Thank fucking God it isn't December
Usually I like to offset the shit that's happening in my life by focusing on the good stuff. And maybe I'll try now, too, but I don't know how it'll work out. Partly I just need to vent, partly I just need to scream, partly I just want to break something and I'm writing instead of talking in hopes that I can modulate myself enough that the something I break won't be someone I care about. It's been a bad week.
Monday I got notice that my wages shall be garnished 25% until my back taxes have been paid. I haven't done my taxes for this year, yet, so I don't know how much deeper that hole is going to get. At least it should only take three paychecks before that is done.
Also on Monday, I found out that the credit card processor I'm subscribed to for my Cookie Lee business (defunct) has decided to cancel my three-year contract and wants everything, including an early termination fee, now. This sings to the tune of $900.00.
I've been needing a new windshield, and I was planning to get that this week with my overtime pay. Well, that plan faded into the ether with the advent of the garnishment.
There were a couple pieces of good news: Son1 is eligible for scholarship covering 5/8 of his rugby registration fee. Also, I had eight hours of overtime pay which offset this instance of the garnishment such that my net check was only $6 under budget.
And then Thursday happened.
One night a month, I have a long noisy meeting at my house. It's on a TV night, meaning Bones, Smallville, and Supernatural, in addition to Keith Olberman, Rachel Maddow, Jon Stewart, and Stephen Colbert. This inconveniences Butterfly. She says, "It's too bad your meeting is on a TV night," and I get a little defensive inside. Then I hear that the meeting went on for another hour and a quarter after I had to leave for work with "oh, one last thing" to be discussed in the speakerphone conversation. I knew when I first started bringing the meetings here that it would interfere with TV, but I have no control over and no defense for a discussion that goes on for over an hour after the actual meeting is done. So I'm feeling guilty and defensive about that.
Friday I got glomped. I had the singular joy of being awakened with snuggles, thanks to rathanylakan and vampireborg. Watched a very enjoyable episode of Leverage, which Butterfly even stayed awake through, this time! *g* (Leverage is suddenly my spark of hope after the stuff I'm about to write.) I took Borg to lazulisong, and then we all went out to dinner at the restaurant attached to Uwajimaya. We arrived 30 minutes before the doors opened, so we browsed the bookstore attached to Uwajimaya until they did.
Now, apparently the critical mass of manga-fen in my life has been reached, because despite Rath and Borg having their lives suffused with Japanese culture and entertainment for as long as I've known them, within 7 weeks of Lazulisong moving to Portland, I have purchased my first manga. By "purchased" I mean I discovered my wallet was not in my pocket (being on my nightstand at home) and I now owe Rath $10. Worse things can happen.
Coming home after shopping for some funeral clothes for Rath, she and I brainstormed an outline for a sooper sekrit project. Then Butterfly and I watched Sarah Connor Chronicles and Dollhouse, both of which were awesome. Then I watched the series finale of Battlestar Galactica, which was okay for the first hour or so, and then they made planetfall and rest of it was pastede-on-yay.
Then Butterfly went to bed and I watched Supernatural "On the Head of a Pin."
...
Let's have a metaphor.
Sometimes -- most times -- what you need is nutrition. Something filling and tasty and chock full of proteins, fats, carbohydrates, and vitamins and minerals. Like a steak dinner at Newport Bay. Or even a fried egg sandwich. But sometimes you just want cotton candy from the county fair: spun sugar and flossine, of no substance whatsoever, that tastes yummy and rots your teeth.
Certain shows are steak dinners: Bones, for example. Or Sarah Connor. House MD is a fried egg sandwich. Supernatural is my Cotton Candy. I don't like Supernatural because it is sexist; I like it in spite of its gratuitous violence toward female characters and its overuse of gender epithets. I don't like it because it is racist; I like it in spite of how it has killed every black, male character to date.
But there is a difference between brushing my teeth after cotton candy and forcing myself to vomit after it. After a show like Supernatural, which lacks redeeming social or moral value, it is good for me to focus on social justice and ways I can improve the rightness of the world, but that doesn't mean I need to vomit the episode back up and sort through the emesis to expose every flaw. I already know there is nothing there but spun sugar and flossine! Can't I just enjoy the fucking show? Can't I express the things I like about it -- its sweet flavor and fluffy texture -- without being forced to stick my own fingers down my throat?
...
I've mentioned before: Television is a social activity for me. If I'm alone, I will read or write or clean house or do gardening or sit on a couch and vegetate before I'll watch television by myself.
There has become an exception to this. The exception is if I want to watch a show that I know I can't watch in the presence of others without somehow making them miserable. Examples: Dexter (where the DA is sure to die, just like everyone else Dexter gets close to), Burn Notice (where a favorite character is about to die), and Supernatural (racist, sexist eye candy).
Now, the shows that make up my social television viewing are overwhelmingly not "my shows." "My shows" are the ones where I say "Let's watch Show X!" instead of just "Hey, wanna watch something?" or "Oh, hey, Show X is on." My shows are the ones where I would rather make time during my work week than wait for the weekend to watch them.
This means that when the few shows that are "my shows" become also shows that make my fellow watchers miserable, I start to take it a little personally. It's not that all my fandoms are ones that I've been pimped into -- Butterfly pimped me into both Stargate Atlantis and Supernatural. It's that I need a little squee in my life. Squee is better when shared. But every show that gives me squee has been ripped from the possibility of shared squeeness.
And I'm feeling put-upon in other ways, too. It's hard to be the only one who cares about something. It's even harder to be the only who cares about something who also can't find a gracious ear.
When an inconvenience arises, there are two ways to respond to it: graciously or ungraciously. I'm not always gracious: sometimes I'm bitter and angry and sarcastic, and sometimes I'm just indifferent. Whether justified or not, I'm feeling like I can't find a gracious ear to hear me. Whether I'm talking about the inoffensive parts of an offensive show, or whether I'm looking for buy-in on home improvement or cleanliness projects, I feel like I am not only an imposition but I am personally offensive for having said anything. This is probably a reaction disproportionate to the intent of the persons involved, who have the right to their own opinions and who have their own valid threshholds for when stuff needs done. It's still how I feel. And because I'm so fucking gracious, I won't even say anything out loud, but hide it behind a cut-tag and sit here conflicted over whether to hope someone clicks it or hope no one does.
Most of the time, I love my life. I love everything about my friends and home, and I just sit in my chair or on my couch immensely satisfied that life is good. Just, today, I've been feeling like the exercise of others' right to swing a fist is ending on the wrong side of my nose.
Thank God it's not December. I'd probably be suicidal.
Monday I got notice that my wages shall be garnished 25% until my back taxes have been paid. I haven't done my taxes for this year, yet, so I don't know how much deeper that hole is going to get. At least it should only take three paychecks before that is done.
Also on Monday, I found out that the credit card processor I'm subscribed to for my Cookie Lee business (defunct) has decided to cancel my three-year contract and wants everything, including an early termination fee, now. This sings to the tune of $900.00.
I've been needing a new windshield, and I was planning to get that this week with my overtime pay. Well, that plan faded into the ether with the advent of the garnishment.
There were a couple pieces of good news: Son1 is eligible for scholarship covering 5/8 of his rugby registration fee. Also, I had eight hours of overtime pay which offset this instance of the garnishment such that my net check was only $6 under budget.
And then Thursday happened.
One night a month, I have a long noisy meeting at my house. It's on a TV night, meaning Bones, Smallville, and Supernatural, in addition to Keith Olberman, Rachel Maddow, Jon Stewart, and Stephen Colbert. This inconveniences Butterfly. She says, "It's too bad your meeting is on a TV night," and I get a little defensive inside. Then I hear that the meeting went on for another hour and a quarter after I had to leave for work with "oh, one last thing" to be discussed in the speakerphone conversation. I knew when I first started bringing the meetings here that it would interfere with TV, but I have no control over and no defense for a discussion that goes on for over an hour after the actual meeting is done. So I'm feeling guilty and defensive about that.
Friday I got glomped. I had the singular joy of being awakened with snuggles, thanks to rathanylakan and vampireborg. Watched a very enjoyable episode of Leverage, which Butterfly even stayed awake through, this time! *g* (Leverage is suddenly my spark of hope after the stuff I'm about to write.) I took Borg to lazulisong, and then we all went out to dinner at the restaurant attached to Uwajimaya. We arrived 30 minutes before the doors opened, so we browsed the bookstore attached to Uwajimaya until they did.
Now, apparently the critical mass of manga-fen in my life has been reached, because despite Rath and Borg having their lives suffused with Japanese culture and entertainment for as long as I've known them, within 7 weeks of Lazulisong moving to Portland, I have purchased my first manga. By "purchased" I mean I discovered my wallet was not in my pocket (being on my nightstand at home) and I now owe Rath $10. Worse things can happen.
Coming home after shopping for some funeral clothes for Rath, she and I brainstormed an outline for a sooper sekrit project. Then Butterfly and I watched Sarah Connor Chronicles and Dollhouse, both of which were awesome. Then I watched the series finale of Battlestar Galactica, which was okay for the first hour or so, and then they made planetfall and rest of it was pastede-on-yay.
Then Butterfly went to bed and I watched Supernatural "On the Head of a Pin."
...
Let's have a metaphor.
Sometimes -- most times -- what you need is nutrition. Something filling and tasty and chock full of proteins, fats, carbohydrates, and vitamins and minerals. Like a steak dinner at Newport Bay. Or even a fried egg sandwich. But sometimes you just want cotton candy from the county fair: spun sugar and flossine, of no substance whatsoever, that tastes yummy and rots your teeth.
Certain shows are steak dinners: Bones, for example. Or Sarah Connor. House MD is a fried egg sandwich. Supernatural is my Cotton Candy. I don't like Supernatural because it is sexist; I like it in spite of its gratuitous violence toward female characters and its overuse of gender epithets. I don't like it because it is racist; I like it in spite of how it has killed every black, male character to date.
But there is a difference between brushing my teeth after cotton candy and forcing myself to vomit after it. After a show like Supernatural, which lacks redeeming social or moral value, it is good for me to focus on social justice and ways I can improve the rightness of the world, but that doesn't mean I need to vomit the episode back up and sort through the emesis to expose every flaw. I already know there is nothing there but spun sugar and flossine! Can't I just enjoy the fucking show? Can't I express the things I like about it -- its sweet flavor and fluffy texture -- without being forced to stick my own fingers down my throat?
...
I've mentioned before: Television is a social activity for me. If I'm alone, I will read or write or clean house or do gardening or sit on a couch and vegetate before I'll watch television by myself.
There has become an exception to this. The exception is if I want to watch a show that I know I can't watch in the presence of others without somehow making them miserable. Examples: Dexter (where the DA is sure to die, just like everyone else Dexter gets close to), Burn Notice (where a favorite character is about to die), and Supernatural (racist, sexist eye candy).
Now, the shows that make up my social television viewing are overwhelmingly not "my shows." "My shows" are the ones where I say "Let's watch Show X!" instead of just "Hey, wanna watch something?" or "Oh, hey, Show X is on." My shows are the ones where I would rather make time during my work week than wait for the weekend to watch them.
This means that when the few shows that are "my shows" become also shows that make my fellow watchers miserable, I start to take it a little personally. It's not that all my fandoms are ones that I've been pimped into -- Butterfly pimped me into both Stargate Atlantis and Supernatural. It's that I need a little squee in my life. Squee is better when shared. But every show that gives me squee has been ripped from the possibility of shared squeeness.
And I'm feeling put-upon in other ways, too. It's hard to be the only one who cares about something. It's even harder to be the only who cares about something who also can't find a gracious ear.
When an inconvenience arises, there are two ways to respond to it: graciously or ungraciously. I'm not always gracious: sometimes I'm bitter and angry and sarcastic, and sometimes I'm just indifferent. Whether justified or not, I'm feeling like I can't find a gracious ear to hear me. Whether I'm talking about the inoffensive parts of an offensive show, or whether I'm looking for buy-in on home improvement or cleanliness projects, I feel like I am not only an imposition but I am personally offensive for having said anything. This is probably a reaction disproportionate to the intent of the persons involved, who have the right to their own opinions and who have their own valid threshholds for when stuff needs done. It's still how I feel. And because I'm so fucking gracious, I won't even say anything out loud, but hide it behind a cut-tag and sit here conflicted over whether to hope someone clicks it or hope no one does.
Most of the time, I love my life. I love everything about my friends and home, and I just sit in my chair or on my couch immensely satisfied that life is good. Just, today, I've been feeling like the exercise of others' right to swing a fist is ending on the wrong side of my nose.
Thank God it's not December. I'd probably be suicidal.