Being Amber Rhea

…why people believe in God.

Conceptually, I’ve always been able to understand why. Who was it who said that thing about how if God didn’t exist, humans would create Him? Something like that. Anyway, that’s always made sense to me. I think we all want to feel some sort of comfort that we’re not totally alone in the universe and that there is some kind of purpose (even if the truth is actually the opposite). Because if we’re all alone, reality can seem too scary to handle.

But during the last few weeks with my dad’s rapidly declining health and finally his death, I’ve come to understand on a much more real, personal, visceral level why people find comfort in what I’ll nebulously refer to as faith.

A caveat, too: “faith” is one of those words I generally dislike, because so often it’s used as a buzzword, devoid of any real meaning. Other words/phrases along those same lines are “values” and “tradition” and “way of life.”

Anyway, as I was saying…

Over the past few weeks, I have allowed myself to feel comforted by expressions of religious faith that seemed heartfelt and nonjudgmental. And why not? We all need to find some comfort wherever we can. I still do not consider myself a religious person, nor am I comfortable with the appellation “spiritual” (though I flirted with it when I was a teenager) - but I do know that during hard times, comfort and support is important, and there’s no need to split hairs over what form it takes.

I’m inspired by my mom’s friend P., who lost her son (who was just a month older than me) in 2006 when he was killed in a collision with a drunk driver. Prior to that he’d had a severe head injury at around age 11, and in his early 20s was diagnosed with leukemia (it had been in remission for several years at the time of his death). He had recently gotten married. I cannot even conceive of the suffering his mother has endured, and yet she remains so devoted to her faith and so warm, caring, and thoughtful of others. She spoke with my dad a few times when he was in the hospital and then when he came home for hospice, and according to my mom he was very moved by it; she thinks talking to P. really helped him. She has been a source of comfort to my mom, too; never preachy, never proselytizing, but always just there, with a kind word and a sympathetic ear (and not just a trite cliché, either).

I’m inspired by Lia of Star Light Ministries, who as far as I can tell seems to have the same approach to Christianity as P.: just being there, with love, without judgment. And based on what I know about Christianity (and I do know quite a bit, actually, having studied it in high school and college, and done plenty of reading and research on my own), it seems like this is the more authentic manifestation of Christianity, although unfortunately it’s quite rare.

I’m inspired by Denise, the American Legion chaplain who officiated my dad’s funeral service. She showed such compassion and sympathy, in a way that I really believed (rather than just going through the motions like a lot of people do), and she had only just met me! She just had a way about her that was comforting, respectful, and right.

I didn’t pray in the kitchen last Sunday with my mom, her friend M., and Denise, as they were going over what the service should include. I had been sitting at the table with them, but by that point I had gotten up and left the kitchen, and had just come back in to get something out of the fridge. They were about to say a prayer and Denise invited me to join, but I said “I’m not much of a praying person…” and just stood silently until they were finished. And it’s true, praying makes me uncomfortable and I don’t like to do it (and I certainly don’t like to “fake it”); but as for faith as a source of comfort, I get that.

My mom has never been a religious person either, but there she was, praying in the kitchen, and I could tell it was a help to her rather than her defenses going up as they usually would.

When Denise quoted Scripture at the funeral, I didn’t feel the annoyance that I typically do when people quote Scripture. Maybe that’s because most of the time it seems like people are doing it in an accusatory way, with an agenda. But the few passages she quoted were relevant and I could tell she had put some real thought into selecting appropriate ones.

And as I heard, many times, “He’s in a better place now,” or “He’s not in pain anymore,” I didn’t get annoyed. I was surprised because if you’d have asked me before all this started, I would’ve guessed those phrases would really irritated me. I guess I just didn’t have the energy to get worked up about it; I was taking comfort wherever I could get it.

I am still not a religious person, nor do I think there really is a God like the Judeo-Christian God, although there very well might be something; but I get why people are religious. I realize that in the past I have unfairly judged an entire religion by the bad apples who make themselves very visible in its name. I will try not to do that in the future.

And yeah, it might be cheesy, but there is a feeling of comfort to be had in that “Footsteps” poem. I think we all need that from time to time.

As I said on Twitter, all day I’ve been feeling like I should write something, but I don’t know what.

I could post the letter I wrote to CBS urging them not to cancel Swingtown; I could write any number of screeds on any number of topics I’m passionate about; but it just feels a little fake at this point. As if doing so would deny - or at the very least, fail to acknowledge - everything that’s been going on behind the scenes, behind my eyes (not to get too emo-poetic about it).

In my last post, I said: “And all of this has made me feel like I can do it, must do it, write for my life…” But I’m not sure I know what that means, “write for my life.” Maybe it just means stream of consciousness babble and pretending no one is reading.

They (yes, they!) say that the death of a friend or family member naturally makes the surviving friends/relatives consider their own mortality. The truth is, I was terrified of death already. I know that on some level, sure, most people are “scared of death,” but I don’t think most people feel the terror and panic of it the way I often do. I’m hoping that’ll go away, or at least mellow, as I get older. But I guess it’s really just a fear of the unknown or the unexpected. Something can happen at any moment, you never know when. That is what scares me. That I could lose my whole world in just an instant. Plus, I’m bothered by the concept of history and permanence and record-keeping anyway, and when I even begin to think along those lines, it’s really down the rabbit hole.

I’ve been lucky, in some ways. I’ve made it to 28 and this is the first death I’ve experienced of someone who was really close to me, in one way or another. Both my paternal grandparents died several years ago, but I’d only met them once in my life (when I was three), so while it was sad, it was more of that detached sadness you feel when learning that anyone died.

I don’t know if I can write about all of this without sounding emo-poetic-angsty.

Crap, that reminds me (don’t know why)… I still need to contact my dad’s other children. I need to write them a letter, and weirdly, now that he’s gone, I don’t feel so conflicted about including the stuff about how even though I completely understand if they feel resentful toward me, things weren’t always peachy for me growing up. Here’s hoping they’ll get it… the only address I have is from about four years ago, no idea if it’s still current. Google wasn’t much help.

A lot of people were very nice last week, and I want to write about that. Some other people were inappropriate, and I want to write about that, too; but the niceness, in a way that tripped me up a little, is what I want to focus on first. If I can sort out my thoughts, of course.

My great-aunt Faye (whom I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years) hugged me tightly after the funeral service, and she even used the word “selfish,” but for some reason when she said it, it was comforting, just as she’d intended; even though Jenny was quick to assure me I’m not selfish. ;) But that’s another story.

Another thought I’ve had: what will happen when bloggers start dying? I know some already have, obviously; but I mean on a larger scale, like 40-50 years from now? I guess the larger question is what will blogs - or even the Internet as a whole - even look like at that point, and there’s no way to know; but I always find it sad and and a little unsettling when I come across a blog that hasn’t been updated in months or years, with no explanation - even if the truth is just that the blogger got tired of updating. It feels like there’s a missing chapter, no closure.

But I know, real life doesn’t have nice neat chapters and endings and such. Still, an abrupt cut-off just leaves me feeling unsettled.

I’m supposed to be working on my as-yet-nonexistent AlterNet piece, but instead I’m sitting here typing this. I know I’m making it out to be a way bigger deal than it is. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I’m all like, “Ooh, AlterNet, big-time internet publication, wowee, zowee, I’d be famous and stuff!” I don’t know if I was ever that particular brand of naive. But for some reason I got a bug up my ass and decided I wanted to try and write something about feminist choices, and how to define them, for a broader audience (insert questionable joke here: “…not just an audience of broads - ha ha ha!!1!”) So I emailed Jill, who is awesome and who also happens to be an AlterNet editor, and asked if they’d be interested; and she said yes, and I said I’d send her something in a few days.

But I’m stressed out about it the way that having a column in my high school newspaper stressed me out. It seemed like a good idea in theory, but when I had to actually get down to it and write something, it was like pulling teeth with myself. I think I ended up only writing two actual columns senior year, and they were both pretty contrived.

And yet I could go home and write ’til my wrist was cramped (and it took at lot more to do that back in the late 90s!) in my journal, scrawl poetry of various levels of emo-ness in my notebooks, type long rambling paragraphs of Opinion in a SimpleText file I kept on my Mac desktop; when I was younger than that, in elementary school, I could fill notebook upon notebook with stories and even what could arguably be called novels (at my parents’ house there are stacks of boxes labeled “Amber’s books she wrote”); and before I could actually write, I was dictating stories to my grandmother at age four.

I guess it’s that I don’t like feeling like I have to follow rules imposed by others? (And yet I’m a stickler for grammar! Ah, I am nothing if not self-contradictory. [I mean, just look at my fondness for parentheses!])

Hence the “I speak my own language” tag you see employed here frequently.

When I was in 4th grade, I won a creative writing contest and they wrote a little blurb about it in the local newspaper. I was quoted as saying, “When I grow up, I want to be a famous author.” It was cute at the time, because I was nine.

…

I don’t want to have to recant on Jill but I think I might. I think maybe this just isn’t the write right (ha, typo!) time for me to try to write something for somewhere other than my blog. I’m sure I’ll try again one day and it’ll come a lot more naturally.

For example, it came pretty naturally with the (never published) op-ed I wrote for the AJC - although I won’t lie, I spent an entire afternoon agonizing about every word and phrase, wanting to get everything right. But the result was, I think I did a bang-up job! Too bad the AJC, apparently, did not agree, but my feelings weren’t hurt; I wasn’t surprised, after all.

…

Tonight I read this post by Melissa, and it brought tears to my eyes. Silly, right? Well, I’ve always been highly emotional and sensitive, so that’s how it goes with me. No making fun.

I’m not sure what, exactly, about the post struck such a deep chord with me - but something obviously did.

I don’t care (that’s a lie; I do care, in spite of the other half of my brain telling me not to - I just try to pretend I don’t [fake it 'til you make it, right?]) what anybody else says; I think there is value in “life-blogging,” living your life online, whatever you want to call it. I might not be able to articulate exactly what that value is, but maybe that’s simply because there aren’t words for some things. But I feel it intuitively, which is how I experience a lot of things… it’s not popular and won’t get people to really believe you, and it sounds like a lot of hippie shit (note the tag), and yet that’s another characteristic I’ve always had: there are things I “just know,” even if I can’t say why.

This kind of writing - and thus blogging - comes naturally to me. The introspection is a huge part, definitely; introspection is kind of a thing of mine, and I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. I am an INFJ to the core. As a side note - this is why it bothers me SO MUCH when, on threads like the latest pushing-200-comments installation at Feministe, people are so free w/ their assumptions that if you haven’t come to the same conclusions as them, then you must not have examined properly. So go, forthwith, and examine your desires! Because obviously you haven’t, otherwise you would realize how bad and wrong they are, and you would sublimate, sublimate dammit! because it’s the right thing to do, otherwise you’re just pleasing the Patriarchy, because that’s all it can ever be about, really; it can’t be about you.

But back to Melissa’s post. -Well, hmm, what do I want to say about Melissa’s post? Actually, I don’t know; but it got me started typing all this.

More to come, perhaps. I think I need to send Jill an email now and apologize for wasting her time.

Hitting “Publish” now.

As I mentioned on Twitter yesterday, I am totally feeling Kim’s sentiment in this post. I could barely read the whole thing without breaking down in tears.

I didn’t vote for Hillary Clinton in the primary (I voted for Obama) but it wasn’t because I actively disliked her. No matter what kind of irrational vitriol people spewed about her, I’ve always had a fondness for her. And it isn’t “just because she’s a woman” (which pisses me off that that’s dismissed with a just so much of the time) - I mean take a look at the nice round-up Octo has of HRC’s (can’t type that without thinking Human Rights Campaign) policies and such - a lot of which is stuff she did FOR WOMEN, which yes, matters to me a whole hell of a lot and I will not allow that to be trivialized. (But we’re so used to putting our needs last, as women… why should this be any different?)

I will vote for Obama in the general election, of course; and I cannot comprehend the faulty logic of Democrats/progressives/non-Republicans/whatever who say they will vote for McCain as a protest against Hillary not getting the nomination.

BUT.

It will be hard - impossible, I’m sure - to forget all the bullshit that went down in this primary season. The blatant sexism on display with hardly anyone calling it out - and those who did dare to call it out getting ridiculed and shouted down.

Same as it ever was, right talking heads?

It will be very, very hard to ignore the way this all burned inside of me such that I didn’t even want to blog about it, because it felt, as so many things that never make their way to this blog do, too raw. Not coincidentally, that’s the same word Kim used.

And all this, coming from me, who typically feels disinterested in electoral politics! (Although I always vote, of course.) This whole brouhaha has reaffirmed for me why I don’t get heavily involved in political stuff or watch cable “news.”* It’s not just because I find it utterly boring to speculate on who will get what nomination and blah blah blah.

Side note re: cable “news:” To quote something Rusty said the other night as we watched Jon Stewart interview Scott McClellan… “Can you imagine what it would be like if the actual media asked the hard questions Jon Stewart asks?” To which I replied, “I think he can only get away with it because he can use the defense of being a comedy show, not real news. That’s how fucked up we’ve gotten with the media and our concept of news.”

Anyway.

Pre-emptive note, btw, to commenters… I don’t need anyone to lecture me about why BHO is a better candidate than HRC, why HRC sucks, or any of it. That’s not what this post is about, and such comments will be deleted. I think they both would have made great candidates - great Presidents, I should say - and I think they both have their pros and cons in terms of policies and politics.

But that’s never what it’s been about, of course. And accordingly that’s not what this post is about.

All I can end with is, well… the same thing I started with… *sigh*.

I know I said I’d respond to Griftdrift’s comment here - but I have yet to do it. I said, “I have a lot to say in response.” And I still do. But I don’t know if I have the emotional energy to try to type it all out in a way that makes sense, when I have this sneaking suspicion that I won’t be heard (whether from me not explaining well enough, or the reader just refusing to hear what I’m saying, or some combination, I don’t know; but it doesn’t matter in terms of energy expended on my part).

This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about when I said I’m not a real activist. I don’t have the stomach for it, and I can’t bear having endless discussions about the same thing over and over again. I’m a delicate fucking flower, apparently, and it’s all about my delicate fee-fees. But I’ve never pretended anything else. That’s why I’ve never labeled this blog a “political blog,” even though I do write about things that are arguably political. It’s because I don’t want to have those kinds of discussions all the time, because I just get too emotionally involved and I end up in tears.

Sometimes these kinds of discussions are easy (or at least easier) for me in a one-on-one, in-person situation, where the person and I can look each other in the eyes and notice body language and tone of voice and grasping for words. Sometimes I can’t convey what I mean nearly as well in writing - but strangely, there are other times when the opposite is true.

As for this particular discussion, it might be easier for me to have in person, but I would have to be able to trust that the person listening really is listening, and not just waiting for their turn to speak. Oh, have I mentioned all my trust issues? Yeah that’s another reason hardcore activism and politics isn’t something I can stomach.

During the final weeks of 2007, I was involved in some fairly nasty online drama (mostly not on blogs, which is why a lot of you may be scratching your heads and wondering what to search for on Technorati). I put up this post, this post, and this post alluding to said drama. I haven’t written anything extensive about what went down because the thought of doing so still feels too emotionally draining.

But I learned some important lessons during those weeks. First and foremost, I learned (more) about who I can and can’t trust, and in whose presence I should or shouldn’t open virtual veins. I wrestled with the concept of having a strong sense of self, and remembered the words of my therapist when I lived in Athens: “If you’re afraid what you’re going to do is ’selfish,’ do it. Because chances are, in your case it’s not,” and the words of my therapist when I lived in Texas: “I’m surprised to hear you weren’t raised Catholic, because you carry around an awful lot of guilt.” I battled between the inner voice that seems to always know, the one I should trust more often; and the inner voice that constantly second-guesses the first one.

I was called a lot of names, but the strangest one I was called was “liar.” I still don’t understand what I lied about (or what people perceive that I lied about). In fact, I was doing the opposite of lying; I was taking risks, opening veins, and making myself vulnerable. All of it was scary to do, but I thought it was an important exercise in breaking down defensive walls I put up around myself - and what better place to take such risks than in [what I thought was] a “safe space” among friends, allies, and generally interesting people. Unfortunately what I learned was that those walls should stay firmly in place, other than with the select few for whom the walls were already down anyway.

I’m not sure exactly where I’m going with this, but look: as I said in comments on a friend’s blog recently, for me blogging has always, fundamentally, been about feelings and emotions all that other hippie shit. That’s how I approach things, it’s what has worked for me throughout my life, and it’s what helps me keep a modicum of sanity. To use a small specific example, it’s why I don’t and never have labeled this blog a “political blog.”

Some people deride so-called navel-gazing, but for me, that’s what makes blogging great; when the walls come down, even just slightly, and you see a part of the person (not just an issue or a product or whatever)… it’s those moments that open a pathway for forming some seriously strong connections. And ya know, it’s really no different from how things work in meatspace.

Whenever I get all weirdly existential about stuff and have one of those hated “What does it all mean?!” moments or a bad case of the “what-ifs,” what I always come back to is this: It really doesn’t matter what it all means, in terms of there being some higher, universal meaning or something; what matters is that we’re here, now, alive, and we might as well make the most of the time we have. Or as my grandmother put it a few weeks ago, “You should always enjoy yourself when you can, because you never know what might happen to you.” Why would you want to do anything else?

I know there’s no unifying point to this post, but I just wanted to get some thoughts out. Oh, one other thing…

Vaguely related side note: I understand what Mistress Matisse is talking about. As I write this, I can practically feel the heavy breathing of commenters with their itchy typing fingers, just dying to tell me how this is all so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. As if I don’t know that. For example, when I was in the emergency room with my dad on Christmas Eve, you can rest assured it was nowhere in my mind. And this isn’t even touching on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle, or little everyday epiphanies.

Often, more than I let on, in fact, I get this feeling like I’m an impostor or something. Like I don’t quite “fit” in a certain space, and it can manifest as a feeling of others not wanting me there, or as me feeling as if they wouldn’t want me there if they knew certain things about me or heard certain things I would like to say.

This feeling has been a recurring theme throughout my life but I’ve been noticing it cropping up a lot lately.

It’s funny how the perception of a person can be totally different depending on who they’re around. Freshman year of college, I was considered the “bold” and “daring” one among my suitemates. Sophomore year of college, suddenly I was the “quiet” and “buttoned-up” one among my new set of suitemates. Same me, but I fell into a different place on the spectrum based on who I was around.

Being an occasional activist and/or cheerleader for a variety of things has brought this perception-based-on-context phenomenon into sharp focus lately. I can be with one group of activists (side note: I really don’t like the word “activist,” but I can’t think of a better one) and feel like I’m the boring representation of the status quo because I’m not a queer socialist vegan Thelemite POC in a polyamorous BDSM relationship working at a down-on-its-luck NGO. The next day I can be with another group and feel like the outlier because I’m a woman, a feminist, a tech nerd, open about sexuality, relatively kinky in relation to the group of the moment, quick to use the P word (”privilege”) when I feel it’s not being considered, and I don’t feel the need to make disparaging remarks about the queer socialist vegan Thelemite POC.

A few recent examples…
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October is always my favorite month. I can’t put my finger on exactly why (I swear it’s not just because my birthday is at the end of it), but the weather plays a huge part. October weather in Georgia is just perfect to me. The air gets a certain autumny smell that makes me feel refreshed and generally optimistic.

A lot of shit has gone down over the past month and a half, and a lot of it has been (and currently remains) un-bloggable. It’s certainly not going away with the advent of October, but things are feeling so much better overall. We’re in our new apartment in Decatur, which feels way more like home than the old place ever did, even with furniture positioned haphazardly and boxes still stacked everywhere. Our plan is to stay here for a year, and then buy a place. This is going to be a good year.

And October is going to be a good month! It’ll be a busy month, but busy with good, fun, life-affirming stuff.

Upcoming awesomeness for October:

• Oct. 5: North Fulton Drama Club’s production of Merry Wives of Windsor.
• Oct. 6: Harvest ‘07 Erotic Art Show
• Oct. 12-13: BarCamp Atlanta
• Oct. 14: PoleLaTeaz student showcase - I’m performing!!! :D More details to follow.
• Oct. 18: Sex, Wine and Chocolate. (If you’re planning to come, buy your tickets now; space is limited.)
• Oct. 19-20: ConvergeSouth - I’m leading a session entitled “Podcasting and Beyond.” (Hmm, gotta make some PowerPoint slides this week… but only a few, I promise!)
• Oct. 21: After we leave Greensboro we’ll be visiting the Carolina Raptor Center, and then moseying back toward Atlanta, stopping along the way to photograph various small towns and Southern oddities.
• Oct. 22: Day off work for continued moseying if necessary, or sleep and whatever else.
• Oct. 26: Club 2Risqué new facility opening party.
• Oct. 28: Recording a new episode of the GA Politics Podcast at Manuel’s. (This is the part where I sit around and sip tea while other people talk about politics).
• Oct. 30: My birthday a.k.a. 28 Years of Amber Rhea.

Somewhere in there I’ve gotta find time to do mundane things like renew my driver’s license and upgrade the blog to WordPress 2.3, but that hardly warrants placement on the List of Awesomeness. Oh, and Jenny… are you still coming to visit? :)

Do you think the question, “Why are we here?” is irrelevant? Why or why not?

Molly Holzschlag posted an excerpt from Marianne Willamson. It’s very timely that she posts this, because just a few days ago I was thinking of this passage and trying to locate it. I couldn’t remember who it was by, but I remembered that Belledame had posted it a few times. I wasn’t able to find it, though. And now, how serendipitous! So I figure I’ll repost it here, for reference and inspiration.

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
And, as we let our own light shine,
we consciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

Interestingly, I seem to remember “child of God” being “child of the universe.” Which I guess just goes to show that Marianne Willamson, like me, doesn’t insist you hang your hat on the Judeo-Christian idea of God in order to be fully self-actualized.

I think I need to remind myself of these words on a daily basis. I really do.

I don’t have much to say today, but Faith has written a beautiful post that I could relate to so much it was almost scary at some points. (I don’t agree that female sexuality in general is more potent than male sexuality, because I don’t believe most of those “in general” statements based on gender, and sexuality is a very complex and nuanced subject; but, if I had to agree 100% with every blogger I link to, I wouldn’t link to anyone.) So I’m just going to quote heavily from that.

It’s hard to pick and choose which parts to quote, but these are the parts that resonated with me the most:

I’m tired of fearing that I will be laughed at, yelled at, or abandoned by those I care about if I speak my true feelings.

and

I’m tired of the double-standards. I’m tired of being told it’s normal for men to have sex with as many women as they can get their hands on while I’m supposed to give myself to one man for his own personal use and protection.

and

I’m tired of being made to question my intuition because the things I feel make the people in my life so insecure. I’m tired of being told my feelings are not valid just because they are inconvenient to the person hearing them.

I might put up a brave face on my blog sometimes, but in reality, I worry and struggle with this stuff a lot. Maybe not as much as I used to, or not in the same way; but I do. I don’t give a shit what most people think, it’s true; but with the people I care about and value in my life? Well, they mean the world to me, and I constantly (well, not constantly, but you know what I mean) worry that something I will say or do (or not say or do) will anger or hurt them, and I’ll lose them. I know it’s irrational, and it stems from issues from my childhood (thank god for therapy, or I’d be way worse!) - and yet, there it is. Those old, early lessons are hard to shake. They become hard-wired, and I think you just have to train your brain not to automatically respond in the way you’ve become accustomed to.

That’s my theory, anyway. I’m working on it.

(My next post will be more upbeat and will be about the cool things Rusty and I have planned for the upcoming ~6 months.)

Over at Sherry’s blog, I said:

I like blogs where you get to see pieces of who the writer actually is. How much of themselves they reveal is the choice of each blogger; but I do like when I feel like the blogger is sharing *something*. This is why blogs that are purely “industry blogs” or single-topic blogs bore me to tears. I can read anywhere about what X technology does or what Y politician said. But that doesn’t keep me coming back. What keeps me coming back and wanting to read more is passion.

At which point, my train of thought went where it always does when I think about this stuff for too long, which is down the track of deconstructing everything, and ended up at, “OH WHY ARE WE HERE” (said in your best Goth teen angst voice).

I really hate when that happens.

So, when it does, I decide to change the subject. Because really, what’s the point in entertaining that kind of existential question. It’s not productive and it just leaves me feeling creeped out. If some sort of resolution is demanded (by my psyche or by obnoxious third parties), I usually refer to Cake’s words of wisdom: “As soon as you’re born you start dying / So you might as well have a good time.” It might sound morbid to some, but I think it’s inspiring. It’s basically saying, “We’re here and there’s no getting around that; so let’s make the best of it, dammit!”

When NaDruBloDa rolls around, maybe I’ll finally let down all of my inhibitions and post all the shit I’ve always WANTED to post but never did, for various reasons. (Except the stuff I haven’t posted because I’m afraid it might get me sued. I doubt I’d get drunk enough to lose ALL sense.)

You know I’ve been trying to battle self-censorship, as much as I can. I need to sit back and remember, sometimes, what this blog was supposed to be for in the first place. A place for me to write whatever I want - and not have to worry about each and every word, turn of phrase, etc. and how it might be interpreted. Because fuck it all, this blog was supposed to be for ME, not for anyone else. And even though I’ve mostly gotten over the fact that, for example, my mom reads it (even though she says she doesn’t), because I’m a goddamn grown woman and I shouldn’t worry about whether or not I have a potty mouth around my mommy… but still, just in general, there’s a block there. I think it’s because I blog under my real name.

Just now, on my iPod, Liz Phair says: “Listen here young lady, all that matters is what makes you happy.”

This is stream of consciousness, while I wait for the software we’re using at work to come back up. (They had to do a server restart or somesuch bullshit.)

Here’s something seemingly random. I’m sick to death of people saying “There are tons of sex positive messages in this society, everywhere I look.” Sorry, no. Cosmo and Glamour aren’t the pinnacles of a sex-positive society. Paris Hilton ain’t it. GGW sure as shit ain’t it. Next.

I found this to be an interesting article. I know what the criticisms of it will be, and some of it’s legit, but goddamn, it’s a quick post on the web, not a master’s thesis. I will probably write about this in more detail later, but here is one of my favorite excerpts:

While American culture remains very puritanical and sex-negative - and sex is used to sell everything from car waxes to diet colas to Britney Spears’ “music” - pornography is one of the only genres that advocates for positive sexual experimentation, openness and expression. The porn that we need more of is the kind that portrays men and women as sexual equals and revels in the glories of mutual pleasure between willing individuals, whether involving one, two or more.

It also includes a reference to Ellen Willis. Kickass.

Also, here’s something I wrote on a thread at RenEv’s blog. The italicized part is me quoting another commenter:

*sigh*… for anyone who wonders why RE gets REALLY FUCKING ANNOYED sometimes…

It’s just that I question your motives as to why you prefer the work (really look deep inside - but it’s your choice as to how deep), and you say you have no problem having sex with men you do not fancy - why? I am just trying to understand.

See… if I were RE, I would NOT be able to remain as patient and calm as she does. I mean, *I* am sick of such questions, and I’m not even a sex worker! It gets old real fast when people are constantly demanding you explain yourself, MORE and MORE, no, look DEEPER, what are your REAL motivations, you must tell ME, I need to know, oh and let me pick at you JUST A LITTLE BIT MORE if you don’t mind…

- hey, why are you being so pissy?? Did I hit a nerve? Did I hit a truth you don’t want to admit to yourself??

Um, no, you were just being an insufferable asshole!!

This is how it goes.

And look, Anon? Best of intentions or not? I don’t really care at the moment, because this: “really look deep inside - but it’s your choice as to how deep)” just sounds REALLY assholish.

If it were me you were speaking to, I’d say, “Hey, fuck off! K thx bye.”

Speaking your truth is powerful. In fact, it might be one of the most powerful things out there that we as individuals can do.

Later I will post my pole dancing video and we can take bets as to who will be the first to talk about how falsely conscious I am. Oh, by the way, Kim says:

For our Becauses, we don’t need to explain and justify.

Matter of fact, our Becauses are maybe best kept to ourselves, at least in part.

Because sometimes, our Becauses belong in only in our souls, as trying to explain can change them in ways.

Anyway. Software’s back up. Gotta get back to work. I have so much shit to do today. I’ll be at work til 8:00, then I’ve got plenty of other stuff to do after that. I’m not complaining, just saying. Also, thank god for my iPod, or I think I would punch some of the people I’m sitting in this room with.

Reminder: Rusty and I will be on the radio Thursday.

Hmm, looks like I spoke too soon about Akismet… it let 3 spam comments slip through. But, the actual comment field was empty, for reasons I will not divulge. Still, it’s a huge improvement. It’s already caught 20 spam comments. So, I think it’s safe to say that any of you who’ve ditched my comments RSS should feel free to resubscribe.

But that’s not why I started writing this post. This is:

I love this post by The Happy Feminist. What she’s writing about goes hand-in-hand with my post from yesterday, about the importance of speaking openly about things that are stigmatized in our society. I even used mental illness as one example.

I was tempted not to go into my personal issues on this blog out of a fear of playing into anti-feminist stereotypes of the screwed up feminist. But freedom means not having to pretend to be superhuman just because I am a feminist. Although feminists are often very strong, tough women, being a feminist does not guarantee a woman invincibility, nor should we allow ourselves to be forced to hold to that standard.

To that I say, rock on, Happy Feminist!

As someone who has been in therapy and on anti-depressant medication for about 10 years now (not continuously; I went periods of months and even years without seeing a therapist), I feel very strongly about this. I decided long ago (”…never to walk in anyone’s shadow” - oh, wait… ahem) that I was not going to perpetuate the stigma against and ignorance about depression, therapy, etc. I knew people who were or had been in therapy but didn’t talk about it. As if they were ashamed. I decided I was not going to play that shit. And so, for damn near 10 years now, I’ve talked openly, honestly, and unashamedly about my experiences, and have called lots of people on lots of bullshit. And, quite a few people have thanked me for being so open about it, saying it helped them to confront their own issues.

Speaking of health… mental and otherwise… Heather Corinna of Scarleteen has posted an awesome round-up of all the important information regarding OTC EC. (Attack of the acronyms!!) This is an amazing resource she’s put together… especially because it’s damn near impossible to find out anything definitive about how the legality of all of this will be played out. You should bookmark it, immediately.

Well, I should probably get to bed… I’m in that weird state right now of being tired, but not. (That probably makes no sense; oh well.) I have a list of things I need to do tomorrow, but fortunately I think it’s manageable; so I don’t feel overwhelmed (yet).

And, hey! If you have anything at all you want to say, about me, this blog, the Georgia Podcast Network, podcasts in general, anything… call the GAPN voicemail-slash-rantline at 678.389.9441. Otherwise we’ll just look like the unpopular kid sitting alone at the lunch table, and that’s no fun for anyone.

Ten days from now, my blog will celebrate its 4th birthday. This impending anniversary has me contemplating (again) the nature of blogging - or more specifically, the nature of my blogging, and where I want to go with it.

I feel a drive to be more open in what I write; to write about things I might never have considered “making public” a few years ago. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating… I have immense respect for bloggers that take the risk of putting themselves out there and showing the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. What they’re doing is showing real life. This is something that’s unique to blogging; it gives you the chance to show a more complete picture of yourself than people would get through other interactions, in blow-by-blow form. Not all blogs do this, of course; but I cannot convey the admiration I have for the ones that do.

Two posts spurred this line of thinking today - one from Always Aroused Girl and another from Miss Syl. These are some seriously strong women. I love that their blogs also feature, on occasion, raunchy sex talk, romance, musing about life in general, sarcastic asides, and posts about countless other topics large and small. Blogs such as theirs may not have a single focus (although plenty of people call them “sex blogs” simply because they write about sex at all), but I think these kinds of blogs are actually some of the most important, because they show that people are complex in their humanity - a point that seems so basic, but one that very few people truly comprehend. Cheese alert: These blogs provide a way for people to relate, connect, and share.

Shorter version of the previous graf: These blogs help people.

So! I’d like to write about more, put more of myself out there. But part of me is still reluctant. Not out of embarassment or anything like that; but mainly because I blog using my real name. While I wouldn’t have been happy with a purely pseudonymous blog all these years, I recognize that writing about some things is easier when you’re writing with a pseudonynm. On the other hand, there’s that always-defiant side of me that wants to just go ahead and post whatever the hell I feel like (except for stuff about work; that’s a non-issue) and dare someone to judge me or fire me because of it.

Oh, and time is an issue, too. I’d love to be able to just write all day long. But until I find someone who will pay me to sit around and blog about this, that, and the other thing, I’ll have to sneak in posts when I find the time.

I guess we’ll just see what happens.

Today is an important personal anniversary. I can’t believe it’s already March - and I can’t believe today marks 1 year since I went to Jefferson’s sex party in NYC. (Thanks are due to Dacia for that; and Jefferson, obviously.) How time flies.

I knew it at the time, but especially now reflecting at the 1-year mark, I can say with certainty that going to that party was much more than just going to a party for me. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself; it signified a huge turning point in my life. I know this sounds cheesy, like I’m assigning an awful lot of weighty significance to a sex party, and also kind of like a Hallmark greeting card; but I’m for reals, y’all.

It’s been one hell of a year since then. Overall things have been very, very good. There’s been some shittiness in there, to be sure, but there always is; the awesomeness to shittiness ratio has been very high over the past 12 months. I am a lucky person.

Oh, and yes, I realize this blog post has high dooce potential - not because I’m blogging about work, of course, but because my real name is on my blog and OMG what if my boss sees that his astute web developer is a dirty slut??!?1? People have been fired for less. But you know what, I don’t care. I am tempting the fates of the internets and putting my shit out there. Every day I care less and less what people might think about what I write herein.

Somewhat related: Bitch Ph.D.’s post about pseudonymous blogging. Maybe I kind of fucked myself by putting my real name in the title of my blog 4 years ago; and if I were to start over, I might just go by first name alone. But then again, maybe not. I know people are free to share as much or as little as they choose of their real selves on blogs, and there can be quite a feeling of freedom in pseudonymous blogging - but I’ve always had this thing where I feel compelled to be real (not just when it comes to blogging), even if it has potential to bite me in the ass. So there it is.

Hmm, this wasn’t supposed to develop into a treatise about the relative merits of pseudonymous and eponymous blogging. Oh well, I am nothing if not prone to tangents.

Anyway. Here’s to turning points! <clink>

I have got to stop underestimating myself. I need to learn that I am awesome and I can accomplish all kinds of great things when I put my mind to it.

Today was a weird day. All day, I was feeling simultaneously a) stressed/peeved/harried (mainly about work-related crap), b) sensitive/defensive/wanting to cower in a corner somewhere and throw stuff at people, and c) pretty damn pleased with myself. A bizarre conglomerate of emotions, to be sure.

I think one of my problems (and oh, there are many, apparently) is that on some level, I do care too much what others think of me. That’s not always the case. And it certainly doesn’t apply to everyone. But sometimes, if I’m in a vulnerable mood or whatever, shit can start to get to me… and I worry about how other people are viewing me or what they think. Then I get all self-conscious and worried and feel generally shitty. I mean, I know no one is totally confident all the time but… man that shit sucks.

But, fundamentally, what it comes down to is this. I know who I am. I know myself better than anyone, obviously; I know who I am, and I like that person. Really, I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, or scurry around looking for the perfect words and wondering what kind of judgements people are making about me. And I need to remind myself, too, that someone’s perception of you often has a lot to do with their perception of themselves. Yeah, yeah, I know, pop psychology 101 - but STFU, because it’s true.

And my dearest, closest friends truly know me, too. As long as I’m cool with myself and with the most important people in my life, then hey, that’s really all I need to worry about.

In other news, I was supposed to go to the Feminist Women’s Health Center fundraising workshop tonight, but work totally kicked my ass today and I needed a night to just sit on the couch with my iBook and not think about much of anything. I feel kind of guilty about missing the workshop, but not too badly, because I reminded myself that I gotta take care of #1. Today was weird enough without me having to go be all political and faux-social. Also, I think I can only take political action in small doses… this may or may not be related to my natural introversion. In any case, I send Planned Parenthood and NARAL monthly checks, and occasionally actually participate in something (and feel really good when I do, so it’s a good thing). Overall, I’m just doing my best to enjoy life moment by moment, dammit. Celebrate the good by reinforcing it.

I’m rambling. A handful of you may be able to discern particular things I’m hinting at herein - but maybe not, since I am the Queen of Abstruseness. (And Jenny and Niki, I know I still owe you an email. It’s coming, I promise.)

In other other news, apparently Tony Simon hates me. Ooh!

Obligatory reference to outdoor urination aside, Ken has an excellent blog entry today. This is my favorite bit (hope you don’t mind the shout-out, Ken) —

Why are you living this life?I’m living to enjoy my family, to challenge myself, and to enjoy those who dream.I am very sad for the families of the dead, on all sides. I am sadder that Americans find it so easy to relate only to those people who share the same strip malls, tampons, and cheese fries.So what? Tomorrow I do more of the nothingness that makes up my day. I bet you are more Buddhist than you would dispute.

There is so much in this world to be depressed and distraught about; so much needless pain and suffering and injustice. Thinking about it can be staggering. Do not misunderstand me; I do not try to ignore the injustice or sweep it under a rug or stay comfortably shielded in my cloak of tenuous middle-class mythology. I do not want to start the sentence immediately following that last one with the word “but”. I’m not sure what my point it. I suppose it is this: given all the “bad” out there, and given the fact that we’re only on this earth, in this life, for the blink of an eye, we have to do what we can to make the most of it and find good wherever we can. Good can — and should — be found in the mundane, the every day. You just have to work at it sometimes.If I weren’t so averse to formally labeling myself as anything, I might just become a Buddhist — formally. Whatever that means.Some observations:

• I’m not feeling motivated about my blog software lately. I think I’ll put it on hold until the next wave of inspiration strikes. Which could be tomorrow, or next month.
• I’m taking a trip to Boston for my 25th birthday, to visit some friends from NYU whom I haven’t seen in almost 5 years.
• I took a nap from 6:40 PM to 9:00 PM tonight.
• As of approximately 8:45 this morning, I am “officially”, “legally” single again. It doesn’t matter.