I try my best to change myself to fit her needs; following the line of authority that seems fair. But when I can't change any further, a boss needs to realize that they either need to compensate, or lower their expectations. ergo...
Suggestion #1: Be flexible. I can't hold tightly to a schedule. So, give me a range of times to show up. Scheduling a weekly meeting to recap last week's progress and this week's objectives was one of the best decisions we made. It requires me to be communicative; it does not automatically hold the connotation of punishment. But mostly, it's every fucking week first thing Monday so it's easy to remember. But even then, I'm going to be late sometimes. Get over it. Keep doing the things you were doing until our appointment time. If I show up early, let me know whether you're ready to meet yet or if I should go do some other chores and come back in a few. If I'm sitting outside your office, holler out when you're at a good stopping place in your other tasks, instead of silently fuming at 4:00:00. It seems like communicativeness on your part could also make both our lives easier. But to encourage this chatter-box relationship...
Suggestion #2: When I'm doing a good job, tell me so. Let me know that you notice, that you acknowledge the progress that has been made. This also gives you an opportunity to identify exactly what it is I'm doing that you're pleased with, and what could still use improving. Help me identify for myself that strategies that are paying out, so that I can continue to use these to further my performance and thus get you more for what you pay for. At this point it can be broken down into efficiency. You pay me for so many hours of work per week. But what is each of those hours actually producing for you? The only way for me to do more of what you want is for you to tell me when you like what you're seeing. Don't just provide expectations; provide feedback, both negative and positive. and speaking of positive reinforcement...
Suggestion #3: be patient with stupid questions. They're not stupid to me, else I wouldn't be asking. If there's somewhere else I can find the answer, tell me the answer along with where I can find it. That way I'll still feel comfortable coming to you, instead of opting to waste time searching all our other resources first (which is something I get punished for as well).
All of these interesting dynamics are well and good; even if my boss doesn't change, I'll continue to work until I get fired. But in the meantime I've noticed a change in my behavior. When I produce something I'm proud of, I go outside my office for positive reinforcement. I invite even distant friends to see the work I've done, and I'm not usually the sort of person to show their work off even to their close friends. But because I feel such a lack of positive reinforcement, I seem to be seeking it from people who can't really appreciate all of the effort that went into this project. This change in behavior I see in myself is not necessarily good or bad: clingy and needy on the one hand, but appropriately proud of hard work on the other. But it certainly is a marked difference, and the predicted source of causality is thus a very strong force in my life. And that's something to ponder on.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Deciding Between Health and Success
I'm a little bit angry at the universe for this moment in time, although if I look back then really the only person I have to blame is myself, yet the limitations of myself I can blame on the universe, on God... right? I didn't pace myself. Then again, others can work as hard as I do and never seem to get tired. Why is that?
Let me reinterpret this. There are some people that God needs to work in a lab and read books and that is their purpose. My purpose is more circumspect, and so every once in a while God must ignite in me the need to go out into the world, to reflect and learn first-hand about his beautiful world, and the beautiful creatures he made.
But was this really the way to do it? To make me so disorganized during the semester that my grades are sliding, my position in my lab is in huge jeopardy, and I feel like I've lost control of myself? Did God have to be so adamant about me spending a summer away that he had to ruin this past year?
Even so it seems I'm back on the track of working over the summer, except that I've missed all the deadlines for summer funding. Because, you know, I'm about as organized as a hedgehog at this point.
Let me reinterpret this. There are some people that God needs to work in a lab and read books and that is their purpose. My purpose is more circumspect, and so every once in a while God must ignite in me the need to go out into the world, to reflect and learn first-hand about his beautiful world, and the beautiful creatures he made.
But was this really the way to do it? To make me so disorganized during the semester that my grades are sliding, my position in my lab is in huge jeopardy, and I feel like I've lost control of myself? Did God have to be so adamant about me spending a summer away that he had to ruin this past year?
Even so it seems I'm back on the track of working over the summer, except that I've missed all the deadlines for summer funding. Because, you know, I'm about as organized as a hedgehog at this point.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Introduction and Invitation to My Life
Any readers who come across this; these are the musings of a transgendered college student, that may not have much to do with being transgendered. This blog is intended to be an autobiographical record that I can refer back to and reference my mental health professionals to. Its not catered to an external audience. Most of my musings will be addressing questions about the nature of identity; what aspects of ourselves can we control?
I am a neuroscientist by training, transgender by lifelong preference and depressed... because I let myself be?
I doubt anyone will bother to read this; those that do, if you note in these writings any indicators of mental illness, or can offer a new perspective on a topic, feel free to comment. Constructive conversations are ever welcome.
I am a neuroscientist by training, transgender by lifelong preference and depressed... because I let myself be?
I doubt anyone will bother to read this; those that do, if you note in these writings any indicators of mental illness, or can offer a new perspective on a topic, feel free to comment. Constructive conversations are ever welcome.
Identifying the Solution, not the Problem
I think that, for most of my life, the key component of my identity has been depression. I was content being angry at existence. I accepted the frustrations of my life. Yet, even as my life continues to change, I run into the same problems again and again. I know this, because one of my ways of dealing with them is writing. And from year to year, though they are always about different people (my problems usually center on people, or at least, that's who I blame), the stories are the same. The feelings, the anxieties, the need to run away and hide in the woods, are constant themes. Objectively, I'm not really sure I like myself, because of my inability to deal with situations objectively. That's why, the night before an exam in a class I am probably failing, I am writing instead of studying. And I didn't study at all up until now, so...
The inability to control my study habits is a relatively new thing. That's something that generally I've been very good at. Why it's different now, I can't really tell. I feel like I'm losing control of my brain. That's why I self-diagnosed with beginning stages of schizophrenia; this general paranoia, scattered thoughts, inability to get organized, overwhelming obsessions...
Are these things that I'm capable of overcoming by sheer willpower? Am I supposed to? Is this something that medication can help? Or are my instincts pointing me in the right direction? Do I really just need a nice, long, deadline-free rest?
Today my boss suggested that I could take two weeks off. I am convinced that that would not work. Every evening would be spent counting down to when I had to get back to the grind stone. If I'm right, this is not normal burnout. This is very deep, damaging burn out. That's going to take a lot more than two weeks to heal. I haven't had a truly relaxing break... I'm going to say ever. From the beginning of high school until now, the only time I wasn't doing something educational/deadlined/stressful was when I was coming down from a prescribed methylphenidate accidental overdose. That was a winter break. And I was still experiencing symptoms a month after I was back in school. But I did very well that semester. Even suffering prejudicial abuse from a neighbor and boy problems, I was able to crack down on my studies. That three week winter break was the only true break I've had in seven years, and anything before that involved being with my mother, who is more fucked up than me, or my east coast family that I really have no emotional connection with, and its awkward, not relaxing at all.
The past year has been different. Without any boy problems or abusive peer problems or drug problems, I am performing worse than ever. If I was just burned out after a particularly hard semester, a 5 week push through too much work in not enough time, then yes, a single week of rest would be the ticket. But this is not that. My brain has disengaged that part of me that strove, that could get up at four in the morning to start studying, that scheduled everything 2 weeks in advance. I feel like I've lost that piece of myself. And the only was I can explain it, is with that other thing that I've always used to define myself; mentally sick.
I understand why people are unsympathetic towards we who express a general dissatisfaction with our level of satisfaction. It's hard to pinpoint, so we call it "depression" with a cringe and a shrug. Because while labels help give legitimacy, this particular one is so cloudy, that its reasonable for an outsider to see it as a lame excuse for not getting one's act together.
But I think everyone would experience a shock if they were transported into another person's head, to understand not only how they think, but how their thoughts and actions are not under any conscious, reflective control. I can reflect on my bad organization until the cows come home, but I only wish you could be inside my brain to experience the literal disconnect between motivation and action. There is a slick glass wall between me and my self-actualization. To some extent, I can't bring myself to try to scale that wall; I am too tired as it is. But recently it feels as though trying is futile. For about a week there I got my act together enough to really cram for a test. That was directly following spring break. I was able to sleep in until 11am. I wonder if that mattered. But now its fallen apart again. And I don't think the punishment from my boss has helped, especially with the lack of positive reinforcement for my good work.
Reviewing that, one can see how this situation is almost designed for me to stop trying. Perfection begets no external social reward (I just want someone who knows what I'm doing to say "good job"; not my mom, not my friends. A professor or TA or fellow classmate who recognizes exactly what I overcame), and anything short of perfection begets a tongue-lashing. Who can continue in that state?
The inability to control my study habits is a relatively new thing. That's something that generally I've been very good at. Why it's different now, I can't really tell. I feel like I'm losing control of my brain. That's why I self-diagnosed with beginning stages of schizophrenia; this general paranoia, scattered thoughts, inability to get organized, overwhelming obsessions...
Are these things that I'm capable of overcoming by sheer willpower? Am I supposed to? Is this something that medication can help? Or are my instincts pointing me in the right direction? Do I really just need a nice, long, deadline-free rest?
Today my boss suggested that I could take two weeks off. I am convinced that that would not work. Every evening would be spent counting down to when I had to get back to the grind stone. If I'm right, this is not normal burnout. This is very deep, damaging burn out. That's going to take a lot more than two weeks to heal. I haven't had a truly relaxing break... I'm going to say ever. From the beginning of high school until now, the only time I wasn't doing something educational/deadlined/stressful was when I was coming down from a prescribed methylphenidate accidental overdose. That was a winter break. And I was still experiencing symptoms a month after I was back in school. But I did very well that semester. Even suffering prejudicial abuse from a neighbor and boy problems, I was able to crack down on my studies. That three week winter break was the only true break I've had in seven years, and anything before that involved being with my mother, who is more fucked up than me, or my east coast family that I really have no emotional connection with, and its awkward, not relaxing at all.
The past year has been different. Without any boy problems or abusive peer problems or drug problems, I am performing worse than ever. If I was just burned out after a particularly hard semester, a 5 week push through too much work in not enough time, then yes, a single week of rest would be the ticket. But this is not that. My brain has disengaged that part of me that strove, that could get up at four in the morning to start studying, that scheduled everything 2 weeks in advance. I feel like I've lost that piece of myself. And the only was I can explain it, is with that other thing that I've always used to define myself; mentally sick.
I understand why people are unsympathetic towards we who express a general dissatisfaction with our level of satisfaction. It's hard to pinpoint, so we call it "depression" with a cringe and a shrug. Because while labels help give legitimacy, this particular one is so cloudy, that its reasonable for an outsider to see it as a lame excuse for not getting one's act together.
But I think everyone would experience a shock if they were transported into another person's head, to understand not only how they think, but how their thoughts and actions are not under any conscious, reflective control. I can reflect on my bad organization until the cows come home, but I only wish you could be inside my brain to experience the literal disconnect between motivation and action. There is a slick glass wall between me and my self-actualization. To some extent, I can't bring myself to try to scale that wall; I am too tired as it is. But recently it feels as though trying is futile. For about a week there I got my act together enough to really cram for a test. That was directly following spring break. I was able to sleep in until 11am. I wonder if that mattered. But now its fallen apart again. And I don't think the punishment from my boss has helped, especially with the lack of positive reinforcement for my good work.
Reviewing that, one can see how this situation is almost designed for me to stop trying. Perfection begets no external social reward (I just want someone who knows what I'm doing to say "good job"; not my mom, not my friends. A professor or TA or fellow classmate who recognizes exactly what I overcame), and anything short of perfection begets a tongue-lashing. Who can continue in that state?
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Evolving Infatuation
So I'm still in love with the man I can't have. And my affection began to wane when I made assumptions for the worst.
He has a ten year old son, and he spent a week surfing while the boy stayed with his mom, and just this weekend went on a surfing trip as well. I drew the conclusion that he had partial custody and was taking advantage of low responsibility by going off and having his own fun. Which I didn't really respect.
But I was so, so wrong. As it turns out, he has full custody. In his words, he's "thrilled" whenever his boy's mother wants to see him. When he told me this, I think I let the smile show on my face. My belief in him as a good father was 100% restored in that fraction of a second that it took to say "full custody".
So many of my fantasies about joining his family involved getting his son to be comfortable with me, not replacing his mother, but being his friend and an adult he could trust. To some extent, that would be less of an issue, since its likely that he doesn't harbor much affection for the mother that seems to have abandoned him. I so dreadfully wanted to ask what had happened, but I turned the questioning to his son. I realize that the best way to gain a person's confidence is in small, spaced instances. Although I doubt the things he tells me are not volunteered to others (ex: he announced to the room where he had spent the weekend), I can exist under the impression that I am special.
He's surrounded by young ladies, many much more talented in his field and much prettier than me. And chances are as good as not, there's another one like me somewhere in the crowd. But I adore him, and his child, and that has to count for something. At least within my fantasies where something actually happens, it means everything. Nothing is more important to a good parent than that their partner loves their child. My father wasn't a good father. But this man is.
He addresses me by my short name. I take note of the people who do this. They are the most familiar with me; it expresses affection. Granted, his familiar with everyone. But somehow this made me feel special.
It's most probable that by the end of the summer I will have mostly shed these feelings, that this infatuation will be a far past memory. But for now, I continue to plot my way into his son's good graces. Into his home. Into his life. Into his binding heart. If he could love me half so much as he does his boy, I would be very happy. Every time I look at him, he is more beautiful. Sun-weathered, smile lines, and such bright eyes. I tried to capture him in drawing, but then I realized how dark I must make the portrait to reflect the brightness of his eyes. Such a beautiful countenance. Made all the beautiful by every new thing I learn about him.
He has a ten year old son, and he spent a week surfing while the boy stayed with his mom, and just this weekend went on a surfing trip as well. I drew the conclusion that he had partial custody and was taking advantage of low responsibility by going off and having his own fun. Which I didn't really respect.
But I was so, so wrong. As it turns out, he has full custody. In his words, he's "thrilled" whenever his boy's mother wants to see him. When he told me this, I think I let the smile show on my face. My belief in him as a good father was 100% restored in that fraction of a second that it took to say "full custody".
So many of my fantasies about joining his family involved getting his son to be comfortable with me, not replacing his mother, but being his friend and an adult he could trust. To some extent, that would be less of an issue, since its likely that he doesn't harbor much affection for the mother that seems to have abandoned him. I so dreadfully wanted to ask what had happened, but I turned the questioning to his son. I realize that the best way to gain a person's confidence is in small, spaced instances. Although I doubt the things he tells me are not volunteered to others (ex: he announced to the room where he had spent the weekend), I can exist under the impression that I am special.
He's surrounded by young ladies, many much more talented in his field and much prettier than me. And chances are as good as not, there's another one like me somewhere in the crowd. But I adore him, and his child, and that has to count for something. At least within my fantasies where something actually happens, it means everything. Nothing is more important to a good parent than that their partner loves their child. My father wasn't a good father. But this man is.
He addresses me by my short name. I take note of the people who do this. They are the most familiar with me; it expresses affection. Granted, his familiar with everyone. But somehow this made me feel special.
It's most probable that by the end of the summer I will have mostly shed these feelings, that this infatuation will be a far past memory. But for now, I continue to plot my way into his son's good graces. Into his home. Into his life. Into his binding heart. If he could love me half so much as he does his boy, I would be very happy. Every time I look at him, he is more beautiful. Sun-weathered, smile lines, and such bright eyes. I tried to capture him in drawing, but then I realized how dark I must make the portrait to reflect the brightness of his eyes. Such a beautiful countenance. Made all the beautiful by every new thing I learn about him.
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