Saturday, November 26, 2011

I was going to make a blog post today

... but my fucking fingers are not connecting properly with my brain and I'm just kind of at a loss. No. The opposite of that. I have things to say, but too much of it. I also need to actually get shit done for work that I keep putting off.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I should be a life coach

No, really. Even though I can't get my own shit together, I should be a life coach. I have a way about me that convinces others that I am right about... well... everything. Witchcraft!

Tonight I talked to a friend for three solid hours about things that others around him have been trying to tell him, but for whatever reason he didn't listen to them. Something about how I confronted (read: ambushed) him and put the fact out on the table made him see things for the way they were. Sorry I can't be more specific. At any rate, I got a sincere thanks (another thing I won't say unless I mean it) from said friend and hopefully a lifelong positive result with very few refresher ambushes in the future.

But for me? Let's see here. I slept for 14 hours straight on Sunday, I think. What day was that? At any rate, I read all of Portia de Rossi's memoir, Unbearable Lightness, in one sitting (about 3 hours). It was wonderful. My review of it is on goodreads. That's another thing I need to make lucrative for myself: reviewing books and getting paid for it. But anyway, I digress.

I stayed up until 3 am reading that damn book, then slept all day, unaided, and awoke only to have dinner prepped by Andy. Over the weekend, we finished painting the kitchen and I cleaned out the blue room a bit. We found the perfect couch and figured out it wouldn't fit into any part of the house, so we sadly passed it by. I cleaned the far corner of the library (I swept and picked up all the books! And I put the books where they BELONG!) and fussed at Andy about his... different... way of looking at cleaning up. My idea of cleaning up is putting things where they belong. His idea has become shoving things under other things. I was unhappy about that.

Here, I will apologise and admit fault. For the longest time, things had to be exactly how I wanted them. He learned long ago that moving anything in the house could potentially set off an avalanche of angry words and accusations. I guess I should have let Andy know that since we moved into the house, wherever he thinks something should go is where it should go. No more do we have to worry about hiding things away or stacking shit on top of more shit like we did in the apartments. We have more than enough room in the house. For that, I am eternally grateful. So yes, thank you Andy. And I'm sorry.

He knows my stance on those phrases.

Speaking of "should," I got to dish out some advice I myself was given a year or so ago to the aforementioned and unnamed friend. A knitting buddy, Paige, was listening to me grouse about the things I should be getting done. I should have been finding another job, cleaning the apartment, doing school work, blah blah blah.

Finally, she gave me her priceless advice: "Fuck should."

Just... fuck it. There is no should or should not. Kind of Yoda-esque. But at any rate, should is a state of mind, not a necessity. When you think about it, should is in the eye of the beholder, but much more often in the eye of the beholder's overlord.

Above mentioned friend kept saying he should do this and that and then gets sucked into the sneaky hate spiral, or at least the sneaky guilt spiral (we also discussed the difference between Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt-- guess what kind of guilt he was subjected to) and accomplishes nothing. He will admit that.

But what he SHOULD do is nothing. Should is gray. What he wants and needs is so much more important. Yeah, he NEEDS to get some of his shit together. He WANTS to get his shit together. Thus, he WILL get his shit together. The should feeds the apathy and the guilt. Should is a bad word in my philosophical worldview.

I SHOULD go to sleep. I took two sleeping pills 2 hours ago. I WILL finish this blzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I'm Sorry and I'm Afraid.

Not really and I suppose.

A while back, I decided to stop saying "I'm sorry" for things I'm not really sorry for. For instance, if I bump into someone on accident and upset something about their personage, I'm sorry. If they bump into me and expect an exchange of "pardon me"s and "I'm so sorry"s, they can forget about it. A student is demanding something unreasonable that they feel they are entitled to?

Shaylin, I need you to tell me my exact grade over the internet even though it's not secure and kind of frowned upon and I also need you to tell me whether or not I am going to pass your class even though my performance has been pretty crappy over the past 10 weeks and I need a detailed list as to why I might not be passing so I can argue with you over it, endlessly, over the internet.
A common response would be: "I'm sorry Student. I cannot do that."

Shaylin's response:
I'm afraid that I cannot do that. Please see me in person (as per your syllabus) about your grade if you have concerns. Otherwise, all grades at listed on D2L (kind of like blackboard).
Because, what is it to be "Sorry?" To be truly and honestly regretful toward an event or attitude? No, it's now just a filler to reassure the other party and mollycoddle them into a false sense of security. It's like "I love you." Or, alternately, "I hate you." It's a diluted phrase that has lost significant amounts of meaning, true meaning, over time.

So, I'm not sorry. I am not sorry for the things I cannot control, things that are not inherently my fault, or... really anything. I am only sorry when I've done something wrong.

But. "I'm afraid?" Alternately, "I fear." That's a suitable substitution, right? Student, I fear I cannot give you this information because I don't feel like it and it's in my syllabus that you cannot demand insane things from me at all hours of the night. Student, I fear that you are taxing me and my resolve to maintain this career path of mine with your ridiculous capacity to send incomprehensible emails. I'm afraid for your future. But I am not sorry.

At any rate, that's my stance for tonight. I have much more to say, but I think I need to put it into another post. 

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Bella Swan and Feminism.

Some may have seen this image floating around, complete with a caption indicating that Mrs. Cullen herself is responsible for setting feminism back 20 years or so.

Really? A.) Why are you putting this much time and effort and stock into a character in a book that you so clearly loathe? Is it because you have run out of things to blame? B.) Why does it even matter? Have you read the books? And if you have (as I have), you'll see that the entire Twilight series is just throwaway fiction aimed at a very specific demographic that was lucky enough to become something of a worldwide phenomenon.

Other books have been similarly criticised for encouraging kids to drink, smoke, do drugs, run away from home, use curse words, have sex... the list goes on. And yet, you still find it necessary to blame one thing for whatever you think is wrong with the world today.

Here is the bottom line: If you think that Bella Swan, an insignificant character in an ultimately insignificant fantasy book series is the worst thing to happen to feminism since the phrase "Make me a sandwich, woman" was first uttered, there is something wrong with you and your view of the world.

If parents and caretakers cannot put any piece of fiction into context (I love The Catcher in the Rye. Am I going to run away from school and smoke and drink and get a prostitute then pussy out and send her away? No.), then YOU (the caretaker) are the one setting any important movement in humanity back. If Bella Swan's ultimate goal in life is to have a hot, old, immortal, creepy husband, then fine. If a girl (or boy, I'm not here to judge) is daft enough to think they should emulate such a character, the problem there started at home, not from an idea in a book.

Good day.