Friday, May 20, 2016
Surfaces and Dimensions
Why are so many people attacking Emily Ratajkowski?
Moreover, why are so many WOMEN attacking her?
The headlines are all "Model whines about being too hot" when this article is about her views and some frustrations about feminism and equality. It is a light, slightly fluffy article but she makes some solid points. Yes, she does also state that she is pigeonholed as a "sexy girl" and it is hard to get more intelligent and desirable roles or be taken seriously when that is all people think she is - a body. She also wrote a more in depth essay for Lenny Letter that I highly recommend.
Why can't people look at their lives and say, "You know, I feel that, too, and it sucks."
I'll start! People think:
I'm fat so I must be a lazy glutton.
I'm a woman so I'm can't really be a gamer.
I'm over 40 so I can't have have blue hair.
I *gasp* have many visible tattoos so I must be a degenerate.
Put all these together and i'm probably unemployed trash sucking up all your tax dollars.
Truth? I work hard and make great money in a corporate job where they look at what you bring to the table and not how you look. I love to game (XB1) and prefer RPGs and puzzles but really get into FPSs and have a deep passion for tabletop. I prefer blue hair and will until the day I die though it is currently not dyed because I have been too busy. I put a more personal spin on morality and charity as I do not subscribe to any established religion but I quietly and joyfully spend a great deal of my disposable income on improving the quality of life for other people because I like them and want to see them happy or because their story touched me and I want to help.
So maybe we are all not super sexy like Emily, but we are all seen in single dimensions by people who can and do affect our lives. It hurts to have your opinions dismissed for something superficial. Why can't we see something like this and think, "Huh. I wonder how many people I assumed things about based on looks...I should probably work on that some. She sounds pretty driven; I really hope she gets some more interesting roles with better depth." instead of tearing her down for saying something very true.
The bit that bugs me the most is this one piece (and I hope every mother instills this confidence in their little girls)
. . . . . . . . . .
Moreover, why are so many WOMEN attacking her?
The headlines are all "Model whines about being too hot" when this article is about her views and some frustrations about feminism and equality. It is a light, slightly fluffy article but she makes some solid points. Yes, she does also state that she is pigeonholed as a "sexy girl" and it is hard to get more intelligent and desirable roles or be taken seriously when that is all people think she is - a body. She also wrote a more in depth essay for Lenny Letter that I highly recommend.
Why can't people look at their lives and say, "You know, I feel that, too, and it sucks."
I'll start! People think:
I'm fat so I must be a lazy glutton.
I'm a woman so I'm can't really be a gamer.
I'm over 40 so I can't have have blue hair.
I *gasp* have many visible tattoos so I must be a degenerate.
Put all these together and i'm probably unemployed trash sucking up all your tax dollars.
Truth? I work hard and make great money in a corporate job where they look at what you bring to the table and not how you look. I love to game (XB1) and prefer RPGs and puzzles but really get into FPSs and have a deep passion for tabletop. I prefer blue hair and will until the day I die though it is currently not dyed because I have been too busy. I put a more personal spin on morality and charity as I do not subscribe to any established religion but I quietly and joyfully spend a great deal of my disposable income on improving the quality of life for other people because I like them and want to see them happy or because their story touched me and I want to help.
So maybe we are all not super sexy like Emily, but we are all seen in single dimensions by people who can and do affect our lives. It hurts to have your opinions dismissed for something superficial. Why can't we see something like this and think, "Huh. I wonder how many people I assumed things about based on looks...I should probably work on that some. She sounds pretty driven; I really hope she gets some more interesting roles with better depth." instead of tearing her down for saying something very true.
The bit that bugs me the most is this one piece (and I hope every mother instills this confidence in their little girls)
She says she went through puberty aged 11 or 12: ‘I started to realise that I was being perceived differently. It was confusing,’ she says. ‘Basically it was more about the way that people had a problem with a girl looking like a woman because it confused them, it made them feel uncomfortable and I think there was a lot of guilt that they wanted to induce.'
When people remarked that she could have a career in modelling: ‘My mum said “no, she’ll be a brain surgeon,” because she didn’t like the idea that I would think that [my appearance] was the only thing that I was going to be valued for.’ At the same time, ‘She always told me never to feel sorry or apologetic or embarrassed by my body, to never apologise for my sexuality.’
Tuesday, November 03, 2015
Yesterday Was Broken
Not a ‘bad day’, no ‘rainy days and Mondays’ bullshit; it was simply megabroken for no reason whatsoever.
I spent the day scattered amongst the emails starting one, seeing another pop up; woops, this ticket is aging; hey answer this in IM even though I sent you an email already; I'm calling because you didn't answer me fast enough when I didn't even send my email to you; I've asked six people the same thing but maybe if I ask you I'll get a different answer; hi, I'm gonna stand behind you like a creeper until you notice I'm waiting for you to answer my question.
If I had to create a recipe for feeling like a failure it would begin like yesterday. And continue like yesterday did. It would probably end like yesterday, too. Honestly, it would just be yesterday.
I'm sure I was busy all day but I can't recall achieving anything until my last two hours.
I cried all the way home.
Everything hurt; all my intangible parts, that is. Angerballs prowled my stomach, my head was full of bees, my craving was elusive (I want -waves hands around- something), every thought slipped through my fingers to shatter on the floor, I need to talk to someone but I can't remember whom. I could scroll through my phone but it wouldn't help; I know that I get like this, I know these symptoms, and I know there is no cure.
Driving home I cried because I love how Snoop’s back up singer reinforces his insults. I cry because I saw the Bangles walk like Egyptians in concert and it was amazing. I cry because Syd Barrett needs to shine on and that is the sweetest love song ever sent to a friend lost in their own mind. I cry because traffic is light, and, since I worked late, all the lights look pretty through my tears.
I cry for all this and no reason at all.
I cry when Rod Stewart sings, “I found it hard to hide my tears; I felt ashamed, I felt I'd let you down”. I wondered if Mandolin Wind was actually about love surviving a blizzardy winter of hardship or the people who stick with you though mental illness because I feel like I let those people down constantly but there they are, within reach at the end of the day, carefully gauging whether to ask questions or just hug me. I imagine how frustrating it must be to know that “normal” and “typical” are worthless here. They're playing a game where the rules change constantly and they just roll with it. They are extraordinary superheroes who don't need flashy costumes or capes to save lives daily.
I cry because I love those people so much it is sometimes agony for both of us.
I wonder about my family. Do they understand how bad things really are? Is that over dramatic? I have better days on occasion. I have entire days when I can pass as human. I imagine telling them all the things about me that I hide from them and then mentally add “I eat babies” to the list so I can say, “just kidding… I AM all that other stuff but I don't really eat babies” to them. The ridiculous I use as a coping mechanism fails to amuse me.
I move my arm to use my turn signal AND the steering wheel at the same time and I'm startled that I don't sound broken inside when I move, then I'm startled that I’d even had that thought. I contemplate the sound of broken glass vs the sound of broken pottery in a bag. I figure the bag is cloth and debate pillowcase or burlap finally deciding that being broken should sound like glass falling into fine China while it is grinding upon itself in a cheap polyester pillowcase. Something with an old lady floral pattern on it.
I have to be responsible when I get home; bills need to be paid and I should log in and work for a bit and that makes me feel tired and shrunken. I don't want to adult this evening. Neither do I want to child. Or eat, read, game, talk, sleep...nothing fits. I wander around the house, disconnected and listless, looking in the fridge when I'm not hungry, walking into the bathroom I don't need to use, drifting from room to room not sure what I need or want.
Bills got paid, hugs were accepted and my agitation level lowered from an 8 to about a 5. Everything was still disjointed and confusing so I hid in bed, lights out, under my covers, swiping this out on my phone because anything else was just too much.
I don't log in to work and chose not to set my early alarm because I just couldn't care about that right then and I knew that being behind would drive and focus me the next day, anyway.
"G’nite," I whispered to myself, "Maybe tomorrow will be better behaved."
I spent the day scattered amongst the emails starting one, seeing another pop up; woops, this ticket is aging; hey answer this in IM even though I sent you an email already; I'm calling because you didn't answer me fast enough when I didn't even send my email to you; I've asked six people the same thing but maybe if I ask you I'll get a different answer; hi, I'm gonna stand behind you like a creeper until you notice I'm waiting for you to answer my question.
If I had to create a recipe for feeling like a failure it would begin like yesterday. And continue like yesterday did. It would probably end like yesterday, too. Honestly, it would just be yesterday.
I'm sure I was busy all day but I can't recall achieving anything until my last two hours.
I cried all the way home.
Everything hurt; all my intangible parts, that is. Angerballs prowled my stomach, my head was full of bees, my craving was elusive (I want -waves hands around- something), every thought slipped through my fingers to shatter on the floor, I need to talk to someone but I can't remember whom. I could scroll through my phone but it wouldn't help; I know that I get like this, I know these symptoms, and I know there is no cure.
Driving home I cried because I love how Snoop’s back up singer reinforces his insults. I cry because I saw the Bangles walk like Egyptians in concert and it was amazing. I cry because Syd Barrett needs to shine on and that is the sweetest love song ever sent to a friend lost in their own mind. I cry because traffic is light, and, since I worked late, all the lights look pretty through my tears.
I cry for all this and no reason at all.
I cry when Rod Stewart sings, “I found it hard to hide my tears; I felt ashamed, I felt I'd let you down”. I wondered if Mandolin Wind was actually about love surviving a blizzardy winter of hardship or the people who stick with you though mental illness because I feel like I let those people down constantly but there they are, within reach at the end of the day, carefully gauging whether to ask questions or just hug me. I imagine how frustrating it must be to know that “normal” and “typical” are worthless here. They're playing a game where the rules change constantly and they just roll with it. They are extraordinary superheroes who don't need flashy costumes or capes to save lives daily.
I cry because I love those people so much it is sometimes agony for both of us.
I wonder about my family. Do they understand how bad things really are? Is that over dramatic? I have better days on occasion. I have entire days when I can pass as human. I imagine telling them all the things about me that I hide from them and then mentally add “I eat babies” to the list so I can say, “just kidding… I AM all that other stuff but I don't really eat babies” to them. The ridiculous I use as a coping mechanism fails to amuse me.
I move my arm to use my turn signal AND the steering wheel at the same time and I'm startled that I don't sound broken inside when I move, then I'm startled that I’d even had that thought. I contemplate the sound of broken glass vs the sound of broken pottery in a bag. I figure the bag is cloth and debate pillowcase or burlap finally deciding that being broken should sound like glass falling into fine China while it is grinding upon itself in a cheap polyester pillowcase. Something with an old lady floral pattern on it.
I have to be responsible when I get home; bills need to be paid and I should log in and work for a bit and that makes me feel tired and shrunken. I don't want to adult this evening. Neither do I want to child. Or eat, read, game, talk, sleep...nothing fits. I wander around the house, disconnected and listless, looking in the fridge when I'm not hungry, walking into the bathroom I don't need to use, drifting from room to room not sure what I need or want.
Bills got paid, hugs were accepted and my agitation level lowered from an 8 to about a 5. Everything was still disjointed and confusing so I hid in bed, lights out, under my covers, swiping this out on my phone because anything else was just too much.
I don't log in to work and chose not to set my early alarm because I just couldn't care about that right then and I knew that being behind would drive and focus me the next day, anyway.
"G’nite," I whispered to myself, "Maybe tomorrow will be better behaved."
Labels: Confessions, Depression, Words
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Words and Conversations
Having started a confessional blog, quite by accident,
leaves me feeling a bit shy. I look at the expanse of blank, white box before
me with the insistent little cursor, blink-blink-blink, demanding I open a vein
and spill my thoughts out to rush over the page. Today feels more like blood on
the ice, a few bright drops, suspended on a moment, before vanishing into the
slush leaving barely a tint of where they were.
It has been a day of almost.
Something has been nibbling at the edges of my mind all day
and every time I try to focus on it I find that it has flittered away and I am
left pondering the emptiness that speaks of a new vacancy as it grows slowly
cold. Almost…
I want to speak of friends, love, family, rain, gaming, the
hollow places in me where things echo, how sometimes buying new things is
really exciting and how there are days when nothing actually went wrong but still you wonder why you got
out of bed at all. I have words and phrases teasing me with their intentions
but not a one is spooling out in any behaved manner. Almost…
I haven’t written in such a long time the mechanics seem a
bit stiff, some gears are rusty, there is an occasional puff of dust as things
get moving again. I think what feels so odd is that I have never really written
outward
before. My previous blogs have all been me, tracking my internal dialog,
keeping a record of where I have been in hopes that one day I could look back
at it and say, “Yep… That. Yeah, that
right there. See that moment when you bargained away something you needed for
something you thought you might want? That
is where you screwed up!” Trouble is that I knew that then as well as I
could see it now so while I may find a pretty phrase here and there and a
handful of poignant moments recorded for posterity there is really nothing for
me. There is naught wrong with glancing back now in then, it can reset your
perspective and true up the measure of your progress, but I’ve always been told
you oughtn’t stare.
Words. We will think about words today.
Words can heal hearts, poison minds, inspire people to great
deeds or start wars, and yet we allow anyone to toss them about with reckless
abandon. We painstakingly teach them to babies! We have hundreds of languages
so we can use new and interesting words that mean almost the same thing with a
slight shift in nuance, a je ne sais quoi, if you will. *wink*
There are words I have received that were gilded with love
and jeweled with respect that still make my spine straighten and eyes prickled
when I replay them, and others, that swing like a razored pendulum over my
heart, cutting the thinnest, shallowest line, making sure the wound never
heals. I will always believe that we have it all wrong; two of the dirtiest and
foulest words you should never utter are “only” and “just”. Think of any sentence that lifted your heart
and insert either of those two words into it to see what I mean. These are the
four letter words they warned you about!
Today I feel lonely and melancholy for no external reason. Tears
prickle for any and no reason and I have wanted to fold into myself all day. It
is not one of my better days but it is far from my worst. My mind keeps
wandering and leaving me behind staring blankly in space, detached and still like
a passenger on a subway, nonresponsive and almost vacant. I kept catching
myself in these moments and wondering what it is that has been washing my day
in a yearning.
I want to pull a good feeling around me and snuggle into it
like a warm blanket. I want to hear words full of thought and emotion; I want
to speak in symbols and pictures and see the air fill with meaningful
conversation; I want to feel the warmth of genuine interest and shared
knowledge. My cup is empty and I want to fill it. I want to fill it until I can
climb into it, sink down and feel connected and alive. I feel full of magpies
having only one side of hundreds of conversations until their chatter becomes a
gray hum drowning out the color in my life.
I think what I will do is finish this beer, take a nice
shower, get some sleep, and start over again tomorrow. The last of my hoarded Leinenkugel’s
Berry Weiss is reminding me of friendship, great music, War Pigs and one of the
best road trips, ever…
Labels: Confessions, Depression, TMI, Words
