About 6 or 7 months ago, I met a guy in the park. I won't name the guy and I won't name the park, but I met the guy as I sat in the park listening to some performers play My, My, Hey, Hey. No, the guy wasn't Neil Young. We talked for awhile and then he invited me into his apartment. This story is NOT going where you think it's going. He was, and is, a photographer. Cut ahead 6 or 7 months, and we're good friends. We hang out, listen to music on his amazing stereo system, and he teaches me about music I love but of which I am clueless.
During this time, I am desperately seeking a job. I find useless internships, I find promises for work that never come through, I skip interviews for jobs that are far away, too boring, or don't pay anything.... Everything but what I am looking for.
Despite being a very busy guy, even though he is on the edge of 70, the guy remains active in the music community and always has projects underway, and he finds time for me. The guy is full of energy and enthusiasm, it's lovely! He wants me to have money to pay for travel and life and to no longer rely on my parents' income. He worries! Oy, how he worries!
As we all know, though, work is hard to come by. Especially for a graduate student with a B.A. in liberal arts. No one actually knows what liberal arts are! Who would hire someone with absolutely no skills, knowledge, or experience?
This is when desperation kicks in. This point of my life. I've hit an age (whatever that is) that implies to some extent that I should be an independent, grown adult. Whether this is the case or not, that's another story. For, I am useless. Unemployed, and going to graduate school costs money rather than bringing it in. A sad reality for many Americans under 30 (or over 30, for that matter!) And so, here begins the journey into how low I'll go in the name of money.
1 - Dogsitting? Sure! Of course! I love dogs! Of course, everyone in the planet who matters does, too. Everyone and their pope is a dogwalker/dogsitter. Near where I live, no one seems to work, all they ever do is walk their dog(s). No one needs my services.
2 - Shot girl? I don't even know what this means. Are there shot boys? I get the feeling those only exist in gay clubs. I guess I pour shots.... I can do that! It requires absolutely no skill! Oh, wait, it also requires absolutely no clothing. With this darn anemia, I'd be goosebumped all night. Nobody wants shots from the chick with purple lips and an unsteady hand from shivering.
3 - Foot model? Now, that sounds easy enough! I have feet! Of course, they left out the fact that it's for foot fetish parties. And, no, these people don't *just* come for the feet. Another bikini job. For those of you who have never seen me in a bikini, this is why you've never seen Sasquatch. Yes, folks, I am huge, hairy, and I smell like deer manure. Don't ask me to put on a bikini.
At this point, aside from the hilarity that came from these options, I was pretty downtrodden. Would I never find independence? Is there something wrong with me? Everyone else seems capable of getting by... except the homeless. Maybe I'm homeless and no one has ever told me about it! That would explain it, I think?
It was then that the guy called me. Remember the guy from above? Almost creepy, but not? Yeah, him. He tells me he has a unique work opportunity for me. Unique sounds promising, but I knew right away it would be shady. In my world and life, nothing is ever quite so sweet and simple. Would I be sneaking baby tigers into the country? Assassinating a CIA agent who knows too much and wishes to leave the job? What's it going to be?
Well, it wasn't quite that awful, but he tells me about his cousin. A cousin he didn't even know existed until he was 35 years old. This sounds like a promising start. Dude just lost his best worker, dude has a bunch of weed he has to sell, and dude left it to the guy to hire someone new. The guy knew I was looking for work, and voila! I was the first person he contacted about the prestigious position.
Mostly open hours after 2 PM, at least $900 a week, and all the brownies a person could ever ask for! Well, no, there was no promise of brownies. Maybe that can be negotiated, though. They must have some untouched ones, right? Oh, he also claims that all customers are connected to him personally and have been for the last 10 years or so. Thus, all trusted.
He told me that if I am interested I can come by on Monday, August 31st to discuss the opportunity further.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Monday, August 10, 2015
She's a lady! Wo-o Wo-o Wo!
If a heavy woman walks into a room and starts making fat jokes, is the movie no longer sexist?
Most of us would say that's still sexist as heck, but we let Hollywood get away with it! As long as we see a woman who has more than telephone cords for arms and legs onscreen, we let her get away with a lot! This has been proven time and time again by the likes of Mindy Kaling, Amy Schumer, Melissa McCarthy, and various other “well-rounded” actresses.
We’d like to think the game has changed…. Alas, no matter how much society emphasizes the intelligence and humour of a starlett, if she weighs more than a bread box, the biggest message we receive from her comedy is bound to be how big she is! Keep in mind, Schumer and Kaling wouldn’t register as obese, or even particularly chubby. They’re simply human-sized. However, If Jack Black eats a box of donuts, it’s cute and typical of a man. God Forbid, a female lead eats her entire meal and thoroughly enjoys it, she becomes the woman who eats ferociously.
Not to leap to racial issues, but this point is moot when it comes to black women. For unforeseen reasons, the sassy, voluptuous black woman is acceptably the character we have come to expect and love. Of course, Saturday Night Live’s own Leslie Jones tends to fill this role in a robust-manner quite well and repetitively. A fact I point out for the sake of recognition. Not all women are treated equally. Lest we forget Margaret Cho, the elusive "heavyset" Asian. Where is her big breakthrough film of the year?
Yet, still, having a female lead is a novel idea. Even more so, having a female lead who doesn’t have the metabolism of a centipede is such a dream, that even staunch feminists have put down their swords and gotten a cheap laugh out of a big-girl-eats-entire-refrigerator joke.
It’s painful to put a price on the head of a successful female comedian. Let’s be real, having a funny female star who doesn't give a funk is a big breakthrough in comedy in itself. Unfortunately, women like Amy Schumer may be inching their way onto a dark path of never-ending misogyny in a way only Hollywood could possibly get away with. Going on stage and presenting yourself as a slutty, manly, ugly creature is not feminist. It doesn’t comfort young women. This is not a message of loving yourself, your body, your actions. It’s not a message of ignoring the comments of others, feeling beautiful despite stupid beauty standards. None of this is expressed or implied. The message here is, “If you don’t fit the beauty standards of society, you can just assume you’re ugly and manly. Don’t feel bad about it, but it’s probably true.”
What more do women have to offer than their daintiness, ditziness, and stupidly good looks? The reality is, a woman onscreen can’t have everything. You can have a woman who is a successful doctor who captures the lust of any man she crosses paths with, but somehow, anything relating to politics, or the real world, she is clueless about. If you have a woman who is tuned-in, well-spoken, and putting her life together, she can only do so when a man comes into her life and shows her the way. Not to mention, as long as she's above the "average-television-weight", her contract most likely mentions a quota of fat jokes somewhere in the fine print.
Some actresses, you can’t even research them online without being bombarded with links to lists of other chubby/fat/curvy females in media. You can’t even think about Melissa McCarthy without an article popping up along the lines of:
“Rebel WIlson: Fat or Obese?!”
“Aidy Bryant: SNL castmember or Thanksgiving Day Parade float?!”
“Gabourey Sidibe: Why she shouldn’t wear anything pretty ever!!”
There is no reason this should be the focus. There’s no reason this should be okay. These women are being treated as bait. Thrown into the woods for their buxom bods to be feasted and gossiped upon. As many times as these actresses defend their roles and typecast, no woman on television or in movies is working for her own health. A woman in front of a large audience, millions if not billions of impressionable females, is a role model. She must work and live in a way to make other women proud. To help us progress, not to keep us at the bottom of the barrel. Not to let women’s rights, pride, and acceptance go ignored. That is what she is being paid for, even more so than making us laugh and cry. She is being paid to present women in a way we wish to be presented. To show the world what we can accomplish, without taking “no” and an insult for an answer. Step up, ladies! This is our chance!
Monday, June 22, 2015
The Grudge
I've never seen 'The Grudge', and I have no idea what the plot is, but just off-the-bat, I think the concept is sound. Someone has a grudge. Someone dies. The end.
No, maybe not. I do like something about where I am going with this, though. The idea that grudges can be harmful if left ignored. The big zen idea is that grudges are bad, yes? That staying angry at someone will stress you out and hurt you. That's fair. Sure, that seems to make sense. I just want to know, where does the hurt and anger go? As much as you can forgive someone, or maybe "forget" someone's wrongdoings, are you ever really at peace with their actions? Are you really such an emotionless, careless monk? If someone does something unkind to you, do you think so little of yourself that you don't think you have the right to be upset at them?
Hear me out, now.
What if you allowed yourself to hold some resentment for them? You let them know, you reacted appropriately and safely, and then you carried on with your life knowing what they did. It's not an active anger, it's a dormant anger that is soothed more and more over time. Just like any emotion. We experience sadness due to loss, and we're told that it's okay to cry and be sad. Over time, though, that sadness eases and you function like a human being and you're always aware of the pain, and it rises up again now and then, but overall, you've come to terms with it.
Why does this logic not apply to anger? Why must we be pure and cleansed of all negative feelings towards others? People can be awful, why is it acceptable for them to be awful without consequences? Does that not just open the door for them and others to repeat these actions? And, once again I ask, where does the anger go? Doesn't it turn inward a lot of the time? I can't imagine that this is healthier. Anger at another person harming you is natural. Since man came to be, there was anger. No matter who you are, you experience it sometimes. Yet, it's shameful and wrong to feel this way? It's so bad that you have to deny it. Emotions don't just disappear into nothingness. If that anger sits in you untouched, unrecognized, it festers and molds and turns into regret, self-loathing, and general distaste for humanity.
Society can't be afraid of anger. It's not just for psychos and terrorists. Anger is a natural emotion and fighting it back, like any other emotion, is going to cause you physical and mental health trauma overtime. Punch a wall, kick a baby, heck, if you can do it with some class, do something a little spiteful if it'll feel good. Confusing hatred and harm with some rational negativity is a hazard to your well-being. Don't just let it eat away at you. Oh, and, don't actually kick a baby. That's a biggie.
Just, please, stop acting as if you're not human. As if you are totally cool with being beaten down and treated like garbage. Stop being a monk, because monks are useless. They never help anyone or accomplish anything. They never live, they're just in a constant state of death. You have the FORTUNE of feeling anger. Live it, love it, and embrace it, before your body forgets how!
No, maybe not. I do like something about where I am going with this, though. The idea that grudges can be harmful if left ignored. The big zen idea is that grudges are bad, yes? That staying angry at someone will stress you out and hurt you. That's fair. Sure, that seems to make sense. I just want to know, where does the hurt and anger go? As much as you can forgive someone, or maybe "forget" someone's wrongdoings, are you ever really at peace with their actions? Are you really such an emotionless, careless monk? If someone does something unkind to you, do you think so little of yourself that you don't think you have the right to be upset at them?
Hear me out, now.
What if you allowed yourself to hold some resentment for them? You let them know, you reacted appropriately and safely, and then you carried on with your life knowing what they did. It's not an active anger, it's a dormant anger that is soothed more and more over time. Just like any emotion. We experience sadness due to loss, and we're told that it's okay to cry and be sad. Over time, though, that sadness eases and you function like a human being and you're always aware of the pain, and it rises up again now and then, but overall, you've come to terms with it.
Why does this logic not apply to anger? Why must we be pure and cleansed of all negative feelings towards others? People can be awful, why is it acceptable for them to be awful without consequences? Does that not just open the door for them and others to repeat these actions? And, once again I ask, where does the anger go? Doesn't it turn inward a lot of the time? I can't imagine that this is healthier. Anger at another person harming you is natural. Since man came to be, there was anger. No matter who you are, you experience it sometimes. Yet, it's shameful and wrong to feel this way? It's so bad that you have to deny it. Emotions don't just disappear into nothingness. If that anger sits in you untouched, unrecognized, it festers and molds and turns into regret, self-loathing, and general distaste for humanity.
Society can't be afraid of anger. It's not just for psychos and terrorists. Anger is a natural emotion and fighting it back, like any other emotion, is going to cause you physical and mental health trauma overtime. Punch a wall, kick a baby, heck, if you can do it with some class, do something a little spiteful if it'll feel good. Confusing hatred and harm with some rational negativity is a hazard to your well-being. Don't just let it eat away at you. Oh, and, don't actually kick a baby. That's a biggie.
Just, please, stop acting as if you're not human. As if you are totally cool with being beaten down and treated like garbage. Stop being a monk, because monks are useless. They never help anyone or accomplish anything. They never live, they're just in a constant state of death. You have the FORTUNE of feeling anger. Live it, love it, and embrace it, before your body forgets how!
Sunday, June 21, 2015
My Dad and I aren't Beautiful
My father found out he was going to have a daughter when he was a 40-something year old, 20-something years ago. I've never asked him how he felt about learning this. I never asked him about our relationship as daughter and father. I know he was at work a lot. To this day, most of the time he's at work or working. When he wasn't working, there was a lot of arguing in the house. Who knows what it was about; money, school, work, life... the normal things.
I am sure he hugged and kissed me enough, but I've never asked. I rarely think about it. The first time I remember him hugging me, though, was when I was 18. We had an argument, and due to hypoglycemia, I blew things out of proportion. We were in the car driving somewhere. He stopped the car on the side of the road, got into the backseat, and hugged me. Never before had I seen my father sit in the backseat of the car. He was ALWAYS the driver. We sat there and he hugged me for about 10 or 15 minutes. Honestly, what he said didn't resonate with me. I have no idea what sorts of words of encouragement and sentimentality he shared with me that day. All I remember is that hug, and how nice it felt.
Not being an emotionally-open person, him or I, we don't push those sorts of things. It is just how we are, I guess. Physical expressions of love, along with verbal ones, were always pretty limited. That's what we like, that's what we're comfortable with. Even seeing my father kiss my mother in public once or twice a year makes me squirm, still. I should think, "Aw, they're still in love after 35 years." Alas, I just can't get over the fact that I find saliva exchange of any sort to be repugnant. Necessary at times, but still germ-filled and icky.
My father enjoys a few things. Not too much, as he is a traditional curmudgeon, by all means. I know nearly everything that makes him genuinely smile, though. I could probably list them just using two hands. As for things he couldn't live without, I could list those on one hand and have a couple spare fingers. Let's simplify this, though... He loves animals, cars, music, baked goods, law, medicine, expensive things, and his family.
What inspired me to write today was one detail about my father's love for things....
When he looks at our dog (a big, fluffy Australian Shepherd) he says she is beautiful. When he shows off his black corvette with red leather interior, he goes on about how beautiful the car is. So on, so on.... The one thing my father has never said to me is that I am beautiful.
Thank God.
My father doesn't think of me as a car or as a dog. He doesn't think I need to be told I'm beautiful every time I wear a dress or put on some makeup or get my hair done. I'm his daughter! No matter what I'm wearing, I'm good! It is seldom that he compliments me at all, but the last thing I need is for my father to tell me he approves of my appearance more so than usual. What good does that do me? However, the other day, after I gave my brother a handwritten card for his wedding, my father said, "Hold onto that, it'll be worth something someday considering how well she writes."
At that moment, I nearly cried. That compliment, along with any time he says I'm intelligent or that I'll be successful, is irreplaceable. Those moments cannot be erased from my mind. They help me believe in myself and what I am capable of accomplishing. They inspire me each and everyday, even when things seem impossible. Not because "my daddy" said I could do things, but because a man I highly respect and admire believes in me. Not in any light manner, but deep to the core of his being, he knows I'll be okay. Which lets me know that, yeah... I will be okay.
My father isn't trying to be anyone else. He's not trying to fill a role or say what a father is supposed to tell his daughter. He knows I want to be intelligent, I want to be respected, I want to be viewed as a blossoming human being in society who is going to not only be good, but be GREAT. That is what his message is to me whenever he gets the chance. He reminds me what really matters. Not to get caught up in superfluous physical traits and not even to stress out about minor obstacles and challenges right now. He keeps me running and chasing what matters. We don't need to constantly call each other and recite pre-written vows of love. I just get him and he just gets me.
That's all we need.
I am sure he hugged and kissed me enough, but I've never asked. I rarely think about it. The first time I remember him hugging me, though, was when I was 18. We had an argument, and due to hypoglycemia, I blew things out of proportion. We were in the car driving somewhere. He stopped the car on the side of the road, got into the backseat, and hugged me. Never before had I seen my father sit in the backseat of the car. He was ALWAYS the driver. We sat there and he hugged me for about 10 or 15 minutes. Honestly, what he said didn't resonate with me. I have no idea what sorts of words of encouragement and sentimentality he shared with me that day. All I remember is that hug, and how nice it felt.
Not being an emotionally-open person, him or I, we don't push those sorts of things. It is just how we are, I guess. Physical expressions of love, along with verbal ones, were always pretty limited. That's what we like, that's what we're comfortable with. Even seeing my father kiss my mother in public once or twice a year makes me squirm, still. I should think, "Aw, they're still in love after 35 years." Alas, I just can't get over the fact that I find saliva exchange of any sort to be repugnant. Necessary at times, but still germ-filled and icky.
My father enjoys a few things. Not too much, as he is a traditional curmudgeon, by all means. I know nearly everything that makes him genuinely smile, though. I could probably list them just using two hands. As for things he couldn't live without, I could list those on one hand and have a couple spare fingers. Let's simplify this, though... He loves animals, cars, music, baked goods, law, medicine, expensive things, and his family.
What inspired me to write today was one detail about my father's love for things....
When he looks at our dog (a big, fluffy Australian Shepherd) he says she is beautiful. When he shows off his black corvette with red leather interior, he goes on about how beautiful the car is. So on, so on.... The one thing my father has never said to me is that I am beautiful.
Thank God.
My father doesn't think of me as a car or as a dog. He doesn't think I need to be told I'm beautiful every time I wear a dress or put on some makeup or get my hair done. I'm his daughter! No matter what I'm wearing, I'm good! It is seldom that he compliments me at all, but the last thing I need is for my father to tell me he approves of my appearance more so than usual. What good does that do me? However, the other day, after I gave my brother a handwritten card for his wedding, my father said, "Hold onto that, it'll be worth something someday considering how well she writes."
At that moment, I nearly cried. That compliment, along with any time he says I'm intelligent or that I'll be successful, is irreplaceable. Those moments cannot be erased from my mind. They help me believe in myself and what I am capable of accomplishing. They inspire me each and everyday, even when things seem impossible. Not because "my daddy" said I could do things, but because a man I highly respect and admire believes in me. Not in any light manner, but deep to the core of his being, he knows I'll be okay. Which lets me know that, yeah... I will be okay.
My father isn't trying to be anyone else. He's not trying to fill a role or say what a father is supposed to tell his daughter. He knows I want to be intelligent, I want to be respected, I want to be viewed as a blossoming human being in society who is going to not only be good, but be GREAT. That is what his message is to me whenever he gets the chance. He reminds me what really matters. Not to get caught up in superfluous physical traits and not even to stress out about minor obstacles and challenges right now. He keeps me running and chasing what matters. We don't need to constantly call each other and recite pre-written vows of love. I just get him and he just gets me.
That's all we need.
Excitement vs. Commitment
You know those people: They spent the past 10 years of their lives studying, reading, thinking, researching, testing, analyzing, writing, listening, and learning. Now some of those people have PhDs, medical degrees, law degrees, so on.... That is the life they chose. They might make good money, real good money. They might have the dream home, dream car, a wonderful spouse, and everything you've always been told was the solution to unhappiness. Of course, they may also have zip. It is possible that after spending lots of time and money on schooling, they ended up with a hopeless job with no future prospects or joy left in them.
You probably also know those other people: The ones who dropped out of college or high school or disappeared for several years, who traveled, created, explored, read, saw, did, felt, smelled, tasted, tried, went, and learned. Many of these people ended up photographers, writers, explorers... and some ended up homeless, or close enough to it.
What is success, though? Who holds the secret to being the "successful human being"? The obvious and easy answer is that every person has a different take on what success is. We all know there is an objective take on the word, though. Then, are you a failure if you do not accomplish those things, in the eyes of society? Every culture views it differently, as well. A lawyer in one country is as unimpressive as a shepherd in other countries. One culture's medicine man is as highly-revered as another culture's surgeon.
The hardest thing of all, though, is knowing what success means to YOU. Not to those around you and to your unconscious traditional standards. That is what we are used to considering. This is different. This is a question of where your life will lead that will make your efforts worth the energy, and every moment that you worked towards your goal still a worthwhile investment of time, effort, sweat, and tears.
However, when you have been fed a certain belief, it can be difficult to find your own success. Whether it means moving out of the farm life and becoming a construction worker or leaving the big business and becoming a henna artist in another country. Either of these can seem like a huge mistake. That is, if you get caught up in the ideals of others.
It is possible to be so caught up in one's guitar-playing that you never get to graduate school. Still, the experiences and all you learned and did because of this one skill may have been worth it. Others choose to regret these opportunities and times in life. It is not wrong. I don't believe that regret is bad. I believe denying what you truly seek is wrong. To an extent. Sometimes working hard at something you're uncertain of can be the road to something better. That may be where you find your success. Or, that it was all a waste of time.
This is a philosophical conundrum with no answer, no solution, no perfect or correct response. It's simply a matter of giving yourself the moment or moment and a half to recognize what your priority is. Not only today or tomorrow, but what is most likely going to make you proud 20, 30, 40 years down the road. You'll get there, and there's no reason not to work up to a good point starting now.
The part of it that we lose focus of is that it's one life. An entire existence, but simply one of billions. You and only you are living it and after you're dead, you made that life either extraordinary or you made it bland. There is no better, no worse, there is simply a life. While you're living it, you have every right and should feel nearly complete power over its twists and turns. I am simply curious to know what happens when you take those reigns.
You probably also know those other people: The ones who dropped out of college or high school or disappeared for several years, who traveled, created, explored, read, saw, did, felt, smelled, tasted, tried, went, and learned. Many of these people ended up photographers, writers, explorers... and some ended up homeless, or close enough to it.
What is success, though? Who holds the secret to being the "successful human being"? The obvious and easy answer is that every person has a different take on what success is. We all know there is an objective take on the word, though. Then, are you a failure if you do not accomplish those things, in the eyes of society? Every culture views it differently, as well. A lawyer in one country is as unimpressive as a shepherd in other countries. One culture's medicine man is as highly-revered as another culture's surgeon.
The hardest thing of all, though, is knowing what success means to YOU. Not to those around you and to your unconscious traditional standards. That is what we are used to considering. This is different. This is a question of where your life will lead that will make your efforts worth the energy, and every moment that you worked towards your goal still a worthwhile investment of time, effort, sweat, and tears.
However, when you have been fed a certain belief, it can be difficult to find your own success. Whether it means moving out of the farm life and becoming a construction worker or leaving the big business and becoming a henna artist in another country. Either of these can seem like a huge mistake. That is, if you get caught up in the ideals of others.
It is possible to be so caught up in one's guitar-playing that you never get to graduate school. Still, the experiences and all you learned and did because of this one skill may have been worth it. Others choose to regret these opportunities and times in life. It is not wrong. I don't believe that regret is bad. I believe denying what you truly seek is wrong. To an extent. Sometimes working hard at something you're uncertain of can be the road to something better. That may be where you find your success. Or, that it was all a waste of time.
This is a philosophical conundrum with no answer, no solution, no perfect or correct response. It's simply a matter of giving yourself the moment or moment and a half to recognize what your priority is. Not only today or tomorrow, but what is most likely going to make you proud 20, 30, 40 years down the road. You'll get there, and there's no reason not to work up to a good point starting now.
The part of it that we lose focus of is that it's one life. An entire existence, but simply one of billions. You and only you are living it and after you're dead, you made that life either extraordinary or you made it bland. There is no better, no worse, there is simply a life. While you're living it, you have every right and should feel nearly complete power over its twists and turns. I am simply curious to know what happens when you take those reigns.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
NoBS
I know I've written about my stomach issues before, but since I am currently dealing with them, I felt inspired to write about another aspect of this horrible syndrome. The hard part is explaining it to people. Ya know, the social aspect. It's not a pretty issue. Most aren't, but if you have throat or eye or chest problems, it might not be too difficult telling other people, but telling others that your IBS is acting up can be difficult.
This is difficult because 1. Just saying IBS is hard enough, explaining it is even worse. 2. People take everything personally, they assume you're lying. 3. They don't understand the seriousness of it, and assume you're being dramatic.
Since I'm not sure what you call someone who has IBS, I will just call us BSers.
Sometimes BSers have to cancel plans or avoid planning ahead because... well, bathrooms aren't always available. If they are, no one wants to spend the entire evening in the bathroom while your friend is outside either having fun or judging you. And, yep, sometimes BSers drink alcohol despite their issue, but a lot of the time, it's not worth the agony just to have a few drinks with you.
Sometimes BSers have to miss school or work because... same reason, along with the fact that like any pain, having intense stomach cramps can really make you grumpy and exhausted and make it hard to focus.
And, whether you knew it or not, IBS pains are extremely painful. It can ruin sleep, fun, and nearly any other activity. It really affects every part of one's life during a bad flare-up. Unlike worse diseases, IBS doesn't really have a treatment. From my experience, all doctors do is shrug it off and tell you not to drink caffeine or alcohol, not to eat big meals or chocolate, not to blah or blah... and, none of it helps. At all. So, why bother skipping out on the good things? Not that it's not worth trying and seeing if anything changes over a couple months, but for most people, being shrugged off by the doctor and then nothing improving is a really disheartening experience. The message is that nothing will ever change. Every meal you eat is a potential death trap of complete stomach disarray.
Sympathy is not the goal, as that won't make it better. A little empathy and understanding is what the world is lacking. Like many diseases, disorders, and syndromes, there's not enough knowledge, research, or concern.
I wish I could say it's not as unpleasant as I am presenting it to be, but it really is debilitating. For something so common and so horrible, the lack of empathy for those who suffer is unfortunate. Mostly because people are scared to talk about it, to explain their symptoms. Most BSers just unhappily go along, trying to make things work.
Dear body, give me my life back!
This is difficult because 1. Just saying IBS is hard enough, explaining it is even worse. 2. People take everything personally, they assume you're lying. 3. They don't understand the seriousness of it, and assume you're being dramatic.
Since I'm not sure what you call someone who has IBS, I will just call us BSers.
Sometimes BSers have to cancel plans or avoid planning ahead because... well, bathrooms aren't always available. If they are, no one wants to spend the entire evening in the bathroom while your friend is outside either having fun or judging you. And, yep, sometimes BSers drink alcohol despite their issue, but a lot of the time, it's not worth the agony just to have a few drinks with you.
Sometimes BSers have to miss school or work because... same reason, along with the fact that like any pain, having intense stomach cramps can really make you grumpy and exhausted and make it hard to focus.
And, whether you knew it or not, IBS pains are extremely painful. It can ruin sleep, fun, and nearly any other activity. It really affects every part of one's life during a bad flare-up. Unlike worse diseases, IBS doesn't really have a treatment. From my experience, all doctors do is shrug it off and tell you not to drink caffeine or alcohol, not to eat big meals or chocolate, not to blah or blah... and, none of it helps. At all. So, why bother skipping out on the good things? Not that it's not worth trying and seeing if anything changes over a couple months, but for most people, being shrugged off by the doctor and then nothing improving is a really disheartening experience. The message is that nothing will ever change. Every meal you eat is a potential death trap of complete stomach disarray.
Sympathy is not the goal, as that won't make it better. A little empathy and understanding is what the world is lacking. Like many diseases, disorders, and syndromes, there's not enough knowledge, research, or concern.
I wish I could say it's not as unpleasant as I am presenting it to be, but it really is debilitating. For something so common and so horrible, the lack of empathy for those who suffer is unfortunate. Mostly because people are scared to talk about it, to explain their symptoms. Most BSers just unhappily go along, trying to make things work.
Dear body, give me my life back!
Sunday, May 31, 2015
The older and the wiser
Most people do not want to hang out with older people. That is, the 55+ community. Why is that? To begin with, I suppose it scares them. Most people can't face the grey hair, the lightly folded skin, and all the other little details that follow along with time and experience. The next problem is, it can be hard for many people to relate to someone 20, 30, 40 years older than themselves. The music, clothing, and even speech is very different. Most people in their 60s don't even think to use words like "awesome" or "cool" unless something is beautiful beyond belief or the weather is a bit chilly. And, finally, most people at that stage of their lives are not clubbing and drinking and doing everything in their power to evidence that they are in fact young. If you've read my previous posts, you know how I view young people who drink excessively to prove a point.
But no, most middle-aged people have finally settled into their skin, their age, and their life. Of course, some are sickeningly desperate to stay youthful, but the best older people are letting life lap over them.
This may be why I enjoy the company of people who have crossed that line and entered into a happier new existence. They have the chance to live again in a state where they embrace the world and themselves. They can view their life choices, mistakes, regrets, self-hatred in a open way and realize that it was never worth it. Not to mention, people who are in their 50s and up at this time were young during one of the best eras in history. That is, they were hippies or yuppies, they were soldiers or draft dodgers, they saw Jerry Garcia alive, and they didn't even miss Nixon in office! Lucky.
Of course there is plenty we younger-folk can learn in books. Videos and books and collections, but there is no way of competing with those who experienced all these things for themselves. Sure, in 30 years I can tell kids about 9/11 and, um, what else do we have? Hurricane Sandy? Eh. Spice Girls? Meh. Lollapalooza? Never been. The fact is, I am not ashamed to say that I feel 900% more safe, comfortable, and happy when in a room full of a 60-somethings than I do surrounded by people who are in their 20s, self-conscious, and judging everyone around them. And, yes, old people can be cruel and judgmental, as well. Obviously, there are flaws in my argument. However, I know from my experience, and within the people I associate with, clothing and hairstyles and those silly little things we all do but are ashamed of don't matter as much! They've seen it all before! They recognize that we're all a little weird and gross and embarrassing, but also magnificent.
As we always hear, being old is hard, but it's better than the alternative. The fact is, people in their 80s and 90s are facing the possibility of death everyday. That's the most metal thing a person can do: face death every time you wake up. You look it straight in the face and say, "Well? What's it going to be today?" If you can deal with this, you are definitely worth knowing and hearing.
Maybe it helps that I am not scared of aging. I am extremely enthusiastic about each day making me move forward just a little bit. I am not trying to rush through my young days. I'm not rushing it and taking it for granted, but considering how youthful people in their 50s and 60s can be, I really don't think it'll be so bad. Once upon a time, being 50 was the end of it all. Give up now and surrender everything, you're done. Not any longer! With surgery and medicine and healthy living, 50 is just a drop in the bucket!
Just remember, you'll want to fit in and be loved when you're older, why not learn now how to do aging right? You can be the old grump full of regrets and woes about growing older, or you can accept the inevitably and romantic decline of it all. So, grab an old person and learn what you can. Appreciate what they can offer. You might be surprised how much you enjoy it!
But no, most middle-aged people have finally settled into their skin, their age, and their life. Of course, some are sickeningly desperate to stay youthful, but the best older people are letting life lap over them.
This may be why I enjoy the company of people who have crossed that line and entered into a happier new existence. They have the chance to live again in a state where they embrace the world and themselves. They can view their life choices, mistakes, regrets, self-hatred in a open way and realize that it was never worth it. Not to mention, people who are in their 50s and up at this time were young during one of the best eras in history. That is, they were hippies or yuppies, they were soldiers or draft dodgers, they saw Jerry Garcia alive, and they didn't even miss Nixon in office! Lucky.
Of course there is plenty we younger-folk can learn in books. Videos and books and collections, but there is no way of competing with those who experienced all these things for themselves. Sure, in 30 years I can tell kids about 9/11 and, um, what else do we have? Hurricane Sandy? Eh. Spice Girls? Meh. Lollapalooza? Never been. The fact is, I am not ashamed to say that I feel 900% more safe, comfortable, and happy when in a room full of a 60-somethings than I do surrounded by people who are in their 20s, self-conscious, and judging everyone around them. And, yes, old people can be cruel and judgmental, as well. Obviously, there are flaws in my argument. However, I know from my experience, and within the people I associate with, clothing and hairstyles and those silly little things we all do but are ashamed of don't matter as much! They've seen it all before! They recognize that we're all a little weird and gross and embarrassing, but also magnificent.
As we always hear, being old is hard, but it's better than the alternative. The fact is, people in their 80s and 90s are facing the possibility of death everyday. That's the most metal thing a person can do: face death every time you wake up. You look it straight in the face and say, "Well? What's it going to be today?" If you can deal with this, you are definitely worth knowing and hearing.
Maybe it helps that I am not scared of aging. I am extremely enthusiastic about each day making me move forward just a little bit. I am not trying to rush through my young days. I'm not rushing it and taking it for granted, but considering how youthful people in their 50s and 60s can be, I really don't think it'll be so bad. Once upon a time, being 50 was the end of it all. Give up now and surrender everything, you're done. Not any longer! With surgery and medicine and healthy living, 50 is just a drop in the bucket!
Just remember, you'll want to fit in and be loved when you're older, why not learn now how to do aging right? You can be the old grump full of regrets and woes about growing older, or you can accept the inevitably and romantic decline of it all. So, grab an old person and learn what you can. Appreciate what they can offer. You might be surprised how much you enjoy it!
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