I would like to clear this cave memory from my path before I write more about my Spring Green trip. I apologize to myself for using any term that sounds even vaguely like it has roots in Scientology.
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Category Archives: the Big Picture
the Big Picture TravelTrigger Warning: the Cave (emotional abuse)
July 25, 2011 – 12:45 pm
Why 2 DUIs is too many
July 12, 2011 – 3:25 pm
In the past three years, I’ve met multiple people with multiple DUIs. They all had one thing in common:
Not one of them seemed to think they were at fault for drinking, and then driving. Most blamed the police. One blamed the person that called the police after trying to take his keys. None of them acknowledged that their actions could steal lives and livelihoods from other people.
This tells me something about each and every person who did this: s/he does not care about other people. It’s not a 100% indicator, but it’s a pretty big sociopath warning sign.
I have long contended that what you do to your body is your business, but if what you do can in any way harm me, or harm a person who did not consent to interaction with you, what you do with your body is very much public business.
DUIs are a big example of this.
You can feel like you’re “not drunk” and whatever. And while still a horrific thing to do, I can understand – almost – one DUI. If you’re new at drinking, and you don’t know how to gauge your limits, you haven’t learned that two glasses of water two one glass of alcohol is necessary to clear your system and still takes hours at times… and the police officer that pulls you over catches you before you hurt anyone… the correct, decent human being reaction at the first DUI should be absolute horror at what might have happened. It should not be “Damn, I got caught.”
I don’t give a damn how convinced you are you can handle yourself when you’re drinking. It’s bullshit. It’s ego driven bullshit, and you’re trying to prove something no one cares about at the expense of another person’s life – a person you might even know.
This isn’t “don’t drink and drive.” It’s “strangers matter too, the people you could kill matter too, there are times when what might have happened matters one hell of a lot.”
Trying to “correct” for your bad behavior by “punishing” yourself – forgoing, say unemployment, or something does not address that you are risking the lives of others by drinking and then driving. If you want to risk your life, and you’re that self-centered, whatever, but since other people who didn’t sign up for you are involved the minute you turn the keys in the ignition, then yes, I have a big and permanent problem with you if you’ve gone so far as to drink and drive at least TWICE. Probably more, since habitual offenders only get caught once in awhile.
If you want to make it right after multiple DUIs, the solution is simple. Don’t drink and drive. Either get a sober driver, walk, drink where you don’t need to drive, or don’t freaking drink. If alcohol “causes” you to act out, you are wholly responsible for your actions. Being drunk is not an excuse, especially when you know you’re inclined to do harmful things after you’ve been drinking.
Abuse: Yes, TRIGGERING
June 24, 2011 – 12:02 pm
I travel the feminist circles and hear the feminist assumptions. They have foundation, this blaming of patriarchy, but they confuse the patriarchy with the men. So when someone who comes along who has suffered abuse at the hands of women, it’s confusing to the other survivors, the ones who see the other women in their lives crouching in the foxhole with them, afraid to even think differently lest it be seen as some sort of defiance. When we speak of abuse, we raise questions of austere, distant father figures, more intent on authority than on child-rearing. It becomes about unsatisfied sexuality now perverted, and about the power of the man over the smaller thing. read more
Pleasure
June 23, 2011 – 1:05 pm
my perfume shelf
I’ve gone on a streak lately of buying myself items I’ve either wanted since childhood, or replacing items stolen/gone/cherished from many years ago. Yesterday, in one of my rare trips to the MegaMall (Mall of America for those outside Minnesota) I replaced a leopard print umbrella that matched one my first college roommate stole. I may yet find and replace the red velvet dress that, according to my second college roommate, has been at the dry cleaners for around 16 years now. My perfume shelf now has an assortment of Walgreen’s classics: Muguet, Preferred Stock, a knock-off of Obsession that I wore in the 7th grade (my mother hated that) and some Love’s Babysoft Jasmine Musk. I’m still hunting for the remainder of the Love’s line, especially Rain. I know it’s still in production.
I don’t have a total list, and some new stuff has crept in to this strange little collection. I finally bought myself a disappearing TARDIS mug; I’ve wanted it since I was 12 and saw it offered on a PBS fundraising special. (My father did not consider this sufficient grounds for donation.) I also nabbed a digital keychain so I can make a techy Doctor Who fan necklace. I’m finally indulging in getting the pretty, lacy, Goddessy items that were looked down on when I was young – and I love them. I love how I look in them. I’m just as potent in clothing that reflects my inner aesthetic as I am in clothing that is all solid colors and straight lines. And I feel better in that clothing.
Obtaining these toys and baubles – while carefully monitoring my intake to avoid clutter/hoarding – is prompted by the Artist’s Way work I’ve been doing. It does seem like replacing cherished childhood books and wearing a lily perfume heals the wounds and cuts in my soul over time. It also prompted a realization in me, based on what I’m taking in with great care, and what I’m pushing out after minimal consideration:
I’ve spent a good chunk of my life buying what I’m supposed to, instead of what I actually want. I can only imagine the money I’d saved if I’d just gone ahead and let myself have the shinies that I truly wanted. I have scores of books on broad subjects, and yes, I cherish reading above nearly all activities, but many are ones I grabbed because I felt it virtuous to make an effort to be informed, not because I felt any core desire for knowledge on the topic. Until my 30s, most of my clothing ranged from comfortable hippyesque to business utilitatarian: whatever fit that wasn’t completely terrible. I didn’t enjoy clothing, because there was pressure on me at home not to enjoy it, even though it was obvious I absolutely loved finding new outfits and stuffing my closet. It was billed as “shallow,” and therefore to be disrupted. The approach was very black and white, and did not take into account that it was one of many interests I had. I feel gratified now at what I’ve made of my interest in clothing, and the knowledge that digging through thrift stores, discount racks, consignment stores and yes, even department stores actually does have a benefit beyond myself.
Enjoyment finds a way to bubble up, but it seems like anything that brings any enjoyment at all is immediately dubbed a “guilty” pleasure, rather than just a pleasure. If the movies we watch aren’t “smart” enough, if the stuff we eat isn’t at exactly the right fat/protein/carb count, if a massage or spa time feels remotely good, we immediately call ourselves shallow, call the pleasure “sinful” and make ourselves feel bad for feeling good. The end result is a bizarre, defiant overindulgence of our favorites of those pleasures, as though making ourselves bad somehow compensates for the simple act of liking what we like.
That’s fucked up.
So right now, I’m taking tiny steps – a toy car here, a sketch class there, maybe even sock back some money for the Aikido classes I begged for as a kid – to reclaim what I was convinced I should deny myself. I’ve overindulged the wrong things, things I didn’t really want for years. I’m in a unique position to give myself these indulgences, to spoil my child self, and I’m doing exactly that.
I’ve also spoiled my adult self here and there. You should SEE the pumps I bought for fancy nights out.
For the Is True Blood Satanic searchers
June 18, 2011 – 10:26 am
Seriously, someone has searched under “Is True Blood Satanic?” almost daily and found this blog. I don’t want to go into an explanation of Satanism, blah blah blah. I’m not, although I get that it works for some people; I’m just not one of them.
Also, a certain breed of Christian leadership will label diet soda Satanic if it will scare your butt into a pew and a tithe into their paychecks.
The short answer: NO. The main character is Sookie Stackhouse: in the books the show is based on she is in fact an active, practicing Christian. I am not going to say she is Christ-like, but she draws from the teachings of Jesus and in her active practice she does form relationships with Wiccans, vampires, and other creatures by evaluating each on a case-by-case basis. Within the book, a repeated theme is “If God created it, there must be a reason.” Never is there a question of Sookie losing her faith, and on the show she has also from time to time repeated this philosophy.
Sookie is one of my favorite fictional characters. I am Wiccan, and I love her expression of Christianity. But it’s not enough to make me convert.
So no, True Blood is NOT Satanic. Adult yes. Sexy yes. An example of why all the producers would make terrible lovers, absolutely (it’s all about what the men want ALL THE TIME on the show itself.) And for the most part, it’s fun. I’m still rooting for Sam.
Synchroncity, synchronicity, synchronicity <3 <3 <3 <3
June 7, 2011 – 8:16 pm
I love it when synchronicity lines up, and while I do experience it in small ways, when I get a domino of it it’s sort of awesome.
Yesterday – ran into an old member of the writer’s group I spent time with in 2009; while it’s not a good time in his life right now – bereavement – he was happy to see me, and I him. I believe when he gets through this passage, we’ll have things to do to together.
There is also a friend of mine from college I haven’t seen in ten years. I’ve been truly worried about him, as at the time it was obvious he was veering toward a drug habit and was struggling. I lost touch with him, and I always felt bad as he was the first person to extend any kind of genuine friendship to me when I moved to Minnesota. After more than a decade here, I really know what a precious gift that is. Today, as I was driving to my pilates class, I looked in the mirror… and he was driving the car behind me. Both the car and he looked incredibly well. There was no graceful way to just get out of the car and go “OMG, JOSEPH!!!!” But I could see he was healthy, had a totally hot boyfriend and could afford the clothing he was wearing. It’s exactly what I would have wanted for him.
I’ve also learned that no matter how minor, the small stuff adds up in synchronicity. The lot on the corner of Central and Lowry has been turned into a pinwheel park. Pinwheels have special significance to me, and yes, to my magical practice. There’s an entire PARK of pinwheels. Squee!
I had also, yesterday, thought longingly about a ham and brie sandwich popular in coffee shops around the time I moved here. When I went to the coop to grab something for dinner, and lo! They had the very ham and brie sandwich I yearned for.
I then stopped by the library to pick up some origami books on hold. I went to the back area by the book return, and looked down to see that there’s a religion and myth study group starting in my neighborhood. I almost couldn’t bite my tongue before the “Fuck yeah!” escaped my lips in front of several possibly offended mothers.
I think the best gift is knowing – KNOWING -Joseph is OK. Maybe someday I’ll even get to talk to him again!
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Yes, I am an introvert
May 31, 2011 – 10:00 am
He meant well. As I sat on the bar patio with nothing to defend me save my laptop, he brought more and more people my way. He saw it as social networking. Introductions, to his mind, were good. I should meet everyone. Knowing names and faces did something, though I couldn’t quite peg what. His intention was to make me feel welcome, and it would wound him to know that in fact he actually triggered my flight reflex.
I’m good at mastering these reflexes. Most people have no idea how uncomfortable strangers make me. Since most of these people were drunk – my least favorite kind of people – they never sensed even a remote glimmer of my discomfort.
I smiled and quipped and made eye contact. I also felt the inevitable shaky buzz that comes when I lose center. I was surrounded, and the only escape was the equally crowded, buzzing, un-centering bar. More alcohol would only make my already strained sense of self and safety worse.
I found myself inadvertently chain smoking – typically a pack lasts me six months, but this one made it about four hours. I did end up compulsively drinking more than I planned. I crunched ice, a surefire sign to myself that I felt anxious.
I have tried, repeatedly, to explain to people that I am in fact an introvert. I suspect the reason people don’t believe/don’t hear me is a combination of my appearance and misconceptions about what introversion is and how it works.
I am not shy. I can talk to strangers, and I’ve had many a surreal and enjoyable interchange at bus stops, in the YWCA locker room and even riding elevators. While shy people are all introverts, not all introverts are shy.
Yes, I can get up and talk to a group, march up to a manager and call that stranger about business x. That is not a sign of extroversion. All that tells you about me is that I’m not shy – i.e., I’m not constrained from interaction by fear. I love a good conversation that explores morality and the problems of the universe.
But if you listen to that conversation – I mean REALLY listen – you’ll notice something: I don’t talk about myself much. I ask questions of my interaction partner. I repeat back what the partner says, and then I add on that. When someone asks me how it’s going, I say “fine,” and often reveal little else, inquiring about the other person instead. There are people who have known me for five years who probably don’t even know my relationship status, where I’m from or what my favorite color is. Sometimes this is their fault, but usually it’s not – quite simply, I am an introvert. I don’t feel a need to broadcast facts, and in truth, I often communicate this way because sharing too much about myself leaves me physically tired.
Crowds drain my energy. People who enjoy conventions and big parties find me bewildering, especially when they try to drag me into their interests. I’ll make eye contact, charm, soothe, seem fine…but I’ll get the hell away as fast as I can, because I’m not fine. Every second I’m surrounded by excess chatter I can feel an energetic drain because the activity is too much for my consciousness to keep up with and I just don’t enjoy it.
I don’t move like a shy person. I’m a fat woman, and I take up space, and I don’t apologize for it. Where many women who identify as introverts give physical indicators of shyness from demeanor to clothing, I dress with confidence because I like clothing and because I am confident. I just don’t enjoy being part of the mob. That’s not a criticism of the mob at all: it’s just not my gig. I’m not the person you want to drag to some social media marketing thing; while I might be able to strike up a conversation with someone, I get bored pretty easily and I’m disappointed when a communication fails to reveal any depth. Because I’m an introvert, I prefer real relationships, not social/party acquaintances. Because I’m an introvert, I need time to actually talk to a person that approaches me, and while I can do small talk I don’t like it much. Because I’m an introvert, I write, for fuck’s sake. The amount of time I spent writing should spell it out, really.
A list of weird things today
May 28, 2011 – 1:40 am
- A lady at the bank demanded we back up our car while waiting in line for the ATM. We actually left several feet of space, and we would have had to back out onto the street to satisfy her.
- I got gum stuck in my hair. I’m 35, and this is the first time this has ever happened. My first aid kit in the car has scissors, so that was fixed fast.
- For some reason, FourSquare set Mike and I both to South Korea.
- Saw a guy at Sam’s Club saran wrapped to a pole. I once assisted in duct taping a football player that had harassed all of us high school nerds to the end of our tolerance. The kid did not seem to see in the humor in nerds avenging themselves in packs. He actually seemed frightened by the idea. He was wrapped to the pole for charity, however, so I left a donation.
Venturing out for some art supplies and a cupcake now. I need to write up my experience at T. Thorn Coyle’s talk and book signing yesterday; I surprised myself by going instead of surrendering to the weather. I’m glad I did.
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