Being Amber Rhea

I am so irritated! A few weeks ago I bought a new vacuum cleaner. It’s a Dirt Devil and I can’t really tell if it has an actual model number or name, but it says “D2″ and “Reaction Fresh” on it. I resisted getting the super-fancy super-expensive Dyson because I thought it was silly to spend that much money on a vacuum cleaner. Maybe if I just had tons of money burning a hole in my pocket, but as a normal person, no. So I bought the “mid-range,” I guess… I don’t remember exactly how much it cost but probably like $130-$150?

I used to have a great vacuum cleaner that I got as a wedding present in 2000 and then I got rid of it in 2006 when I moved… I don’t remember why now. I think maybe it died… it must have, I wouldn’t have just thrown it away for no good reason. Anyway after that I had a crappy little thing that I bought for like $30 because I didn’t have much money to spare. Finally I got sick of it and even though I hate spending money I decided to buy a better one. But maybe this wasn’t a better one after all! You know what it does? It shoots a bunch of stuff out the back! I was trying to figure out how that even could happen, and I can’t see anyway. So I don’t understand. I haven’t taken it apart or anything yet, because first I want to talk to the manufacturer (I already tried calling but they’re closed on Sundays; I’ll try back tomorrow even though they’ll probably be out for the holiday, so it’ll probably be Tuesday before I talk to them).

Can anyone recommend a good vacuum cleaner that actually works? I don’t want to keep throwing money away (and really I think I should get my money back, or a replacement that works, for this one). Having a clean home is very important to my mental health. I cannot function well in a space that is not clean. And that brings me to another rant… my ex used to make fun of me about that. Never again!! It is not okay to mock something that’s important to me, especially when it’s, oh, not being a slob like your nasty ass. Anyway. That’s another rant for another time. Right now I just want to get to the bottom of this vacuum cleaner issue!

If you haven’t read Amanda’s series of posts chronicling her now-completed stint at Bella’s, you are really missing out on some of the best, most insightful writing in a long time. So get on over there and read it. I’ll wait.

Tonight as I was trying to catch up on my almost 300 unread posts in Bloglines (I’ve been on a self-mandated break from reading many blogs other than a select few; this crap really made me feel down in the dumps about blogging for a while), I noticed that someone else, heretofore unknown-to-me blogger Mariko Passion, has now started a journal of her experiences at Bella’s. Cool! Maybe Amanda has started a trend.

Recently I had dinner w/ Lia of Star Light Ministries. And, no surprise, she is awesome. At one point during our extended dinner conversation, we were talking about all the assumptions that are made about women in sex work, and the problem of assuming that the goal of a ministry for sex workers is for the workers to “get out” of sex work. Because as Lia said, that’s judging the work they do and therefore judging them. Plus it’s just the same old stereotypes - obviously no woman would want to be in sex work, obviously they would all do something else if only they had the chance, etc. ad nauseum. I said that even though I feel like it’s not a popular thing to say in activist communities, because I feel like it makes me look like I’m being selfish (ah, that old meme in my head) or shifting the focus, the truth is that beyond just being irritated w/ these assumptions on general principles, I also take them personally. Sex work is something I’ve been drawn to for a long time - at least 10 years - and although as of now I haven’t actually done anything about it, I do take offense to the notion that there must be some pathological explanation for my interest in sex work. I know myself, I know how I feel, and I know that I feel that sex work is something that is interesting/appealing to me. You don’t have to understand it, but hey, I don’t understand why some people want to become lawyers or sales reps or flight attendants, so there you go. I’m smart, responsible, self-aware, capable - and I shouldn’t have to go into this defensive mode of justifying myself, but that’s how it always happens.

Lia asked why I hadn’t tried sex work. With stripping, my answer used to be* that I couldn’t walk in heels, much less dance (with or without heels). That’s obviously no longer a problem, but my issues with it now are:

• I don’t know of any non-smoking strip clubs in Atlanta. Being around cigarette smoke for extended periods of time, especially in poorly-ventilated areas, gives me a pounding headache and makes me feel generally like shit.
• I hate approaching strangers. I really just can’t do it; I get panicky about it. So obviously a job where I have to hustle for lap dances isn’t a good fit for me.
• The bullshit. We’ll come back to this in a minute.

As for escorting or even stuff like FBSM, when Lia asked why I’d never done it, my answer was much shorter: “I’m afraid of getting arrested.” That’s it, plain and simple. And more specifically, I’m afraid of getting arrested and being victimized by the cops. Insert here yet another diatribe about the importance of decriminalization of prostitution.

(To be fair, there are other issues w/ escorting in particular, like the fact that it seems like you have to pretend to give a shit about what the clients are talking about, really really enjoy their company and hang on their every fascinating word… and as Dacia has said about herself, I, too, have no poker face. I have tons of respect for people who can do it, but I just can’t. But that’s not really relevant, because there are many other kinds of sex work that are vaguely escort-like but not as focused on being a companion.)

Lia said she thought I should (only if I wanted to, of course) do what Amanda was doing: try a brief stint at a legal brothel and just see how it goes. I told her there’s no way I would do that. Why? Because of the bullshit.

Just read Amanda’s posts and you’ll see what I’m talking about. The nickel-and-diming with all kinds of fees. The customers trying to lowball you all the time. The cabin fever. Having to do shifts on the damn CB radio.

And the stuff that’s not just annoying, but potentially dangerous: The lack of adequate security. The creepy (yet required by law - ’cause prostitution is legal and therefore the girls are safe, see!) doctor. The drunkenness of customers, and of people to whom you’re entrusting your safety. The lack of easy access to an exit in case of an emergency. The pressure to potentially put one’s health at risk for the sake of not letting “money” walk out the door.

Obviously all jobs have their annoyances. But these are above and beyond what I could put up with. The second set, the ones that are downright dangerous, are obviously conditions that no job should have, ever. The first set, the “annoyances,” all exemplify a huge pet peeve of mine, something that just drives me up a wall: micromanagement by people on little power trips.

It seems to me that that’s what’s behind a lot of this stuff. It’s the same at strip clubs, with the house fees and drink quotas and tipping every damn person on staff… on and on… to me it reeks of people trying to control things and make themselves feel like Oooh Big Important People in whatever tiny way possible. Insecurity. Bred out of a stigmatized industry, not surprisingly. It seems like a vicious cycle.

Major respect to Amanda for doing this and documenting it. What she’s doing is extremely important, and she is an amazing person to have the patience to deal with it at all. I really can’t convey how much respect I have for her w/ this series.

One thing’s sure, her posts have confirmed what I’d suspected for a long time: if I were to be an escort (or whatever), I’d be independent, no doubt about it. Of course I have plenty of issues w/ freelancing in general, but in this case it is definitely the way to go, no question.

* And just look at the comments on that thread for a perfect example of the “explanations on demand” thing. It’s crazy-making, I tell you.

This is my initial list. Rusty might have other things to add that are important to him.

• Energy efficient - So our power bill won’t be exorbitant (this is probably my #1 priority)
• Good plumbing, wiring, etc.
• Room for a permanent pole
• Two bathrooms - It’s very important to me to have my own bathroom.
• Inside the Perimeter
• Not too big - I don’t want to accumulate a lot of crap just for the sake of filling up space; and anyway, big houses don’t feel “homey” to me.
• Small/low-maintenance yard (plant a few shrubs, pay somebody to cut the grass every one in a while, and you’re done) OR a patio home
• Hardwood floors - Not a dealbreaker, but a very strong preference. Carpet isn’t as hygienic or as aesthetically pleasing.

So a few days ago Grayson was kicked off the front page of Peach Pundit. I don’t read Peach Pundit, because I find the place toxic and can’t bear to be there for even a few seconds without feeling ill (and no, I’m not exaggerating), so I wouldn’t have known if someone else hadn’t told me. Frankly I don’t understand why so many people seem to bow to Peach Pundit even though it’s blatantly obvious that the place is not trying to be some comprehensive resource for Georgia politics, and exists only as a place for the nastiest version of the old boys club, moved online, to jerk themselves off and feel better about themselves by hurling around schoolyard insults. Problem being, of course, that when you’re in a position of power and privilege relative to those who are on the receiving end of the hurling, it’s not something that can be written off with “just ignore it” or “they’re just idiots.” I mean, they are idiots, but they’re idiots whose words and actions can have real-world effects. This is why the “just ignore it” trope never worked for me. (Well, this and other, related reasons.) Not everyone has the luxury of “just ignoring it” - because if you do, something terrible and very real might happen.

That said, I do my best to “ignore it” by simply not visiting Peach Pundit. I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment without adding that heaping mound of BS. There isn’t room in my brain to deal with the drama of a bunch of disaffected white guys who totally aren’t sexist, so why don’t you shut up about it already… geez why are you so oversensitive, you humorless bitch? Also, you’re ugly, and probably a lesbian (because that would be the worst thing!), and I would never fuck you (such a loss!), etc. etc.

This is my lived experience. This is the lived experience of countless other women. No, you do not get to question it or invalidate it. THIS IS MY TRUTH. IT IS REAL.

So anyway, I didn’t know about Grayson being kicked off until Rusty told me about it. I thought, “Huh, that’s fucked up” but didn’t think more because like I said, there’s just not room in my brain right now for the PP bullshit - I have more important things I need to think about. I never understood why Grayson wrote there in the first place; the few times I would go over to PP (before I imposed a self-ban for the sake of my mental health) I would see her getting attacked and abused constantly, and no one did a damn thing about it. As for why she continued to write there, the only thing I could think was it was like Melissa’s reason for persevering at Valleywag (a place I find comparably hostile, if not as openly Republican):

My tactic has been to go ahead and take my stories where they dare not go, breaking with this whole “pink ghetto” nonsense as a game — I want to see what happens when I refuse to believe that there’s a certain way to be authentic and there’s a certain “right” audience for my work. Being a whore has made me very, very comfortable with letting people think I’m everything they want me to be for them, even as I’m doing (mostly) what I please.

And I really respect that. Coincidentally, Melissa put up that post right around the time I quit Download Squad. Some people can stand up to that sort of abuse, and not let it get them down, and stay focused on what they’re trying to do, and hopefully reach even just 1 person out of 1,000. I can’t. I don’t think that makes me weak or not as good of a writer/blogger/idealist/whatever or not as dedicated… or whatever else people might be prone to say. Those accusations are the easy way out, the way to cast judgment without taking a deeper look at all the layers of a situation.

Going back to Melissa’s quote above, the part I’m not comfortable with is letting people think I’m a [x], when really I’m doing my own thing. I have my moments; in certain situations, I can handle that. But overall? I have this need for people to understand, and anything else feels out of whack in my system, and I can’t deal. I know that’s a hindrance to me, because there are some people who just won’t understand, plain and simple, because of their own shit, no matter how much I try to explain and be clear and find the point of communication breakdown. I wish I could get over that, though, because I know it’s pragmatism (which I am a huge fan of); that’s how you get what you need done. I guess for me, getting what I need done has to take other avenues, for now.

As for Grayson’s situation at Peach Pundit, let me be very clear(!) that this has fuck-all to do with the substance of her writing there: was it on topic, was it off topic, was it inflammatory, blah blah blah. I don’t know, because I didn’t read it; and I don’t care. It’s immaterial to my concerns. To try to drag that into the conversation is to divert attention from the larger issue and to move dangerously close to “blame the victim” territory. What I care about is the pattern of behavior. This is how women are treated online. This is the same old shit over and over again, regardless of the particulars of the situation of the moment. This is how male bloggers go around their ass to get to their elbow, anything, my god, to avoid admitting that yeah, there’s a gendered explanation for what they’re doing, and the problem is with them, and it’s not okay.

This exhausts me. I don’t know how many times I have to repeat the same basic shit. And it’s not about my personal feelings for one blogger or another. It’s about a pattern of behavior. I can hardly even bear to type this because it feels so ridiculously repetitive - and it just upsets me. A lot.

Here’s an IM conversation between Rusty and me, from a few days ago. Ideally, I would write a totally well-thought-out, well-written post based on this conversation, complete with links and citations and references; instead, I’m letting it stand alone.

[15:55] Rusty: saw the email re: grayson…on one hand feel sort of bad for piling on, but on the other can’t really help but be a little disappointed that she got pretty viciously personal about it
[15:56] Amber: yeah, but i don’t think it’s really an appropriate time to focus on that. it reminds me of ppl who try to pretend all things are equal when they’re not. it’s like, why focus on that (whcih sucked and was uncalled for, no one is denying that) and not the MOUNTAIN of SHIT they’ve heaped on her?
[15:57] Amber: it’s like, you do one little thing that’s “out of line” when you’re dealing with people shitting all over you, and THAT is what gets focused on/ called out. i’ve seen it a lot ’round my blogosphere travels, and it bothers me.
[15:59] Rusty: thing is, she has been writing tons of irrelevant posts on the site..and yeah, other people write some, but with her it was like more than half her posts were that way…erick has been kind of spineless about reigning that in, hence exposing her to a lot of abuse that could have been avoided
[16:00] Amber: well see, i think that’s erick’s fault
[16:00] Amber: it’s his responsibility, as editor, to tell ppl when they are writing off topic stuff and make sure they don’t continue
[16:00] Rusty: yeah, which is something I mentioned in my blog post
[16:01] Amber: i know, which further shows that the playing field isn’t even. it’s like, why focus on her remark, rather than his lack of holding up his responsibilities, and then just pulling the plug? that was a shitty and unprofessional (and he wants to be “professional” which is why i pull that out) thing to do
[16:04] Rusty: it was still an uncool remark that I can’t let slide without saying something, even all other things considered…how devastating would it be if someone started talking her and her kid? I don’t think that’s acceptable under any circumstance
[16:05] Amber: it’s not acceptable, and i don’t disagree w/ that. but why let all of the other bullshit abuse she’s taken slide, and not this?
[16:05] Rusty: I don’t think I’m letting it slide
[16:06] Amber: it’s been going on for months… so my thing is, when ppl do this, it’s like, ok, yeah, that one thing was shitty, but how about this mountaitn of shit that’s been going on for a long time and is much worse? why did that never warrant a calling-out? why pile on the person being shat on at this particular time?
[16:07] Rusty: well, take the thing with jefferson…lots of people have been letting a lot of shitty behavior slide for a long time and are just now talking about it publicly..you included…that doesn’t invalidate any of it
[16:08] Amber: i see this as a different situation, bc jefferson has a court case going on with real-world implications and is asking for money
[16:09] Amber: i think what pushed a lot of ppl over the edge w/ him is that he’s asking for $20,000
[16:10] Rusty: yeah, certainly that’s greater motivation than in this case…but sometimes it takes a big public display to draw those comments out
[16:11] Amber: i think in the case w/ grayson, it’s pretty lopsided
[16:11] Amber: i’ve just seen this happen far too often in some of the blog circles i frequent, esp. with women… it happened to me at download squad, for example
[16:12] Amber: ppl left some vile, misogynistic comments on my post - personal comments -and nobody said a word. but the minute i did something i maybe shouldn’t have - twittered that the commenters were assholes - everybody was all over my shit
[16:12] Amber: now you tell me that’s fair
[16:16] Rusty: nope, not fair at all…and I’m not at all arguing that grayson has been treated fairly there…she hasn’t…but while erick may be tangentially responsible for some vile things said to her through his editorial negligence, he never personally attacked her…and she brought his parenting into it…I still think that’s beyond the pale even given the history
[16:19] Amber: he never personally attacked her, but he never defended her, either. and in a way that’s worse. at download squad, grant never personally attacked me, but he never stepped in to say anything to the misogynistic commenters, either - and as editor that was his responsibility. and i think that’s worse. it stinks.
[16:21] Rusty: it’s definitely shitty. but again, I’m disappointed that she went there because it makes the job of defending her very difficult. it was a fucked up thing to say
[16:23] Amber: it totally was. and i thnk there’s a way to point that out w/o making it seem slanted like “let’s focus on this one thing she said while people were treating her like garbage”. there’s a way to say that personal attacks are uncalled for, and use that as one example - but point out that the MOUNTAIN of unprovoked, awful comments she endured for months with no defense are a million other examples, and the silence on the matter has been deafening
[16:25] Rusty: I think I tried to acknowledge that in my post
[16:25] Rusty: I think there are problems with Peach Pundit, and that Grayson has taken abuse there that is disproportionate to any wrongs she is alleged to have committed prior to today.
[16:26] Amber: i just don’t think that point has been made - by anyone, me included, and that’s my bad bc i’ve been meaning to write on it, and now this happens - strongly enough
[16:27] Amber: women take this kind of abuse online all the fuckin time and if we dare talk about it we’re told we’re whiners and we can’t take the heat and we need to grow a thick skin… i’m fucking sick to death of it

Erick never personally attacked her. Grant never personally attacked me. Oh great. Do they get a medal?

*sigh* I don’t know what else to say. I need to lie down. Would I handle this better if I weren’t in the middle of dealing w/ grief? Maybe. But if I’m totally honest… probably not. It would still twist itself up in my gut, sitting there and eating at me and making me feel awful.

I’m putting this up without proofreading. Just, there. Now, I’ll go rest for a while before we go to Home Depot to get something to hang the bird feeder on, so the squirrels won’t steal seed from the bird friends that visit our balcony. Like this one, from Flickr user stewickie:

I figured it would be good to end on a happy note, with a photo of a bird!

It’s been three weeks.

I still feel like I’m moving in slow motion. My Ambien hasn’t arrived yet (stupid mail-order pharmacy) so I’ve been taking Tylenol PM to try and help myself sleep. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Overall, I feel okay in a general sense - I mean, I don’t feel the raw sting of loss constantly on the surface, the way I did after my marriage imploded - yet there’s this subtle feeling of… I don’t know what… emptiness? Even that’s not it. I can’t really describe it. But there’s something subtle and pervasive still lurking there, making me unable to sleep soundly, making me feel like I’m walking through molasses a lot of the time.

I was chatting with Jenny on GTalk yesterday and she said something like, “Grief takes a surprising amount of time.” I don’t think “surprising” was the exact word she used, but you get the gist.

I told her that I was starting to worry that I’m annoying the people around me. She said that should be the last thing on my mind right now. I know, I know.

When the initial arrangements were being made for my dad to go into hospice care, a friend told me, “I won’t sugarcoat it: this will be the hardest thing you ever do.” I’m not sure that’s true, for me. I think all the shit with my marriage was harder - although I realize it’s not really a case of degrees of hardness, but different kinds of hardness. With that, I ached, deeply; my whole body felt it, I lost weight, my mind was a mess, I tried to keep up appearances, I moved halfway across the country, I cried so much that I thought surely I couldn’t cry anymore - and then I cried some more. It was like this Xiaolu Guo quote I saw today on Rachel’s Tumblr:

People always say it’s harder to heal a wounded heart than a wounded body. Bullshit. It’s exactly the opposite—a wounded body takes much longer to heal. A wounded heart is nothing but ashes of memories. But the body is everything. The body is blood and veins and cells and nerves. A wounded body is when, after leaving a man you’ve lived with for three years, you curl up on your side of the bed as if there’s still somebody beside you. That is a wounded body: A body that feels connected to someone who is no longer there.

That’s not how this is. Like I said, it’s more subtle. But still real.

I will still maintain, if forced to choose (when would I ever be forced to choose?!) that the marriage stuff was “worse” - but this is just weird and unnerving. And even with all the caveats in mind, I still feel kind of pissed off at myself for thinking there should be a comparison.

If you’ve sent me an email and I haven’t responded, please be patient with me. Maeve, I know I need to email you. You too, Niki. And others. But please, be patient… this is a bizarre time for me. Hopefully I’ll snap out of the slow motion soon - or whenever the time is right, anyway.

I downloaded Little Earthquakes tonight. I have the cassette somewhere, but I’m not going to take the time to find it and then try to import it to my computer somehow. Lots of memories coming back… it’s weird (and it sounds cliché and emo to say) how music can hold so many visceral memories, much like certain scents.

He said you’re really an ugly girl
But I like the way you play
And I died
But I thanked him
Can you believe that
Sick, sick
Holding on to his picture
Dressing up every day

I got something to say you know
But nothing comes
Yes I know what you think of me
You never shut up
Yeah I can hear that

But what if I’m a mermaid
In these jeans of his
With her name still on it
Hey but I don’t care
‘Cause sometimes
I said sometimes
I hear my voice
And it’s been here
Silent all these years

So this girl was giving me a hard time, ostensibly in a friendly way, about how I wear “baggy clothes” and therefore she didn’t know I had “such a nice body” until she saw my pole dancing videos on YouTube. I should’ve said something to her at the time - and there is a slim but existent chance that she may read this, and I’m okay with that - but I haven’t had the energy for confrontation lately, especially with her, because she’s been such a good friend in so many other ways since my dad’s death. When I look at it objectively it’s a rather minor annoyance in the grand scheme of things. But she just kept going ON and ON about it, telling me things like I need to wear a small not a medium (um, sometimes I do; sizes vary, after all), and you know, at a certain point, it grates. Badly.

And she isn’t the first to do this. Not at all - she just took it further than most people have. I mean, even Rusty said I have “stealth tits” (not mad at him about that; but just saying). People say they’re surprised, as if my measurements snuck up on them, because I “don’t wear tight clothes” (their words). This girl in particular was the first in a while (if ever; I really don’t know) to actually say “baggy clothes.” It got to the point with her where even though I knew she was trying to be complimentary, it was starting to make me feel like I was in middle school all over again, being critiqued about what’s not good enough about me.

And anyway, give me a break! First of all, I don’t think I wear baggy clothes. No, I don’t wear skin-tight clothes, either; but you know why? Because it’s not comfortable to me, especially when it’s HOT out, like it happens to be right now in mid-summer Georgia.

I think the next time I talk to this girl, if she brings it up, I’m going to say something like, “I appreciate your compliments about my figure, but I dress the way I want to dress and the subject is not open for debate.” If I have the energy, that is. I’ll probably be talking to her after work today, so we’ll see if she mentions it. Hopefully she won’t and that’ll be that.

…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.

So, we have this:

For God’s sake you and Ren are the most negative, rage-filled bloggers I know for all your raving about sex ‘positive’ this and that. Like taking every single critical thought about sex positve as personal attacks against your desire to pole dance (did anyone criticize you for pole dancing by the way? I missed that part) or do sex work. Banging your heads constantly against that brick wall of how stuuuuuupppppiiiiid everyone is for not comprehensively understanding the terminology and the meeeaanning and history of “sex positive.” Who fucking cares? Be a feminist and enjoy your pole dancing and write something about how women are being treated outside blogland. Between Twitter updates and disecting comments from ‘radfem’ blogs, your blog has gone down.

So, anonymous commenter, does dissecting comments in my moderation queue that talk about how much this blog sucks because I spend so much time disecting [sic] radfem comments (funny, I thought my high point with that was around mid-2006) further contribute to the downward slide of my blog? Congratulations, we’ve just gone meta!

The possible perceived irony is not lost on me that I am posting the comment here as a jumping-off point for a post, but won’t be letting it out of the moderation queue to show up where this person tried to post it. Well, I don’t care.

And that (”Well, I don’t care”) would typically be the extent of my reaction to such a comment anyway - I mean really, I don’t understand what motivates people to leave such comments (especially anonymously; if you really feel that strongly, at least have the guts to put your name to your words). If you find yourself “bored to death” (this is the clever little fake email address the person entered; boredtodeath@brickwall.com, to be exact, brought to you courtesy of IP address 67.159.46.12) with a blog and think the blog has “gone down,” then truly, I cannot understand the motivation to leave a comment saying as much. To me the solution is simple: STOP READING THAT BLOG. No one’s putting a gun to your head and forcing you to read it, and anyway, as I’ve said countless times, the primary reason this blog exists is for ME, not for anyone else. Or, as Pink would say, “I’m not here for your entertainment.” You don’t like Twitter updates? You don’t like dissection of radfem comments? *shrug* The door’s thattaway, I won’t miss you.

Some things truly do just roll right off me. I think that under normal circumstances, the above comment would. But maybe not, who knows. Because, even under normal circumstances (whatever those are - but I mean, when I’m not dealing with some major life upheaval, I guess) there are some comments that even though objectively I know I shouldn’t give a shit about, because who the fuck is this person and why would I care what they think and it doesn’t matter anyway - well, the comment will get under my skin anyway. I’ll feel that familiar “sting,” that’s the only way I can describe it. And rather than try to quell those reactions, walk it off, suck it up, tell myself it doesn’t matter, I think it’s better to allow myself to feel what I’m feeling, and explore why a particular comment hurts me when another, objectively comparable comment does not. I’m a fan of the introspection and examination, after all (which is why radfems who constantly implore sex-positive feminists to do more “examining” really make my blood boil!).

This comment above, when I first saw it earlier today, made me want to cry. I don’t accept the “If you get upset the bully has won” line. I also don’t believe that crying equals weakness. I could puff out my chest and protect myself with snark and pretend like it didn’t affect me, but the truth is, that comment made me sad. Angry, too, definitely; but sadness was the immediate feeling that swept over me.

I’m on this new/old pursuit of trying to write as if no one is reading. That’s why I started this blog: to write for me. Granted, I won’t do some of the stupid things I did at first, bless my heart, like mention my employer, talk about the details of their ordering system and why it sucks, mention my boss by name and talk about why she sucks, etc. But hey, it was 2002 and not many people were reading blogs - such as, fortunately, the manager of the Borders in Athens!

Oops, digression. But as I was saying, I’m trying to get back to writing for me and no one else - but when I get comments like this, it shakes me up and reminds me that yes, there are people reading, and some of them are downright despicable and will try to hurt me. Either they don’t think of me as a person with feelings (I guess for some people the internet really does lead to depersonalization?) or, more disturbingly, they know full well I’m a person with feelings but they don’t care and they WANT to hurt me. And yes, I know that says much more about them than it does about me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m hurting.

Believe me, I have plenty of experience with people being malicious toward me for being openly and unashamedly sexual, for being a feminist, for refusing to “know my place” or laugh at their stupid, offensive jokes. So while I understand that this kind of vitriol/backlash/hatefulness happens often and to many people, when I really think about it I still cannot really understand WHY someone would feel the need to lash out at someone for being a feminist, for example. What are they so scared of? (And yes, I know full well what they’re scared of - not that they’d ever admit it. But still, what makes people, even if they’re scared, lash out like that in such an unthinking way?)

As to this particular comment: Did anyone criticize me for pole dancing? Oh, honey, you did miss that part, didn’t you! I have a whole stable of comments from people telling me just how deluded I am, and won’t I please examine some more, and WHY do I do it, c’mon, explain WHY, because the fifty explanations prior weren’t good enough, and apparently I DO have to provide explanations on demand, because if I don’t then it just shows how defensive and insecure I am, and certainly a point-blank “fuck you” would be totally inappropriate…

Maybe one day I will get to a place where all or most of these comments roll right off of me, instead of just some. I’m working on it.

All this reminds me, I have another post started in draft mode about how I think people should be nicer in general, and I don’t buy the “proud New Yorker” thing some people do where they’re like, I’m an asshole and I’m proud of it, I’m going to be blunt, so there! I think that sucks. I don’t think bluntness by itself is anything to be proud of, although at times it can be (e.g., calling out BS, not sugar-coating difficult truths, not gossiping behind people’s backs). Again: context, people. I should finish that post.

Okay, I’ve put these out on Twitter a few times and so far it hasn’t yielded anything, so I’m posting them here. Please share your input if you have any.

1) I need to find a good upholstery shop to repair a chair from a 1973 dinette set. I originally called Victory Vintage and asked who they recommended. They gave me the name of a place in Snellville, but I’ve called them several times and they haven’t been very responsive and I’m getting fed up. I need a place that knows what they’re doing, especially with older furniture, as I need it to match the other three chairs as closely as possible.

ETA: Scratch that on the upholstery place; they just called me back and were super nice. I’m going out there on Saturday.

2) I need to find a new doctor - a general practitioner, someone I can go to for your basic once-a-year physicals and such. I have an awesome OB/GYN, and I had an awesome GP, but a few years ago she had a baby and stopped working. :P If anyone knows of a good doctor, or even a good doctor’s office (preferably in Decatur or midtown), please let me know.

I really don’t want to just open up the phone book (or Google) and choose at random with either of these!

Briefly, because I have to wrap a few things up before I leave the office and head home to get ready for pole dancing class… which is particularly timely given some of the links I’m about to provide.

Yes, no surprise, shit like this and this (check the comment from “L”) downright enrages me. And even that word, I think, does not do justice to the pure RAGE I feel when I see people DENYING MY AGENCY AS A HUMAN BEING, denying my very existence, denying that I am an intelligent, capable, self-aware woman who is CONSTANTLY examining and reflecting on my own life and the choices I make. It hurts the most when it comes from other women, in particular other feminists.

I don’t know how or what to write about this shit anymore. Ren has written rounds and rounds of sense on her blog, as have many others; but Ren has been particularly prolific (and repetitive, because apparently it’s just NOT GETTING THROUGH to some people). Frankly I don’t know how she has the energy anymore. It drains me, to constantly try so hard to get people to understand the simple fact of, “This is my life, this is my truth, this is WHO I AM, and you don’t have to like it but you DO have to accept it, and accept that I have done enough ‘examining’ for the both of us, thankyouverymuch.”

It enrages me, and it makes me feel sick, and sad, and just awful about humanity, actually. Because why is it such a difficult concept to convey, that my life is mine, my choices are mine, and just because they differ from yours that does not mean I’m damaged or stupid? Why is it so hard to see that accepting the same old stereotypes of women who are openly sexual (not to mention women who work in the sex industry!) as stupid or damaged or victims or villains is nothing more than some seriously OLD-SCHOOL PATRIARCHAL BULLSHIT? It HURTS to have that same old double standard inflicted on me by other women, by other FEMINISTS.

This post gets the “hypocrisy” tag because, as I said to Elisa the other night, that’s what it is, plain and simple.

Pole dancing, for example? The smug characterizations of it as “empowerful” or “degrading” and whatever other bullshit so-called feminist bloggers (not to even mention non-feminists, especially anti-feminist men; holy shit, I can’t even go there, I would get damn near suicidal) say about it, talking OUT OF THEIR ASSES, assuming I must be doing it for my boyfriend (!!!!!!) or whatever else… holy fucking shit I cannot take it anymore. But guess what I DO know, assholes? That when I’m pole dancing, I feel joyful and whole, I feel a happiness that I rarely feel at any other time that permeates my entire being, I feel ALIVE - and the last thing on my mind is what “Teh Menz” might be thinking (especially because nine times out of ten, there AREN’T ANY MEN PRESENT anyway).

I don’t know how many times I can say this before it will get across. And maybe it never will - which is the part that hurts the most.

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 realize I haven’t put up a real blog post in a week. In a way that feels like ages ago, in another way it feels like mere minutes ago. Same as always; I won’t go off on the tired old babbling about the subjective, convoluted nature of time.

So much to say but I don’t even know where to start. I’ve had trouble falling asleep all week, and many nights I’ve written ridiculously long blog posts in my head as I lay awake in the dark. I’ve also been drinking too much sweet tea over the past few days, left over from Tuesday’s delicious catering from Wife Saver; but I know my fitful sleep is attributable to far more than just extra caffeine.

If I’d had any forethought (but how could I have?) I would’ve brought my old-school paper journal with me to Chicago, meaning I’d have it here with me now, and I could be scribbling in it whenever the spirit moves. I know I’ll be doing a fair amount of that when I get home. And I also know I need to do more writing here, and it needs to come from the gut, without a filter; I guess death always makes you reassess things and realize, starkly, how short and fleeting life can be. So I need to write here for the reason I started this blog: for ME. I need to write in MY style, which admittedly others won’t always grok. But that’s okay. Because it’s not about them. And all of this has made me feel like I can do it, must do it, write for my life, without worrying about who I might piss off or what some nebulous “they” might think.

It feels weird to know that I’m going home tomorrow. It’s been over a week since I’ve been home, slept in my own bed, seen my finches, watched my Tivo, sat at my desk… it’s been over two weeks since I’ve been to work. I know getting back into the swing of things will feel good. But like I said, it also just feels weird. Everything has felt so surreal this week. I feel like things are in a state of suspended animation and I’m moving in slow motion… that’s the best way I can describe it, and even that is not totally accurate. I don’t know when I’ll come out of this state. I do know that the old truism about never knowing how a traumatic event will affect you until you’re actually dealing with it is right on.

I’ve had nightmares almost every night I’ve been here (when I’ve been able to remember my dreams at all, that is). And yet I’ve stayed in bed until late morning whenever possible, until my back hurts and my shoulders are screaming for a massage, because the lethargy is just too great to overcome. Really the only thing that forces me out of bed is having to pee.

One weird thing that’s happened while I was here: my mom’s AC literally froze. As in, the AC repair guy came out to look at it and said it had turned into a block of ice. We ran the fan for a full day in order to thaw it out (it’s back to normal now). I’d never heard of anything like that!

—

Chicago, Tuesday, July 17th, around 9:00 p.m.: phone call from my mom. I had been waiting for a call and I knew it wouldn’t be good. And I guess maybe part of me knew exactly how not good (or good, depending on how you look at it; he was suffering a lot, after all) it would be. Dacia and I were walking down Belmont looking for food. I stepped into an alleyway so I could hear my mom better. She sounded quiet and deflated, like she had been crying but wasn’t crying at that moment.

“Hi Amber. Well… Dad died.”

What could I say but, after a big gulp of air, “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

We talked for a few more minutes. I don’t remember what all she said. I do remember he passed away at 8:20 p.m., and about six people were in the room with him at the time.

I told Dacia. We hugged. We stood there. She asked me what I wanted to do. I said, “I know it sounds bad, but I want to eat dinner.”

She rubbed my back and said, “That’s what you do when you’re alive. You eat.”

—

Thanks, Dorie, for looking after our finches.

More posting to come, either really soon or not.

Well, I was going to put up a somewhat flippant post about the first day of the Desiree Alliance conference, saying that it was a lot like other conferences I’ve been to, only that people were taking their clothes off. In a totally non-sexual way - the conference space doesn’t have AC, and it’s really fucking hot, so, solution? Remove some of those bulky layers! Pretty awesome if you ask me.

So I was going to write a funny ha-ha post focusing on that, and looking forward to day 2 of the conference. But the other news, now, is that my dad passed away, at 8:20 p.m. tonight (Thursday, July 17). I’m catching a 9:05 a.m. flight to Atlanta tomorrow, and then a connecting flight to Augusta at 1:18 p.m. Rusty will be joining me on Saturday or Sunday. At the moment, I feel weirdly (to other people’s perceptions, anyway) calm and collected. I really only started to get emotional on the phone with my mom because she was so upset and I was sympathetic with her.

We’ll see what the next few days bring, though. I’m sure I’ll do my share of crying and riding the emotional rollercoaster. Password protected posts to come, I’m sure.

Just another quick post… still in Augusta, but will be heading home soon. Two hospice nurses came (as well as a bunch of people to visit my dad) and moved him into the hospital bed in the living room. He seems a bit more comfortable now.

My emotions are all over the place: sad, numb, angry, surprisingly okay, patient, impatient, resentful, disappointed, annoyed, overwhelmed, resigned, irritated, stressed, deflated, exhausted (well, that one has stayed pretty steady)… basically anything you can think of.

I am really looking forward to the Desiree Alliance conference. I’m also really looking forward to SLEEPING, and spending “alone time” with Rusty. (I don’t mean sex, although I’m looking forward to that, too; but I wouldn’t use a stupid euphemism like “alone time” for sex.)

Thanks again to others who have called/emailed since I last wrote. At the moment I feel too emotionally worn out to return calls and such (hope you understand), but I really do appreciate it.

Okay gotta go eat the onion rings Rusty got me from Burger King. Such healthy eating, I know.

Just a quick post. I’m in Augusta, and I’m very tired. My dad came home today (as you saw if you follow my updates on Twitter). It was a really difficult experience seeing him so weak, having to be physically lifted and moved by the EMT guys (who were really great, btw). He had some visitors later… generally he seems to have a good attitude, and still has his sense of humor. But overall it is very sad. I’ve been a lot less teary-eyed this weekend than last, though I still have been on the verge of crying several times. I think maybe it’s because now we actually know what his diagnosis is, instead of being in the hospital, waiting on tests, dealing w/ incompetent interns, etc.? Maybe. I’m sure my emotions and how I cope will be all over the place, depending on the day and the situation.

I’m still going to Chicago next week. I feel kind of guilty for doing so, but I also know I need some “me” time. I’ll probably be coming to Augusta a lot more frequently. I don’t feel quite as anxious about the whole situation as I did a few days ago, now that I know he’ll be getting hospice care. I did some reading about hospice and what it encompasses, and it looks like basically they will do anything and everything you need. So now I don’t feel quite so worried about my mom (even though I am still worried, but just not on that one particular level).

If you have called, texted, emailed, sent a Twitter direct mesage or @ message, or any other form of supportive communication - THANK YOU. I really appreciate it and it means so much to me. I really want to convey my sincerity on that. I’m sorry that I probably won’t be answering everyone individually (due to time, stress, exhaustion, etc.) but knowing that there are people out there who truly do care has made a big difference. ‘Cause sometimes, well, I don’t trust people very easily and I wonder if I’m mostly “alone.” This has made me feel like maybe I’m not. And whether it’s true or not, it’s a nice feeling.

Thanks for meeting us at Waffle House tonight, Jen… that was a fun distraction. Overall keeping a sense of humor (when it’s appropriate, I mean) is very helpful for me. And so is being able to lean on Rusty. I know you’re reading this, GDBF… I love you and I can’t articulate how grateful I am.

Jenny, I’ll try to call you tomorrow. I don’t mean to add more drama, but… well, I know you’re always there (I never have any doubts about “aloneness” with you!) and your text message today made me tear up (in a good way), and I showed it to my mom and she said that was so sweet of you. If I get time tomorrow, I’ll call, and I’ll probably just want to ramble.

I still have this stupid weird feeling like if people see me writing about this they’ll think I’m trying to say I’m the only one who’s ever dealt with a parent with cancer. I know that’s ridiculous. That’s one of the things you never have to think about with an old-fashioned paper journal, for sure!

Okay, I guess that’s all for now… Rusty’s in the shower, I’m just trying to stay awake until he’s done. Tomorrow the hospice nurse is coming over at some point, and they might be delivering my dad’s hospital bed (or it might be on Sunday). Some password-protected posts will come eventually, as will a bunch of scanned old photos.

Originally posted as a comment on Octogalore’s thread by the same name.

• I am really starting to hate the word “privilege.” Not the concept, not the legitimate analysis; but the way it’s so often tossed around as an insult and a shield. The way even saying this makes me sound like the right-wing assholes I loathe. Big ol’ FAIL stamp to all that.
• Whenever someones says something about a “soul-sucking corporate job” as if this is a generally-understood, universally-loathed thing, I bristle.
• I think people who talk about doing what you love and the money will come, or it’s more important to do something for love, passion, commitment, dreams, ideals, etc. than money, have never really known what’s it’s like not to have a safety net (or never had a circumstance come up where they had to realize they don’t have one).
• When people ask - no, expect - me to do “pro bono” web development work, it REALLY offends me. It makes me feel like they don’t appreciate my work or value my time. It comes off as them saying their time is more valuable than mine.
• I love Starbucks. Same as last year’s confession!

Go on over to Octo’s post and leave your own!

ETA: Now the title doesn’t make sense, because I changed my mind and got rid of the bullets.

Part of why I’m on the fence about BlogHer Atlanta? Well, aside from the $100 entry fee (which is totally fine of them to charge; I am NOT being one of those people who complains about anything that’s not totally free at the expense of someone else’s hard work), there’s also the fact that I’m just over a lot of these conferences.

Rusty and I talked about why on a podcast a while ago. They’ve become commercialized, but that’s not even the word. Cartoonized, maybe? Firefox spellcheck doesn’t know that word (but then it doesn’t know “spellcheck” either) but I think it’s the most apt. If I hear the word “conversation” again I may puke.

And I’m really not trying to be one of those too-cool-for-school assholes who blogs about why blogging sucks, or that kind of thing. I HATE that!

But look, here’s the truth. In addition to the cartoony, sales-pitchy bullshit, I don’t feel welcome at these conferences. With rare exception, I never really have - it just took me a while to admit it to myself, I guess. The BlogSavannah experience was a breakthrough, of course, but there have been so many other instances that I’ve lost count.

When you talk about sex, and you’re a woman, and you’re a tech geek, and you (gasp!) also talk about things other than sex (because OMG, people who aren’t ashamed about sex do other things in their lives, too)… well, let’s just say it doesn’t add up to a good combination, with a lot of people. There are some awesome people, sure. But they don’t tend to be the majority at these conferences. Which is one reason I created Sex 2.0 - to bring all those people together and none (or, well, very few) of the sucky ones!

Sometimes I wonder how much of me not feeling welcome is an accurate perception of reality, and how much is self-induced. Then I remember how good I am at reading people and situations, and that my intuition is almost always spot on, and that I always doubt it anyway, because somehow that seems like the proper thing to do (surely we must consider all angles, surely!) and heaven forfend, I would appear “selfish” if I didn’t.

I remember the guy guffawing at BarCamp Atlanta about Sex 2.0. I remember the stupid, predictable, un-funny, adolescent-level jokes. BarCamp Atlanta pretty much sucked all around, but that’s the stuff that stands out the most in my memory. Oh, and the hooker jokes. Those fucking guys joking about going down to 11th street and finding the hookers.

Here’s a secret. When you make a hooker joke - whoever you are - I hate you, right then and there. Even if generally, rationally, I know that most of the time you’re a “good person” - whatever that even means. When you do that, I hate you, and my eyes want to seer through you.

Oh and back to being a woman who talks about sex (bullet point above). Sometimes people seem incredulous that it’s still such a “big deal.” I want to ask where the fuck they’ve been, anyway. Last week, at Manuel’s, I overheard that conversation at the table behind us, carried on by supposed friends-of-friends. I didn’t know these people, but it didn’t matter. I’ve heard a million conversations like it before. Quote: “She was really weird, she talked about sex all the time.” Quote: “Yeah, I mean she was a total weirdo… she said if we went to this party, we’d be expected to have sex in front of people!” Just shove a dagger through my chest already. We’re back to square one.

Well, I should probably wrap it up and try to get some sleep. I feel very restless, but we’re going to Radial for breakfast, so I need to get my butt to bed.

One last thing - I feel the need to say here, too, that Elisa Camahort is awesome and I’m not trying to trash BlogHer or anything like that. I had so much fun hanging out with her at ConvergeSouth - she is just a nice, cool, down-to-earth person. And look at the super cool slide she made!

I’ve told it all to Rusty. I’ve told a good chunk of it to Jenny via IM, and hopefully made some sense amid the typos and inevitable disjointedness of IMing while at work. I’ve scrawled some of it in my real journal (that is, until my hand started hurting like hell; I can hardly believe I used to write 20+ page letters to friends, back before any of us had email).

The original placeholder title of this post was “In the VA on July 4th.” As I said on Twitter, the irony was most certainly not lost on me that my dad was in the VA Hospital on July 4th, with much of the place closed down and only a skeleton crew working, and the asshole intern who looked like he just walked off the set of Grey’s Anatomy (but not in a good way) saying they can’t do anything because of the holiday weekend. There were signs everyone that said, “Our Mission: To Do Everything We Can For Veterans,” and patriotic decorations of the sort you find in elementary schools, with bubbly cut-out American-flag-patterned letters stapled to those big sheets of paper that come on rolls, spelling out, “We Love Our Veterans!”

That is some terrible irony. I guess the only way it could be worse is if it had been Memorial Day weekend.

“Support our troops” means put a fucking yellow ribbon magnet on the back of your SUV (yes, it’s so cliché to even say it at this point, we’ve all heard it before), not actually providing care and coverage to the infirm. Oh right my dad gets a piddly $200 a month benefit from the government for being exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam; “oops, our bad for exposing you to a potentially deadly chemical; here’s two hundred bucks!”

And leaving the infuriating irony aside, this whole situation has brought out into the light (yet again) the stark, ugly reality of the divide between the haves and the have-nots. We can spend billions of dollars on a wall between the US and Mexico but somehow we can’t figure out how to provide comprehensive health coverage for every citizen. I mean thank goodness for small favors; at least he’s actually registered at the VA at this point (unlike when he had a stroke in 2006, and was treated like a second-class citizen by the staff at Doctors Hospital [coincidentally, also the hospital where I was born], since he didn’t have insurance). He has Medicare Part Whatever - I can’t keep track of all the letters and what they mean. I worked on a program for it back when it first came out in 2005, and I remember thinking, holy shit, if I can’t make hide nor hair of this nonsense then how the hell is someone who’s elderly and unwell going to navigate this fucking labyrinth of bureaucracy? Oh but at least the web site had large type!

Anyway Medicare Part XYZobtwFU will pay for a nursing home - but only for 90 days. Someone explain that rationale to me! Who goes into a nursing home and then, after 90 days, is suddenly fit and well and ready to go golfing!? Or do they just expect you’ll die before the 90 days is up? If not, go ahead and start spending your retirement savings - oh wait, that’s assuming you have any retirement savings. There’s that nasty divide again.

And yet knowing all this, my mom still votes Republican. It baffles.

I don’t know. There’s more I want to say. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster. And there’s this side of me that’s infuriating even myself, where I start to feel selfish (that word again!) for even mentioning this to anyone, like they’re going to think I’m trying to say I’m the only person who’s ever dealt with a family crisis. Now realistically, who would think that? No one. But that’s my mind for you.

I guess one of the good things about going to Augusta this weekend is that I won’t have to see that stupid psychiatrist on Saturday. I really do not like her, but for now she’s the one prescribing my meds. I don’t feel that I’ve been benefiting from talk therapy lately, but that’s another story for another time.

And I have another post about my dad and such in the works which will come out eventually, but it’ll need to be password-protected. And who knows when I’ll get around to writing it.

Oh and also? Preemptively… please, no comments on this post telling me what I should do or who I should call or what I should look into. Unless you know something 100% definitive and can do the work for me? Well, I appreciate that you might mean well and want to help, but no thanks.