(no subject)
It occured to me today, when I realized that I wanted tea, and that I was socially pressured by my friends group to not just wander out ass-naked and make tea but also pressured by my 'there's no reason to put clothes on because someone ELSE is in your house' to just stay in my bedroom and suffer...
I am in the exact same state of existance as I was two years ago when I still lived with my parents, except my room is a completely different room, in that it's roughly ten feet down the hall.
This depresses me hugely.
I refuse to go sit out in the living room when the television is on 90% of the time because I /hate/ the television. I hate the whine of the device to begin with - you turn them on and there's this high-pitched /scream/ that they emit, and I can't stand it for a long period of time unless I don't feel well enough to do anything else. And then, there's the fact that if the TV's on, someone's usually /watching/ it. Coming in and doing something else while this is occuring will either interrupt the other person or you.
In my parents' case, it was usually they were watching the news, of which I have no desire to participate. So I often wandered to my own room, locked myself away, and pretty much put up emotional walls. Mom frequently tells me that I'm becoming the woman she's been waiting for for 20-odd years. A lot of this is because my family dynamic focuses around watching television.
This is not to say that I /don't/ watch TV. But I largely do for maybe two hours, and then wander off, on a weeknight. Slightly more on a weekend. Markedly more if there's a shit-ton of movies I want to see.
Now. Let's take this to my current situation. I know this is my own psychosis, and therefore I have little reason to complain, if at all, but... I really need to get it out before it festers and I turn on the emotional walls and alienate friends all over again, which I'm very good at doing.
Our living room has one sofa and a chair that I bought when the house became just!mine because it's an awesome writing chair. I keep posture, but can slouch, and it rocks. I totally need a rocking movement sometimes to get any writing done at all. Unfortunately, my family refuses to acknowledge its potential as a writing chair, so it's become a television-watching chair, because when I put it anywhere to write, I tend to forget to move it back. This television-watching-chair has become a 'throw-stuff-on-top-of-after-work' chair.
Our sofa, I am often told, is the worst sofa in the world, because everyone /but/ me sits on it and all the cushions fall off. o_O Um. I think you all just sit on it wrong. I don't know. I just don't understand. I mean, the sofa falls apart when I sit on it, too, but only when I'm like, actively flopping on it. Or maybe it's because I sit on it so infrequently. I don't know.
So, our sofa is large enough for one person stretched out or one person and their crap, or three people sitting nicely. Our coffee table is often full of crap, and I can't write with my laptop on a surface anyway. So I often write curled up or stretched out. Which means that I can't write in the living room even if I wanted to, because I get home after Uny, and a majority of the time, she's set up shop in the living room, and is doing her Uny!thing. Or so I feel. I could be wrong.
The sewing room is not conducive to my writing at all, largely because I have delegated that creative aura as 'SEWING'. And therefore it uses a different portion of my brain completely.
The hallway, I have used. But only when the living room was not in use, and largely for a change of scenery, which I greatly need.
Why I'm not in the living room when I could perfectly well clear off a chair or sit on the floor? When there's a Uny in it, there's a TV on. Invariably. I cannot think with the TV on. I cannot think with pictures moving and flashing, even if I can't hear it. I just can't. I get ridiculously distracted, and I hate hate hate hate HATE TV as background noise more than anything else. It's like, I am too lonely of a person to make friends or go out to curb my loneliness, and so I will take solace in this other, human-sounding device in order that my heart does not break.
I don't know. Maybe that's a bit harsh. But, I mean, if you're not WATCHING it, and you want background noise, turn on a musics or something. But when you're playing a video game AND talking on the phone AND have the TV on, it gets a bit absurd. Really.
And then I feel like the bad guy because I feel like I'm shunted between the downstairs - which I'm learning to like only because I'm insistant on liking it - or my bedroom - which I've explored every nook and cranny of to find writing spots - and refuse to spend time being sociable, which is really just a condensed word for spending time with someone while commenting on television or movies.
I don't enjoy it. I really don't.
I'm not saying that I'm unhappy in having Uny as a roommate. I am saying that I'm unhappy. But this is par for the course. And most of this comes of my having to wear clothing any time I venture out of my bedroom door. I hate clothing to begin with. I wear as little as possible as often as possible.
But every now and again I get comfortable in my own skin, and I'd really really really really like to be able to go to the other room to get something without worrying that I'm offending someone's profound modesty. I mean, you all know that I'm practically a nudist. Really. It's not like I go lounge around on the couch for six hours ass naked. Even when I could I didn't do that. THAT feels awkward.
But wandering into the kitchen to go "my glass, it is empty. I will fill it." Requires an extra effort of getting up, finding my clothings, putting them on, going to the kitchen, getting a drink, wandering back, unfinding my clothings, and flopping back in whatever position I'd been in.
I ask this: WHY must the house be predominantly the territory of the clothed? I was here first, and I pay most of the bills, and I just want to know whether or not it greatly offends to walk through the house. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE A THIRD NIPPLE OR SOMETHING NO ONE OF THIS AGE HAS SEEN BEFORE. HONESTLY.
*hang head*
I am somehow the bad guy because I know exactly what I need for a comfort level and it clashes with the majority of society's comfort levels. It's not fair.
And then there comes the feeling that I'm someone's mom. Someone who is two years older than me. I just... I do. It's mostly because I pay most of the bills and work twice as much. But then I come home and I feel as if I'm instigating or doing the laundry, instigating or doing the cooking, instigating or doing the visitations and talks with the landlords. I know it's not the house you've lived in your whole life and it is the one I have, but it doesn't mean you need special permission to do shit in it. I should not have to invite you to do things. Just like you shouldn't have to beg permission of these things. If you think there needs something in the house, fucking get it. Don't wait for me. I'm about as useful as a lead balloon when driven to do things.
I also hate this stupid social game that needs be played because Uny and I speak very different languages of English. First and foremost, my grammar explodes while I'm speaking aloud, and sometimes my accent kicks in. If I'm not paying attention, I will spend five hours speaking very thick PA Dutch, complete with the bizarre tonality of voice and explosions of prepositions to end sentances. And by that time I'm stuck until I can forget I'm doing it again. e_e;
But then there's the fact that my family has always been brutally open. If something pisses us off, we tell you. Unless you tend to cower and cringe and wince when you're spoken to. Unless you tend to give this blank, uncomprehending staaaaer when you're told things. And then it's a flurry of "Okay? Is that alright? Have I said anything to upset you?" AND YOU WILL NEVER KNOW, because Uny operates in a completely different spectrum, wherein tone and delivery play the role of unexplained subtext, which is something I NEVER WANTED TO LEARN ANYWAY SO WHY AM I GETTING EXPLAINED TO IT NOW?
And I don't even get explained to it by Uny. No, I have to call Qui and explain shit to her, so then she tells me what I actually said, and I tell her that's not what I said at all, and she tells me how I ought to have said it to mean what I said.
GAAAAAAHHH!!!
I really just want to cry. I'm hugely frustrated, and I don't want to take it out on anyone, but really, honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do because if I DON'T take it out on someone, I'm going to start shutting down again.
And I don't want to do that.
End complaints.
I don't know. It's a lot of shit, and I should just be grateful that I have someone who wants to put up with my bullshit all the time. But then.
Why do I feel like a bad person? For being me?
I am in the exact same state of existance as I was two years ago when I still lived with my parents, except my room is a completely different room, in that it's roughly ten feet down the hall.
This depresses me hugely.
I refuse to go sit out in the living room when the television is on 90% of the time because I /hate/ the television. I hate the whine of the device to begin with - you turn them on and there's this high-pitched /scream/ that they emit, and I can't stand it for a long period of time unless I don't feel well enough to do anything else. And then, there's the fact that if the TV's on, someone's usually /watching/ it. Coming in and doing something else while this is occuring will either interrupt the other person or you.
In my parents' case, it was usually they were watching the news, of which I have no desire to participate. So I often wandered to my own room, locked myself away, and pretty much put up emotional walls. Mom frequently tells me that I'm becoming the woman she's been waiting for for 20-odd years. A lot of this is because my family dynamic focuses around watching television.
This is not to say that I /don't/ watch TV. But I largely do for maybe two hours, and then wander off, on a weeknight. Slightly more on a weekend. Markedly more if there's a shit-ton of movies I want to see.
Now. Let's take this to my current situation. I know this is my own psychosis, and therefore I have little reason to complain, if at all, but... I really need to get it out before it festers and I turn on the emotional walls and alienate friends all over again, which I'm very good at doing.
Our living room has one sofa and a chair that I bought when the house became just!mine because it's an awesome writing chair. I keep posture, but can slouch, and it rocks. I totally need a rocking movement sometimes to get any writing done at all. Unfortunately, my family refuses to acknowledge its potential as a writing chair, so it's become a television-watching chair, because when I put it anywhere to write, I tend to forget to move it back. This television-watching-chair has become a 'throw-stuff-on-top-of-after-work' chair.
Our sofa, I am often told, is the worst sofa in the world, because everyone /but/ me sits on it and all the cushions fall off. o_O Um. I think you all just sit on it wrong. I don't know. I just don't understand. I mean, the sofa falls apart when I sit on it, too, but only when I'm like, actively flopping on it. Or maybe it's because I sit on it so infrequently. I don't know.
So, our sofa is large enough for one person stretched out or one person and their crap, or three people sitting nicely. Our coffee table is often full of crap, and I can't write with my laptop on a surface anyway. So I often write curled up or stretched out. Which means that I can't write in the living room even if I wanted to, because I get home after Uny, and a majority of the time, she's set up shop in the living room, and is doing her Uny!thing. Or so I feel. I could be wrong.
The sewing room is not conducive to my writing at all, largely because I have delegated that creative aura as 'SEWING'. And therefore it uses a different portion of my brain completely.
The hallway, I have used. But only when the living room was not in use, and largely for a change of scenery, which I greatly need.
Why I'm not in the living room when I could perfectly well clear off a chair or sit on the floor? When there's a Uny in it, there's a TV on. Invariably. I cannot think with the TV on. I cannot think with pictures moving and flashing, even if I can't hear it. I just can't. I get ridiculously distracted, and I hate hate hate hate HATE TV as background noise more than anything else. It's like, I am too lonely of a person to make friends or go out to curb my loneliness, and so I will take solace in this other, human-sounding device in order that my heart does not break.
I don't know. Maybe that's a bit harsh. But, I mean, if you're not WATCHING it, and you want background noise, turn on a musics or something. But when you're playing a video game AND talking on the phone AND have the TV on, it gets a bit absurd. Really.
And then I feel like the bad guy because I feel like I'm shunted between the downstairs - which I'm learning to like only because I'm insistant on liking it - or my bedroom - which I've explored every nook and cranny of to find writing spots - and refuse to spend time being sociable, which is really just a condensed word for spending time with someone while commenting on television or movies.
I don't enjoy it. I really don't.
I'm not saying that I'm unhappy in having Uny as a roommate. I am saying that I'm unhappy. But this is par for the course. And most of this comes of my having to wear clothing any time I venture out of my bedroom door. I hate clothing to begin with. I wear as little as possible as often as possible.
But every now and again I get comfortable in my own skin, and I'd really really really really like to be able to go to the other room to get something without worrying that I'm offending someone's profound modesty. I mean, you all know that I'm practically a nudist. Really. It's not like I go lounge around on the couch for six hours ass naked. Even when I could I didn't do that. THAT feels awkward.
But wandering into the kitchen to go "my glass, it is empty. I will fill it." Requires an extra effort of getting up, finding my clothings, putting them on, going to the kitchen, getting a drink, wandering back, unfinding my clothings, and flopping back in whatever position I'd been in.
I ask this: WHY must the house be predominantly the territory of the clothed? I was here first, and I pay most of the bills, and I just want to know whether or not it greatly offends to walk through the house. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE A THIRD NIPPLE OR SOMETHING NO ONE OF THIS AGE HAS SEEN BEFORE. HONESTLY.
*hang head*
I am somehow the bad guy because I know exactly what I need for a comfort level and it clashes with the majority of society's comfort levels. It's not fair.
And then there comes the feeling that I'm someone's mom. Someone who is two years older than me. I just... I do. It's mostly because I pay most of the bills and work twice as much. But then I come home and I feel as if I'm instigating or doing the laundry, instigating or doing the cooking, instigating or doing the visitations and talks with the landlords. I know it's not the house you've lived in your whole life and it is the one I have, but it doesn't mean you need special permission to do shit in it. I should not have to invite you to do things. Just like you shouldn't have to beg permission of these things. If you think there needs something in the house, fucking get it. Don't wait for me. I'm about as useful as a lead balloon when driven to do things.
I also hate this stupid social game that needs be played because Uny and I speak very different languages of English. First and foremost, my grammar explodes while I'm speaking aloud, and sometimes my accent kicks in. If I'm not paying attention, I will spend five hours speaking very thick PA Dutch, complete with the bizarre tonality of voice and explosions of prepositions to end sentances. And by that time I'm stuck until I can forget I'm doing it again. e_e;
But then there's the fact that my family has always been brutally open. If something pisses us off, we tell you. Unless you tend to cower and cringe and wince when you're spoken to. Unless you tend to give this blank, uncomprehending staaaaer when you're told things. And then it's a flurry of "Okay? Is that alright? Have I said anything to upset you?" AND YOU WILL NEVER KNOW, because Uny operates in a completely different spectrum, wherein tone and delivery play the role of unexplained subtext, which is something I NEVER WANTED TO LEARN ANYWAY SO WHY AM I GETTING EXPLAINED TO IT NOW?
And I don't even get explained to it by Uny. No, I have to call Qui and explain shit to her, so then she tells me what I actually said, and I tell her that's not what I said at all, and she tells me how I ought to have said it to mean what I said.
GAAAAAAHHH!!!
I really just want to cry. I'm hugely frustrated, and I don't want to take it out on anyone, but really, honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do because if I DON'T take it out on someone, I'm going to start shutting down again.
And I don't want to do that.
End complaints.
I don't know. It's a lot of shit, and I should just be grateful that I have someone who wants to put up with my bullshit all the time. But then.
Why do I feel like a bad person? For being me?