metaphortunate: (Default)
Brain: What if these two characters met each other. They sure would have a lot to talk about.
Me: Brain no.
Brain: It wouldn't even be that many panels.
Me: Brain I need to sleep.
Brain: Imagine all those gorgeous clothes to draw. It could be mostly close-ups.
Me: …It would be fun…
Brain: Just write down the dialogue.
Me: I'll just sketch the layout. God, I haven't even touched my stylus in months.
Brain: And start off with an establishing crowd shot.
Me: No! Fuck! What? No crowd shots! I haven't even touched my stylus in months!
Brain: It reeeeeally makes a lot more sense if you actually have two crowd shots.
Me: You said it was gonna all be close-ups!
Brain: Also I'm gonna need you to spend three days looking up architecture & clothing of the 1500s.
Me: No!
Brain: And combing through six separate books for details of clothing and hairstyles.
Me: I hate you!
Brain: I should note that exactly three people other than you will be interested in this comic. And they won't actually like it, because your dialogue isn't that good.
Me: Fuck you!
Brain: Draw it or I'll torture you for months.
Me: Fuck!
metaphortunate: (Default)
Thursday when I was home sick I decided to start watching Orphan Black, since I hear so many good things about it. And then I was totally unable to because Netflix doesn’t stream it. (Which is just infuriating, because I can stream something Mr. E isn’t interested in watching, but if I get a DVD Mr. E isn’t interested in watching, then I’m blocking him from getting any more DVDs until I watch it, which in the case of a whole 6 episode disc could be a year at this point, which is an unreasonable length of time to prevent Mr. E from getting another DVD.) Anyway, I wasted some time being frustrated about that, and then I decided to watch some more Orange is the New Black. I got up to episode 3 season 1. (I know everyone else is up to season 2. That’s how fast I watch TV shows.) It’s really good! Looking forward to getting the chance to watch ep 4.

Anyway, I paused between episodes to make some tea, and I was idly thinking, “Wait…I meant to watch Orphan Black, why did I change my mind?” And I answered myself, “Oh right, cause I’m not feeling great, I think I thought a comedy might be easier to WAIT THAT’S NOT TRUE AT ALL IT WASN’T STREAMING.”

I didn’t change my mind.

But I got to see my brain confabulate what I had intended and what actually happened and come up with a rationale about how I changed my mind.

(Where your eyes don't go a filthy scarecrow waves its broomstick arms/ And does a parody of each unconscious thing you do/ When you turn around to look it's gone behind you/ On its face it's wearing your confused expression/ Where your eyes don't go)

Speaking of the silent monster(s) who share your identity, I recently read Ancillary Justice, and it is just as good as everyone has been saying it is.

I know not everyone is pleased with Leckie’s approach to rendering a agendered language, but the use of feminine pronouns throughout gave the whole universe an enjoyably retro 70s lesbian/feminist-separatist sci fi feel for me, so I dug it.

I wish I’d known that it was the first part of a trilogy. Actually I wish it hadn’t been the first part of a trilogy, because fuck trilogies, can people please write some more just one goddamn book? But I am pleased there’s a chance we’ll learn more about how the ships absorb their ancillaries - the glimpse we saw of Justice of Toren getting a new body brought online was fascinating. I will be picking up the sequel, which of course makes me part of the problem.

(Every jumbled pile of person has a thinking part that wonders what the part that isn't thinking isn't thinking of)

I find the question of free will vs. fate in the sense of causality, physical law, etc., so boring at this point that I am reluctant to give it even as much space as I have in this sentence. But the not only multi-bodied but multi-minded beings of Ancillary Justice provide an excellent allegory with which to look at the much more interesting question of how free our will is when it is limited, not by fate, but by our own minds. Anaander Mianaai’s technically internal conflict illustrates it most dramatically, of course, but I ask you: how many times have you firmly decided that you would do something, and then, simply not done it? Let me tell you how many times I have logically and rationally decided that I am not hungry and I do not need to snack and those pastries aren’t good for me anyway and then quietly gone over and gotten myself a donut. Or let me wonder - because I can’t tell you - how many times some wordless part of me has taken an action or made a decision, and then what I with somewhat black humor call my consciousness fills in the backstory of an explanation, as I did on Thursday, about OITNB - only so slowly and clumsily, because of my illness, that for once I actually caught myself doing it. Someone in here is doing their will, but I am damn sure that it is often not what I think of as me.

In our world, of course, one body to one person; no matter how many conflicting impulses or personality parts or what have you within one body, I must treat it as one unitary being; and so I personally must come to the darkly amusing conclusion that everyone but me has free will. Because from my point of view, you are one voice saying one thing, and you say what you like. But with my panoramic view of the inside of my own skull, I am locked in here with a huge, silent, invisible, and only dimly deduced presence that can’t be reasoned with, can’t be questioned, and very often, can’t be moved from its choices by all the will that I can bring to bear.

(Though I note one more thing. I myself am not good at getting myself to do what I have decided to do. That is partly because I do not practice it. Conscious will, I do know, is a thing that gets easier with practice. I don’t practice it, deliberately, because I know a thing or two about myself. And one thing I know by now is that this consciousness of mine, the wordy part, you know, is the part of me most easily swayed. It’s the part of me that can be convinced to starve myself. To hate myself. It’s the part that goes on diets. It’s the part that divides all my days up into duties on the calendar. And the part that I can’t reach - I know, after all these years of living with it, that’s the part that won’t let me starve us, whether of food or of fun. I could get better at weakening it. I don’t dare.)

d'oh

Jul. 2nd, 2012 09:05 pm
metaphortunate: (Default)
This is why I am pissed off at myself.

I said it. I said it to Mr. E. I said it to myself. I have said, "Self, we used to be a lazy person. There were entire days when we would lie around reading books and enjoying ourselves and go to bed feeling vaguely dissatisfied with not having accomplished anything. Those days are over. These days we get up in the morning and do chores and baby tend and work until we go to bed at night feeling despair over not having accomplished anything. We love playing with the baby. If we find ourselves sitting blankly on a chair reading the internet and ignoring the baby, that is a sign of something wrong. It is, in fact, a pretty good sign that we are coming down with something. We need to stop treating ourselves like a lazy person who needs to be bullied into things, because we are not that person anymore."

Furthermore, I love having this little guy. I regret nothing - except under one circumstance. When I am sick, I find myself having horrible feelings that this was a mistake. Sometimes this takes the form of worrying about how old I am and how it will be so sad for the Junebug to have such relatively old parents.

So yesterday, as I found myself miserable, wondering if we had made the right decision, exhausted, staring blankly at the floor while the Junebug played, what did I do? I decided that I was being fussy and lazy and that going for a three mile run would perk me up.

Yeah, by the time I got home I was dizzy with fever. Oh me, why so dumb sometimes?
metaphortunate: (fooled you again brain)
Dear brain,

Stop standing in the shower telling yourself that you suck. I know why you do this. It is an effort to assert some control over the situation by demonstrating that at least you do not suck so much that you are a Dunning-Kruger victim and at least you are good enough to know that you suck. However, it has to stop. Evidence has shown that we react poorly to insults and self-hatred. We don't rise to prove ourselves worthy, we just try to go hide under the covers. This means that this behavior is just the ego trying to make itself feel better at the expense of the creative energy and the willpower and the bits that actually do the work. Suck it up, ego: it's time to treat ourself with compassion and friendly encouragement. Including you. I know you are only trying to pull together a coherent narrative so that the rest of the brain can keep coasting along on an unexamined delusion of security instead of more rational, but not useful, existential terror, and can spend its energy on things that it can actually affect. And Lord knows this filtering is uphill work in this crazy random-ass universe! I know it's scary but you're doing a good job. Thanks, brain!

ETA: Guys, I'm fine. I actually posted this because it was an example of me successfully talking myself down and feeling better and I thought that was kind of awesome. Thanks for being concerned, though!

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