metaphortunate: (Default)
I finally got a drawing app on my phone! It's called Procreate, because someone thinks they're funny. And I'm drawing more! Because I always have my phone with me, you know? And the challenge of learning to use this app is fun. Also basically learning to fingerpaint. It's funny the things that provide motivation. Anyway, I'm trying to take 15 minutes a day to do the @sketch_dailies prompts. I've started posting them at my public twitter and my tumblr. Dunno how long I'm going to keep it up, but I've got 3 so far!
metaphortunate: (at one with the universe)
[personal profile] brainwane premiered a new vid at Wiscon 2015!

It's called "Pipeline".

Because the tech industry's got a blank space, baby. And it'll write your name.
metaphortunate: (wonderful)
Everyone who has been needing to see characters with disabilities in more fiction knows that MAD MAX: FURY ROAD is all made up of disabled characters, right? 
  • Furiosa uses an artificial hand. (Maybe she's born with it. Maybe it was Valvoline (exploding.))
  • Immortan Joe uses some kind of assisted breathing device.
  • Joe's brother or whatever is a little person in a mobility chair.
  • Nux has tumors on his trachea that affect his breathing.
  • The warboys in general have some condition that causes them to require regular blood transfusions. (Admittedly, that condition could be "very dangerous lifestyle.")
  • The Doof Warrior has no eyes.
  • The leader of Gas Town has a Tycho Brahe-style decorative metal artificial nose and a wicked case of foot edema.
  • Max has intrusive hallucinations, possibly PTSD flashbacks.


And I'm resigned to the fact that we're about to see a glut of movies made by people who saw FURY ROAD & thought "Great! People don't WANT explanation or backstory or worldbuilding or character or reasons for anything to happen!" Because moviemakers are going to notice that this movie did not stop to provide any infodumps and people loved that. And the kind of hack-ass storytellers who can't provide information except in an infodump are not going to bother noticing the wealth of information that the movie steadily, nonverbally, delivers.

The obsessive ornamentation on everything drives home that these are a people who have lost television. They aren't spending their evenings playing World of Warcraft, they're spending it painstakingly coiling recycled metal wire into skulls to enhance the fetishistic power of their steering wheels.

Furiosa has one word about her character arc: "Redemption." One word. The movie then goes on to reveal, in a completely non-Joss-Whedon-clever-dialogue kind of way, that spoiler ) I could see how that would leave a person with a score to settle.

Joe - I know I keep coming back to Joe, but since he is the one who ran the citadel, the citadel and the army speak most to his character. And - weirdly, considering his motivation in the whole film is spoiler ) - his character is that of a despot who allows his subordinates considerable initiative.

Consider the argument that ends in strapping Max to the front of Nux's Chevy:
spoiler )

Mallory Ortberg correctly noted that if Joe had been serious about spoiler ) And all of this the movie suggests without a spoken word.

And all the characters with disabilities, are not there because this is a Very Special Episode of the Apocalypse. They're there to show that this world is goddamn hard on human bodies - and to show the state of medical and assistive technology - and to show priorities. The people are like the things in this world in one way: the valuable ones are too valuable to waste just because some part of them isn't working to spec. Instead they weld on part of some other machine, to make it work; and add weapons capability while they're at it. And they don't bother trying to make the prosthetics look naturalistic. In a way, in this mutated world, the aesthetic celebrates physical variety, somatic change. spoiler )
metaphortunate: (wonderful)
  • Fury Road. FURY'S ROAD. It's her road.

  • @xatharine was admiring the near-total lack of worldbuilding & I realized what that was like: fanfic. Fic where they didn't waste more than like a minute setting up apocalyptic yadda yadda or Max's numbingly predictable manpain past because lol, you already know it from canon! Fuck explaining the fucking fridged girls, okay? he's HAUNTED. GO WITH IT. Give it a minute to make it clear it's not an AU, eat that lizard, hit that pedal & chilly down with the warboys! We have some truly great OCs to get to here.

  • …seriously, did this movie remind anyone else of Labyrinth? When the rock dwellers were boppin' their motorcycles all about, IDK, I kind of got "Chilly Down" stuck in my head! The polecats too, man!

  • (Note: in a labyrinth, you walk the spiral all the way in, then you turn around and walk all the way out. I'M JUST SAYING.)

  • You have probably heard the hype and all so let me not oversell it. It's not Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It's Aliens. It's a Shit Blows Up Real Good movie. But as an example of that genre, it is GLORIOUS.

  • Let me steal [personal profile] hradzka's thoughts again, because this is perfect:
    FURY ROAD headcanon: Immortan Joe’s obsession w/ perfection gave Furiosa chance to rise. She didn’t lose that hand. She was born without it.
    Right! That's why she got to be War Smurfette instead of just more livestock!

  • Oh, my god, Immortan Joe. I am so sorry for everyone I have been blithering about this to for days. I have Mad Max Mentionitis, it's terrible. But anyway. Immortan Joe. You know who I keep comparing him to? Dr. Doom. Immortan Joe does not have Dr. Doom's problem there. Immortan Joe has an army that runs like a well-oiled machine! His minions are an energetic, competitive, dedicated, psychotically bloodthirsty Cirque de Soleil troupe of hundreds! They are all covered in white clay which is actually quite good thinking because Coppertone is probably not in business anymore and these are all white people (why are these all white people? All of them? I can't help thinking that if anyone was going to survive in an Australia devoid of mechanized civilization a fair percentage of them would be Aboriginal Australians?) and without some kind of sun protection they would crisp like chicharrones. Despite a lot of moving parts and a desperate shortage of fuel, his citadel runs smoothly: he could have used water power, but instead he keeps the young male population busy (good thinking); he's not abusing their strength because the great weights work on a system of counterbalances; the citadel not only functions well but expresses its function through its form in the best tradition of Louis Henry Sullivan! Everything in Immortan Joe's stronghold is horrifyingly beautiful, okay? His armor is carefully designed to look like muscles at the distance from which the plebs get to see him. Every bit of machine or weapon features painstakingly handcrafted skull ornamentation, it's like the Arts & Crafts movement via Iron Maiden. I love it so. This is the setup of an evil mastermind who helps his people to excel.

  • And then there's the way his army rides into battle. What a sense of style! Goddamn, no wonder the warboys are having so much fun!

  • ALSO THE WAR GUITARIST.

  • WE COULD NOT GET OVER THE WAR GUITARIST.

  • Actually I could not get over the soundtrack in general. I am not usually a big one for movie soundtracks, but I am trying to find a way to make out with this one, because I need to consummate my love for this music.

  • No, seriously, personnel decisions are key to being a successful evil overlord! Even Immortan Joe falls down there eventually. I think his fetish for blood family was his downfall: I think the weird little dude in the chair was his brother or something. Man, if I am ever an evil warlord, and you are my second in command, and my renegade Imperator and a raggedy band of [SPOILERS] shows up with my [SPOILER], like, immediately spray them with gunfire and roll up the gates, okay? Joe was almost a truly great evil leader, but a truly great evil leader inspires his followers to develop the evil from within themselves, not to just kind of run out of evil when the boss is not right there to inspire them.

  • For a while I wondered why we kept coming back to a bolt cutter, of all things, in a Shit Really Blows The Hell Up movie. Then I realized: the movie is about liberation.

  • Speaking of the Anvil of Subtlety, let's not even talk about the seeds. Ah, fuck it, I enjoyed it. :D

  • Really, it's fic. Within the first 5 minutes Max announces that he is going to be the least interesting character in the movie. "The only thing I want anymore is to survive. I am here to provide canon continuity as you meet OCs who actually have desires and will therefore be providing motivation and a plot. In the meantime, please enjoy my muscular physique, my sad, haunted eyes, and my pouty, full lips."

  • Kameron Hurley has more cogent things to say about the film, including just how nice it is that it skips the pervy camera.

  • Seriously. Even when the nearly naked supermodels are cutting off (bolt cutter! Liberation!) the terrifying-looking chastity belts (Arts and Crafts! Iron Maiden!) and splashing water all over their diaphanous translucent gauze wisps. It's a shock! These extremely well-cared-for well-groomed women are the shock they should be, after the way everyone else is living in this apocalypse! But it's not…it's not quite the wet t-shirt Slave Leia scene that every iron-clad rule of genre is straining to turn it into. Not quite. It's a crave-inducing scene, but through Max's eyes, it's honestly a question: are the girls more eye-catching than the water?

  • And the other thing, they addressed my problem with Snowpiercer! They should have been delighted to have nice proteinaceous bugs to eat by then! Actually in this one I was so relieved to see him eat that bug because I know it's set in Australia and I figured either he killed it or it killed him.

  • I saw this movie by accident! I had a plan with @xatharine to go see Avengers! And then we accidentally bought tickets for the wrong day. And then it turned out that Avengers wasn't even showing in that theatre anymore, Mad Max was. And by the time we'd figured that out, we were like, fuck it, we're at the goddamn theatre, we're gonna watch the movie that's here. IT COULD NOT HAVE TURNED OUT BETTER.
metaphortunate: (Default)
1. If the Junebug ever gets comfortable enough with you to tease you, he will call you an eyeball. Or diaper cream. "Hi eyeball!" he will beam. "Hi, diaper cream!" He knows he is being silly and he loves it. I don't know where "diaper cream" comes from, other than that obviously it's a thing we use around the house. Now you might think that "eyeball" grows out of his toddler obsession with eyes. I remember one time L and I took him around the small local aquarium and he helpfully and loudly pointed out the eyes on every fish that had eyes (Spoiler: every single freaking fish in that aquarium had eyes.) That eye interest I think was because he had made the connection that eyes meant alive, as in, if he saw a drawing of a plane that had eyes, it meant that it was a character - "an alive plane" as he says - and a drawing of a plane without eyes is an inert vehicle. So fish that had eyes he knew were alive, and that was very important to him, and he needed to share that information a lot. But this eyeball thing is different. This he picked up at daycare. He came home upset one day and questioning elicited the fact that some kid had called him "one eyeball;" despite the fact that, as he shakily insisted to me, "I am NOT one eyeball." But they grow up so fast; he got over himself and made the weapon his own, and now you are an eyeball and so am I and so is everyone. Hi, eyeball!


2. One day during pickup, as usual, I was crankily chivvying the Junebug through the routine of pee and then are you done? Answer me in words. Are you done? Pull up your underwear. I said stand up. Pull up your underwear and your pants -

"If you don't stop saying that I will show you my butt!"

Then he turned around, bent over, and waggled his naked butt at me.

I lost it. Oh my god, I laughed until I had to sit down. Even though I knew you can't laugh at these things or they will never end. I couldn't help it. Dude. How many times do you think I've seen your naked butt? I still wipe your butt! I could probably draw your asshole from memory! I think the shock value has been lost. Incidentally, I love your tiny adorable butt to pieces, and possibly never more so than when you are waving it at me and cracking up at your own amusingness.


3. When Rocket is very tired and sitting on my lap he will just let his head fall forward into my sternum with a thump. And then of course he has to be hugged very tight and snuggled and have his head stroked. He used to do this all the time as a baby. Constantly. It hurt! Baby heads are big and solid and heavy! And yet….it was his way of asking for hugs. So I loved it. And I had not quite realized that he had stopped doing it. Until this past weekend, when his schedule was all messed up, and he was too tired to fall asleep, and I was holding him on my lap, and…thump. And I realized that it hadn't happened in a long time. So I hugged him very tight and snuggled him and stroked his little head. And I want to write it down before I forget it. Because he is leaving babyhood behind so fast, and I'm not sure it's going to happen again.
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For today, a little frivolousness.

I can't remember who it was who had a job interview at a coffeeshop and was looking for a lipstick that wouldn't leave lip prints on a coffee cup. Which is a hell of a catch-22, right? You're supposed to wear makeup to a job interview for ~professionalism~, but you also can't get makeup on anything because zomg girly and "unsightly" and etc. Incidentally, the previously linked site suggests licking your glass before drinking from it to reduce the amount of lipstick that transfers. I can only imagine the tone that would give your job interview.

My own personal lips reject lipstick in the blithe and seamless manner that The Toast rejects asshole commenters. The blogger from Brightest Bulb in the Box (now sadly defunct (the blog, not the blogger (I hope))) used to test the lasting power of lipstick on "four hours and a meal."

Four hours. And a meal. Let me tell you my own personal test on the longwearingness of lipstick. My question is: if I put it on in the morning before I leave for work, is it still on my lips when I get to the office? MOST LIPSTICKS FAIL THIS TEST.

(…this may or may not be related to the amount of child kissing I have to do on the way to work. However, it doesn't matter, as that is a constraint I plan to keep.)

I'm with Caitlin Moran on this one: lipstick is ridiculous. And yet. And yet! I continue to enjoy it. So I continue to look for things that will at least make a freaking gesture in the direction of lasting.

Which takes us firmly by the scruff of the neck and hauls us back to the topic introduced back in the second paragraph! You must have given it up for dead by now. But no, all of this was just to introduce that very holy grail: a lipstick that will not leave prints on your coffee cup! It really exists and it is called Maybelline Super Stay 24 Hour Lip Color. 24 hours of course is a complete lie, but this is a lipstick that, swear to god, stays on my lips not only through my morning commute but also through cups of coffee and tea and all the way to lunch. It does not survive lunch on me, but now we're back to my radical feminist lips who reject the patriarchy and all its works.

The thing about this stuff is, you have to take the two step process very seriously. You have to get your lips clean and dry, then put the color on, then wait, seriously, at least two minutes, for it to fully dry out. Then, when your lips are fully dry and kind of tacky, you put on the gloss part from the other end, or your favorite lip balm, whatever. And voila! You're done for half a day. It does fade from the outside in so after lunch I do end up with that fun clownlike lip outline which I hate. But if you're not going to have a full meal this is the shit that will not leave lip marks on anything. You have been told.

The other really long wearing thing I know is Revlon ColorBurst Balm Stains. They totally last and they don't leave weird clown lip outlines, but they will come off on your coffee cup, or your children, and I have three colors that I almost love and none that I 100% do. Creating a need and aaaaaalmost filling it so that I keep buying shit looking for the exact perfect solution: since 1776, well done, capitalism!
metaphortunate: (Default)
Advice for new parents:

Learn baby sign. Yeah it's more or less true that it helps the kids communicate earlier than they can verbally. Whatever. The real key is that when your little monkey starts getting large-scale exposed to other adorable gem factories, you are gonna get sick. You are gonna spend a LOT of time sick. And when you've lost your voice entirely, you're gonna be happier if you have a way to communicate with your kid or your partner other than choking out knives.

siiiiiiick

May. 2nd, 2015 08:09 am
metaphortunate: (Default)
My throat tastes like blood. I'm at my mom's house. I have plans for tonight. I have plans for tomorrow. I have plans for tomorrow night. I have plans for the day after tomorrow. They are all good plans. They involve people I only get to see once or twice a year. I can't talk. All I want to do is lie in bed. This is horrible. I don't know what to do.

I've been talking to the Junebug about how when he was a baby we made all his decisions and when he's an adult he'll make all his decisions & right now he's somewhere in between & we still have to make some of his decisions for him even though he doesn't want us to (this was after some tearful screaming of "I'm cold but I don't WANT to put on my jacket!") And his face lit up & he beamed, "When you're a grown-up you get to make all the decisions!" You do, kid. Mostly on wildly insufficient information and with a heavy cost either way.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe
Catch a tiger by the toe
If he hollers, let him go
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

You knew that wasn't the original lyrics to that rhyme, right? I was thinking about that today, about euphemisms, dog whistles, about thugs, about tigers, because the other saying about tigers is, what do you do when you have a tiger by the tail? Like America has Black people. We can't hold on to him forever. It's getting harder to ignore the hollering. This fear won't let us let him go.
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I was using Google Navigation today, and as I drove into the city, the robot piped up, "Faster route now available. Tap to accept." This is apparently because Google bought Waze, which does real-time traffic data.

If enough people buy into this, Google will be doing load balancing for our road networks. Holy shit. I mean, holy shit. That is a lot of power for one company to have. And I really hate that I immediately have to think of how bad actors could exploit this, because also, holy shit, what fantastic power! What an elegant way to optimize our cities! How this could help traffic!

And all of this is financed by people on the web paying a dollar a click to try to get me to buy shoes. Capitalism is so weird.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Today I spent two hours trying to de-rat poop the garage and the basement. I now understand something deeply in my soul that I did not truly understand before. I mean, if you had said it to me, I would have agreed, but I didn't know it. And that thing is: whatever you do not clean will be dirty.

God. Think about all the parts of your house that you don't clean. Under the stove. Behind the refrigerator. The cracks in the windowsills. The space under the sink. The gaps where things don't quite meet. The rot under the plywood, the crumbling of the foundations. Think of the dirt collecting there. Think of the silverfish and spider eggs and black mold waiting there to diffuse out into the air you breathe. It turns out we have never mopped the garage floor and as a result parts of it are made out of humus. There were parts so dusty I went to mop them with my 10% bleach solution and it just beaded up and ran off. Waves of spiders ran from me. I didn't even get to it all, because I would have had to move the 50 lbs of old paint cans that the previous owners left us. I am never going to feel clean again, I am never going to feel safe in my house again, and I kind of want to secede from my skin because it's been touching everything around me.
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First of all I'd like to apologize for the amount I've been tweeting about menstruation, and for the fact that I'm about to blog about it.

Here's the thing, though: it's the end of an era. In 2011 I bought a pack of pads from Costco. I remember sitting in my car in the parking lot crying, because I had joined Costco on the grounds that it would be good for buying diapers, and a year later, there I was, at Costco, buying pads instead of diapers because in a year I had failed to come up with any need for diapers and instead I needed pads because it turned out that once again I had failed to get pregnant.

And of course, since I was at Costco, I bought one package and it contained enough pads to absorb all great Neptune's ocean. So it lasted me until I did get pregnant with the Junebug. And it lasted me between when my period came back and when I got pregnant with Rocket. And it has lasted me until now. This will be the first time that I have bought menstrual supplies since 2011. I have one pad left from that package. It is the package that has seen me through my childbearing. And now it's over.

(Costco is great for diapers, by the way, but it's even better for wipes. Not only are they cheap, they're the best wipes I've ever found.)
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The thing is, in general, I am fully behind trying to spread knowledge and better understanding of the world.

So I totally understand the knee-jerk reaction that WATER IS A CHEMICAL, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PEOPLE. I Hulk out in a similar manner whenever I hear anyone say the word "toxin".

And yet. And yet, if you are educated enough to know that water is a chemical, you are educated enough to know that some words mean different things in different contexts. You understand that one person may say "I'm suffering from depression" and another may say "God, I'm so depressed today, I hate my job" and that the same word can mean a long-term disease and a bummer of a day. You understand - clever you! - that one person may refer to "the theory of evolution" and it means an understanding of the world that is essentially proven, and another person may say "I've got a theory, it could be bunnies!" and it means that Anya is once again sharing every random neural firing she runs into.

So you should freaking well be educated enough to understand that in some contexts a "chemical" is a form of matter that always has the same proportions by mass of its components and that can't be separated into its components without breaking electron bonds, and in another context, a "chemical" is a substance that has been manufactured or isolated and refined in a lab or a factory and moved into widespread production and distribution without exhaustive long-term testing and has a very good chance of, years or decades after it has become ubiquitous, being declared to have serious adverse health or environmental effects. Because where there's a need for a word to express a concept, language users will create or adapt a word to express that concept. And if you don't understand that there's a need for a word that expresses that second concept, you're not as educated as you think.
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This is the pants-shittingly awful thing about depression.


When I have the flu:

What do I need to do in order to get better?
  • Sleep.

What is the only thing in the world I feel capable of doing?
  • Sleeeeeeeeep.


When I have depression:

What do I need to do in order to get better?
  • Get plenty of exercise.
  • Keep my house in some kind of order so it's not despair-inducing just to sit in my living room.
  • Put in the effort to maintain social connections with my friends.
  • Find a therapist, that my insurance will pay for, who is accepting new clients, and who actually works for me. This may involve talking about incredibly difficult personal things to a number of different complete strangers before I find one that will help.
  • Find a psychiatrist, that my insurance will pay for, who is accepting new clients, and who actually works for me. This may involve talking about incredibly difficult personal things to a number of different complete strangers before I find one that will help.
  • Find psychiatric medication that works for me without unacceptable side effects. This may involve trying a number of different drugs. This may involve getting used to some side effects.

What is the only thing in the world I feel capable of doing?
  • Sleeeeeeeeep.


ETA: I am currently fine! Well. At least, I am having the kind of month that reminds me what a luxury it is to be able to be my own worst enemy.

But, on the bright side, I'm not doing that right now. Just meditating on the shittiness of the disease in general.
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Who was it I was talking to about the luck of having two kids of the same sex?

Because it does feel like an escape. See, if I'd had a boy and a girl, I know in my soul that I would be absolutely convinced at this point that there are real differences between boys and girls, even at the age of like a year, and that I knew because I had seen them.

If the Junebug had been a girl I would be convinced that I had hard evidence that it's true that boy babies cry more than girls. If Rocket had been a girl I would be convinced that, wow: girls really do show so much more affection and emotion than boys. Even at such a young age.

But they're both boys, so what I have hard evidence for is that n=2 doesn't mean shit. Kids vary.
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Things I have been enjoying recently:

"The Beigeness", by Kate Tempest. I love the song. I am disturbed by the video, which is probably its goal. It's trying to say something about race and sex and genderplay and secrets and men and women and power, but I can't tell if it's getting there; and it's especially hard for me to read because Ms. Tempest is English and the racial fault lines are different there than where I'm from. It's…kind of fucked up, though, right? I think it's kind of fucked up. Great song, though.

"Moves Like Yaweh"(sic): [personal profile] jetpack_monkey's Festivid entry this year. Yes, it's a Prince of Egypt vid set to "Moves Like Jagger." Don't read the comments in advance: they'll spoil one of the best jokes. Leave the vidder one afterwards, though!

No Cities To Love: see "Bury Our Friends," by Sleater-Kinney. Don't call it a comeback, they've been here for years.

Unrepentant Geraldines by Tori Amos: see "Wedding Day." Now goddamn, this really is a comeback, after the past few years of unlistenable wankery.

Tape Deck Heart, by Frank Turner: see "Recovery", but also "Plain Sailing Weather" and "We Shall Not Overcome" and "Tattoos" and just the entire goddamn album. It is a joyfully musical work about being a self-pitying fuckup of a sad bastard with a completely unjustified superiority complex, and it speaks to my soul. I'm not going to embarrass anyone by claiming you as one of my people, but y'all: this one is for you. You know who you are.

All Hands, by Doomtree: see "Marathon". Okay, I'm not gonna lie. This is just to keep us going till Dessa puts out a new album. [personal profile] norah, I blame you for this addiction.

And on a totally different note, Nuxe Rêve de Miel lip balm. I know it's a stupid amount of money for a lip balm, but here's the thing: usually, when I buy a lip balm, I buy two, one to keep in my medicine cabinet, one to take with me and reapply all day and my lips are STILL chapped and cracked and bleeding. I bought one of these - and I don't need another. I don't need to put on lip balm during the day anymore. I put on a homeopathic amount in the morning and another at night and my lips feel fine. I don't know what they put in this shit but it's amazing.
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Hordes of people are freaking out about Tempest's suggestion not to read any books by straight cis white men for a whole year.

So, like; none of them ever had a year where they didn't read a single book by a Latina lesbian, and a trans black woman, and a Malaysian man, and so on, did they? They read something by every single combination of ethnicity and sexuality every single year?

Wait, they didn't? There was a year they didn't read anything by a gay Latina? THEN WHY THE FUCK IS IT A BIG DEAL IF THERE IS A YEAR IN WHICH SOMEONE DOESN'T READ ANYTHING BY A WHITE MAN.

Incidentally, I did this. One year right after college, I decided I was going to only read books by women, for one whole year. I highly recommend it. I read books I wouldn't ordinarily have read, that didn't at first appeal to me, simply because I had arbitrarily placed more familiar books temporarily off limits. I picked up books by authors who were labeled by their marketing as not FOR me; same reason, and it was great.

But more importantly, it reprogrammed my brain. It took white men out of their Center Of The Universe, Authority, Source And Validator Of Information status in my internal map of the world in a way that they have never fully recovered from; though I should do a refresher year sometime. You really, really, really cannot tell what the water you are swimming in is like till you step onto dry land sometime. Yes, there are tons of great books by white guys. I read them now! But it did me no harm and great good to spend a year leaving them to one side.
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I just signed up for [personal profile] kate_nepveu's Playlist Exchange.

I better go to bed before I make any more decisions that commit me to doing anything other than sleeping. Fun is for people with better time management skills...
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Primogeniture never made any sense to me until we had two kids.

But when the Junebug was a baby, Mr. E painstakingly handmade him nutritionally balanced homemade baby food, and we have spent hours and hours drilling manners into his head and rules and so on. With the result that he is a great kid. And now that Rocket is almost 18 months old, he's still occasionally eating those shelf-stable vacuum-packed bags of baby mush, and mostly as long as he's not actually screaming at the top of his lungs or shitting on his brother we just sort of let him do what he's gonna do as we try to get other shit done. (Falling is good for them! It teaches them appropriate risk assessment!) And if god forbid we had a third one, I'm pretty sure we would duct tape it to the wall and occasionally fling it scoopfuls of Purina Tot Chow.

So yeah. If we had to pick a king or something, I would have to vote for that first one.

therapy

Mar. 5th, 2015 06:00 am
metaphortunate: (fooled you again brain)
Today I plan to talk to my therapist about happiness.

My kids often make me happy. My husband often makes me happy. My problem is that I have realized that I love it when my kids or my husband make me happy; but whenever anything else makes me happy - and there are a shitload of things in the world that could make me happy: gardening, seeing friends, reading books quietly by myself, opera, masturbation, new clothes, massage, rock concerts, a haircut, taking the time to write a post like this: I feel guilty. Because I am taking time and/or energy and/or money that should be spent either on the kids or on Mr. E or on sleep or exercise so that I can be more physically and emotionally able to be a good partner and mother. Seriously: being happy feels like stealing.

And then I wonder WHY I'M NOT HAPPY VERY MUCH.

I am looking forward to hearing what she has to say. [personal profile] hradzka, you would love the shit out of my therapist. Couple weeks ago I brought up some money stress that I've been having: there's this, but then there's that, here's how Mr. E and I are doing stuff, but I might want to change because this other thing, blah blah blah.

She listened carefully to everything I said, then said, "Sounds like you guys need to set up a new bank account. Because then this thing, and this other thing."

I said, "Yeah, that would solve this problem…but ehhh, we haven't done it because awkward, and these feelings, and I have these other feelings."

And she was like "Okay, but your feelings are dumb and boring. What would fix the problem is if you addressed it, like by setting up a new bank account."

And the thing is, because I have been crazy for so long, my feelings ARE dumb and boring! Even I am sick of dealing with them! Of course she did not actually say anything so hurtful. But she was clearly uninterested in noodling around in my ~feelings~ for ages and instead was very clear about the benefits of addressing the problem with an idea for a solution.

Which I did not want to do, because money is hard to talk about. But the great thing about a therapist, as opposed to a self-help book or something like that, is that I could not face going back to her and admitting that yeah, you and I talked about a solution, but I could not bring it up and prefer to remain stressed out about money. Couldn't do it. Instead I sucked it up and talk to Mr. E and we have come up with a solution that we like for now: it is not the same one that my therapist came up with, it is one that works for us better, but we would not have done it if she hadn't given me the kick in the butt.

And I feel better.

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metaphortunate son

May 2015

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