Intelligentia kakophonia

I have no idea when or where it started, or what the catalyst was/is, but I’ve suffered occasional bouts of insomnia for a year or so. I can’t sleep, I toss and turn, nothing seems to be truly comfortable. I usually lay in bed for hours (but is actually 30 minutes or less) but eventually get up with a grumble on my lips.

It almost always manifests as a constant stream of thoughts, ideas, trivia, fantasies, or unclassifiable errata, and I can’t stop it. Sometimes there is coherence, a pattern; other times its just random bits from here and there. When there is a distinct purpose I simply fly through them, moving from one subject to another related subject via tangents; but when it is chaotic my brain blazes ahead and takes such deviations as it desires. I’m just along for the ride in both cases.

In frustration I usually grab a book and read, or play solitare on my phone,  or play video games…anything to distract myself and (hopefully!!!) get back to bed. It never works, of course; before I know it the sun is streaming through my window and the birds have already snagged breakfast. Thus, bleary eyed and hopelessly exhausted, I realise I feel the fatigue I was aiming for and try to get at least a few hours sleep before work. The far more responsible part of my brain will occasionally yell from across the psychic mesa in my head (I let him have his fun when I have company, but otherwise banish him until needed again) to suggest going to the gym, but I ignore it. I suspect that has to do with the fact that going to the gym bores me into utter despair, so I think about something, anything, while I’m doing whatever it is I’m doing in an effort to avoid thinking about just how bored I am…I suppose since I can’t stop thinking it would be perfect, but something inside me feels like it simply cannot summon the energy to go, so I just stay in spite of the idiocy of it all. I’m obviously guilty of quite a few Deadly Sins.

Anyway, this sometimes repeats for a night or two…sometimes a week. I just become a zombie, occasionally getting so tired that I realise I’m missing chunks of time while working and I have no idea what file I’m looking at because I don’t remember retrieving it. I desperately hope that I will be so tired once I clock out that I’ll go straight to bed and happily tell my brain to do the same thing…but sometimes that doesn’t happen. Once I clock out and I think I’ve finally broken the spell, I get a second wind. I can’t sleep. I wait once again for Morpheus and he never comes until the 11th hour, as usual. Bastard.

Anyway, I am currently in the middle of an episode, which is why I started writing this. Now that I’m thinking about it, I do feel a bit of sleepiness coming on, so hopefully I’ll get at least six hours of sleep this time ’round. The hot tea didn’t help much, but it was nice to have nonetheless.

I just hope Morpheus gets off his ass and drops in earlier than he usually does.

The Paradox of Melancholia

I took a break from work and messaged my friend “H” to vent about my job (we do the same for each other, so it’s okay). Eventually he mentioned he was watching an LGBTA themed movie with his mom, so I immediately told him to focus on that and we could talk later. He said it was fine, she was half-asleep anyway, but I stood firm because I think it extremely rude to chat/talk to someone over the phone when in the company of others…but I told him that I don’t have the chance to do that with my mom, and he should enjoy it while she was there. He understood the import and went back to watching the movie.

One of the many stereotypes involving gay men was a close relationship with their mothers (a possible variation of the false idea that men became gay because their mothers were overbearing), but my relationship with mine was anything but close.

My mother was already somewhat narcissistic before the divorce, but it became worse afterwards, and it made a lot of things somewhat difficult (and occasionally disheartening). I was thrilled to be in the high school plays and loved being on the stage playing someone else, but she would often “forget” to show up on opening night (which, as any theatre person will tell you, is always the best night). Even if she did come, it was almost like an afterthought, something she did because it was expected and little else. Her general attitude was best summed up thusly (while this situation did not occur exactly as described, it’s pretty close to the actual event):

Me: So, Mom….

Mom: Yes dear?

Me: Well…I’m gay.

Mom: That’s nice dear…would you please hand me my briefcase?

Everything was pretty much “That’s nice, dear”, and it occasionally drove me to tearful frustration. There were times when she was genuinely engaged, but they weren’t very often, and usually not when it was needed most. I was flailing about in life, angry at the world and full of blind rage over things I couldn’t formulate into coherence, and she sometimes deliberately ignored it. At one point I got angry over something and yelled at her, calling her names and how I hated her, &c, and she immediately sat and calmed me down. It wasn’t until much later that I realised she hadn’t even asked why I was angry at her…all she did was talk me down from my outburst and left it at that.

Perversely, I suppose I could be grateful that her narcissism was everpresent regardless of the situation. If me and my sisters fought, she would bark at us to stop, but then go on as if nothing happened. She did her “that’s nice dear” response when I told her I was dating a boy. I would sneak out at night to hang out with friends, and one night she caught me; all she did was tell me to be careful and that was that. While some kids may have loved that sort of “hands off” approach, it was painful for me and my siblings. We were used to her attention, her constant involvement in our lives…we were dependent on her for support, and that was pretty much gone after the divorce.

In all fairness, I am absolutely certain she loved us. She loved us in her own bizarre, messed up way, but it was paradoxically comforting because we were used to it. Her narcissism was frustrating, but we already knew it was there, so it really didn’t surprise us when we saw it in action. While I may have had issues with her, I will never say she didn’t love us.

Even if my mother were still alive and I talked to her every day, there would always be something missing in our relationship. Some undefinable, intangible “thing” disappeared after my parents divorced, and I still have no idea what it is or was…but I certainly noticed it. It made talking to her extremely difficult, even to the point where I didn’t contact her for years at a time. I realised things wouldn’t change no matter what I did or said, so I attempted to patch things up as best as possible; however, she died before that could be realised. Not once during that time did she ever mention the estrangement, or wonder aloud what was missing between us. I guess she was simply blind to the fact that things had changed between us, or too proud/embarrassed to say it; I would never have known when she was alive and I obviously won’t ever know.

And yet…I wish she were back. We would watch black and white movies, Star Trek, or Doctor Who when I was younger, but that didn’t happen very often, and I wish I had appreciated it more back then. All I know now is that I would give a great deal to watch at least one more movie with her.

Life as a groundhog, people and the Internet, and back to being a groundhog again

I stay in my room a lot. Being outside does not interest me in the slightest most of the time, and everything I want or need is here, so I have no real impetus to leave. I have been compared to a groundhog, popping my head out occasionally to see what’s going on in the world, and heading right back down into my comfortable burrow shortly thereafter. I just don’t feel the overriding need to go outside.

I used to go out a lot (usually every weekend) and now I’m just tired of it. I’m far more comfortable sitting my chair reading a book, or playing a video game, or watching a movie. I work at home, so I don’t have to drive every day (of which I am very glad, because Houston has had shitty traffic problems for the last 20 years), and spend next to nothing on gas as a result. The only time I actually drive is if I need to do something that cannot be done over the internet. To be fair, there have been times where I catch a bit of cabin fever and decide to go to a coffee shop and work on my stories, but once I am done with that and go home I’m back to my usual hermit self for several more weeks. I really don’t mind being inside a lot, but some people think it’s a little strange. In today’s culture where everyone is going to the gym, running in parks, or doing picnics, people like myself are sometimes seen as relics, antisocial, or just plain weird.

I am also like a groundhog in other ways. A few years ago I would sometimes get an urge to go to a local gay bar every few months or so. I really don’t know why I did it, other than perhaps to be among “my people”, but it usually ended up the same way: with disappointment. I saw (and continue to see) how the gay community has changed since I was a teen, and I don’t like it. I essentially popped my head out to see how things were proceeding, decided I wasn’t going to have anything to do with it, and ducked down into my burrow once again.

I happened across a personal ad from somewhere (not a singles app or website; I never had any luck with those so I don’t even bother) and he seemed like a literate fellow, so I sent an email. Part of me was testing how I would feel about it, see if I was able to think clearly in a situation that previously made me an idiot…but I was also feeling lonely, and that had a part to play. I was pretty blunt in my email because if things were to progress further, we would eventually have to meet over coffee or something. Saying I look like Adonis is completely different from seeing me in person. I never disguise anything and never lie (I avoid lying as much as possible as a general rule since I can’t remember what I lied about), so no one can ever say I led them on. Anyway, he responded with enthusiasm and requested a G-rated picture.

For those of you who have had the utter luck of never having to deal with this sort of thing, I shall enlighten you on why this is a very important step to consider:

All animals are attracted to certain things, and we tend to gravitate towards other creatures (of our own species) who have these certain things. Many birds have brilliant, striking plumage and use it to attract mates. Some male primates bring food to a female in the hopes of copulating. Humans are certainly not free from this attraction, and while the definition of beauty has changed over the years (it is in the eye of the beholder, after all), we still gravitate towards those who are considered beautiful.

The reason this is important is due to the fact that, in our internet connection age, we don’t actually “see” the other person. Our interactions are taking place through an electronic proxy; as a result, we ask for pictures. It gives us a face to the voice (words?) and fills in necessary gaps in our brains; however, the picture could be fake and you would never know unless you met them in person (I once had a three month conversation with a bot…I kid you not).

Well, people on singles websites/apps constantly ask for pictures or post them so people will see what they look like. These pictures have become the peacock’s feathers, the primate’s food, or the cat’s offering of a dead vole on your doorstep. The only problem with this is that you don’t get to know them like you would when meeting someone face to face; instead, a picture just tells you what they look like. None of their personality can transmit through the internet unless you type it out, and humans are horrible at talking about themselves. As if that weren’t bad enough, the anonymity and ability to simply not respond at all has created new ways to inflict hurt upon others, and this is felt nowhere more keenly than the people who are not considered attractive….

I am so unattractive my mom had to tie a steak around my neck so the dogs would play with me.

I’m kidding of course; she used ground beef.

In all seriousness, I am not considered attractive by any stretch of the imagination. Oh, I’ve been in a few relationships so obviously someone looked beyond that, but the majority of people out there don’t look past my countenance. They see me and decide I’m not worth the effort to become acquainted with; in doing so, they never get to know who I am. It is unfortunate, but it’s also how reality works, and has been a staple behavior of society since the beginning of time.

In any event, the fellow asked for a picture and I sent it. I knew as soon as I did I would never hear from him again, and I was correct. I have dealt with this often enough to know. It used to upset me a great deal because “they don’t know what they’re missing!” or “they’re so full of themselves”, and so on. Now? I figuratively shrug, say to myself “well, fuck you too”, and go on about my day. Fighting against the tide accomplishes nothing and wears you out with no reward for your efforts, so why bother fighting it? It will never change and that was a huge leap of maturity for me.

Regardless, I popped out of my burrow, took a look around, and saw that things are pretty much the same since the last time I looked. So, I hope you will excuse me while I descend into my burrow once more and wait it out for several more months.

Love, or the pursuit thereof, makes us do crazy things.

I spent many years trying to find “The Thing I Wanted/Needed” when I was younger and far more stupid. I repeatedly looked in all the wrong places, sought out the wrong people, did the wrong things, and tasted the same sour tang of bitter disappointment when everything  fell to shit as it inevitably did. I made a lot of risky and dangerous choices in my hunt for “The Thing I Wanted/Needed”, but the problem was that I could not define it. It was a scratch that you can never reach, something solid in your shoe but could never locate, a craving for a specific food. I went into a lot of dark places (figuratively and literally) in my continued search for it even though I knew it would inevitably elude my grasp as it always did.

It took me about 20 years to figure out what the hell was wrong and put a stop to that nonsense.

Now I know I would never have found “The Thing I Wanted/Needed” because I didn’t even know what it was to begin with; however, now I understand what it was/is, and my life would have been far simpler had I figured it out earlier (it took 20 years to get here, but c’est la vie). I wanted a solid foundation, something to anchor myself into place and silence the panic I felt on the fringes of my consciousness. I thought companionship would help silence that panic and, while I was not incorrect, my entire approach was flawed from start to finish. Being in a relationship silenced the panic, but that silence allowed me to dwell upon what I did to get there…which led into self-commiseration and emotional flagellation because I knew I was right back where I started. I knew it would fall apart like it always did, and what happened after that occurred? I sallied forth into the breach once more as I always did, hoping this time would be different. It was akin to a segment of time repeated over and over, a “Groundhog’s Day” consisting of little more than self-inflicted misery, and it seemed like I would never break out of it.

“Experience is the worst teacher because it gives the test before presenting the material.” (attributed to Vernon Law)

I eventually got out of that death spiral last year or so. I was taken in by a very smooth fellow and spent a great deal of money on him before I realised I was being played as a fool. I finally grasped the reality of the situation and stood there at an emotional crossroads, seeing everything I had done in my life up to that point, and took a different path this time. I essentially broke myself out of the cycle and chose a different way to live.

Now I am (relatively) unfettered by such things. I stay away from the clubs, the bars, the hangouts for men. I hardly drink anymore and stopped smoking over a year ago. I also avoid seeking a relationship/companionship to prevent another disaster; I couldn’t be trusted to think clearly in that environment before, so why invite trouble? The difficulty with that situation is that I will never know if I can truly think with a clear mind until I am actually in the environment, but the outcome would be a complete mess if I were unable to do so. A friend asked me if it was difficult to actively avoid all of it, and I said very much so…but the alternative was far, far worse.

Of course, the biological imperative drives us all to procreate and make more copies of ourselves, and there have been numerous studies showing the benefits of being in a relationship. Regrettably, I too am a biological creature and (unfortunately) also experience the imperative, so it can be extremely difficult at times to avoid thinking about relationships or “love” in general. I do my best, but sometimes it cannot be helped (I wanted to be like Spock or Sherlock Holmes when I was a kid, and that is true now more than ever).

When I’m feeling particularly masochistic I look at the personals. I see the pathos in each entry, people also in a desperate search to find something they cannot define. I see a little bit of my former self in each one, and it makes me realise that my situation might have gone down a darker path. I see men and women from 20s to 60s, trying to find “The Thing They Want/Need” that will help them quell the panic also nibbling on the outer fringes of their consciousness. I wish I could impart my understanding to them so they would also know a little bit of peace and gain some measure of self-respect. I silently wish them well and hope they not only figure out what they are truly searching for but also find it.

Sometimes we have to avoid the things that make us happy and embrace the things that make us sad. It is yet another example of how life is painful at times, but that pain also allows us to grow stronger within.

The Virtues of Cheese, A Stranger in a Strange Land, and A Little Guilt

The Virtues of Cheese

It has them all. I would eat it constantly if I weren’t lactose intolerant (further evidence that I died and am currently in Hell).

A Stranger in a Strange Land (with apologies to Heinlein)

My new medication has made actually doing things a lot easier. Before this I would still think about all the things I really needed to take care of, but I wouldn’t actually do them.

Well, I am doing so now, and one of those things is exercising. Weight gain is a hazard of antidepressants, and I’ve had a lot of jobs where I sit a lot (my current job is one of them). Depression makes it easier to take the mental path of least resistance, and it is far easier to say “fuck it” and flop back into bed/play a video game/eat terrible stuff/&c.

In any event, I cannot even tell you if I’ve ever been in a gym since high school (do they even call them gyms anymore?). Until now they were foreign lands to me, strange and somewhat intimidating because I was completely ignorant of the culture. Well, I had to ask my friend (who works out regularly) what to do. He has been quite helpful in giving me some ideas, but he’s a tiny, lithe fellow and doing this for a while, which means it’s probably a lot easier for him. Considering I’m a large and tall guy who has never done a push up since I was a freshman, I’ve got a LONG way to go. But, I bit the bullet and started up regardless, so I’m still trying to get used to it. My schedule prohibits working in the mornings or evenings, so I go to 24 hour places after I finish work at midnight; while this is nice because of the quiet and absence of jostling to secure the last treadmill, it also makes it virtually impossible to have a friend come with you and work out together, which would make this much easier.

Regardless, I will trudge and trundle ever forward and learn as I go.

A Little Guilt

Phyllis Schlafly, a pillar of the conservative movement and director of the (unfortunate) downfall of the ERA legislation (among many other campaigns), died two days ago.

I vaguely recall her and Anita Bryant during the late 80s, campaigning against any equality for the LGBTA community and making our lives miserable and uncertain. She was a vile woman who did everything she could to remove anti-discrimination laws and, if that wasn’t possible, stop any attempts to create equality for anyone who wasn’t a heterosexual, conservative white person (I’m sure religion figured in there somewhere as well; she was around during the formation of the Moral Majority, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was involved in that as well…thanks a lot, Reagan).

She was a sadist who seemed to take joy in creating hostility towards minorities and feminists, and do so largely under the all-too-familiar mantra of “protecting the children”. She made it her mission to stop other women from having the ability to make their own choices regarding abortion (yet another tired plank of the conservative party), and to espouse the virtues of being an at-home wife while the husband made all the money (which was a very strange position to take considering she was far more famous than her husband). The only word I can use to truly express my disgust and anger towards her would be “repellent”. She was a repellent, hurtful, evil woman who was committed to pushing the conservative viewpoint to a prominent place in society, and damn anyone who wasn’t on board.

When she died, I felt elation…and then a little guilt.

I am a staunch pacifist who would never hurt another living creature (with the exception of mosquitoes and cockroaches…but I do try to kill them as quickly as possible so as to prevent suffering). I do not rejoice in other people’s misery or death. To show happiness in  regards to someone’s death is a very abhorrent and socially scandalous thing, regardless of any offensive behaviour exhibited by the deceased while alive.

This news lit up the LGBTA message boards I visit. There were a lot of people who voiced their happiness that this woman died, and not a few chastising us for rejoicing as we were. One person said we should be ashamed of ourselves because we were “disgusting human beings”, no better than her. I replied, saying they wouldn’t feel the same way if he were a minority, feminist, or non-conservative. I said she was cruelty incarnate who made other people’s lives hell. She had absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever (unless you were a white conservative) and she humiliated people she didn’t like. She knew her words and actions would cause suffering and did not care one whit because she considered us “sub-human”…so our feelings were a little understandable.

Still, I feel a little guilty for thinking this way. She was a horrible person who did and said horrible things. She would inculcate xenophobia and hatred in her followers, and actively fanned those flames knowing what they would do. While a tiny, selfish part of me wishes she suffered as much as we did, someone mentioned that she probably did before she actually died. Great strides have been made in the realm of equality (and continue to be made) in spite of her work, and that is satisfying to know.

We rejoiced the downfall and eventual deaths of Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and other tyrants. Nations celebrated the fact that their reign of terror had finally come to an end, or at least halted for the time being. Phillis Schlafly was a tyrant who led an army of hateful people, and I am similarly glad her reign of terror has finally ended.

I still feel a little guilty nonetheless.

The Fun in Retirement and Violence in the Game Place

The Fun in Retirement

No, I am not retiring; my father, on the other hand, did last week. My sister and I were firmly under the impression that he would die at his desk, but it was surprising to hear he was more than ready to get out of it. I think my step-mother’s acerbic insistence helped him along in his decision-making process; she retired last year or so, and has egged my dad to do it as well because she never saw him anymore (they really do care about each other, so rest assured it was entirely out of love).

My father has worked as long as I can remember. With a few exceptions (layoffs, mainly), he has always been working somewhere. The nuclear power industry (at that time) was still somewhat primitive at that time, which meant refueling periods were weeks on end and everyone working double/triple 12 hour shifts. It was really nice because of the overtime, but it wore you down in short order. My dad did that for years mainly to support a wife and three kids (my mom was a stay-at-home mother), and he did it without complaint. No matter how tired or grouchy he may have been, he would always hug us when we swarmed him upon his return from work. Sometimes he was gone for months at a time in a different state, which was pretty tough for a kid growing up.

In any event, my father’s retirement is long overdue. I may actually get to see him more often than once every couple of months, which suits me just fine. I know he’ll keep himself occupied, he will hopefully be able to sleep in one day, and may actually finish trying to improve their house.

Here’s hoping to a wonderful future!

Violence in the Game Workplace?

(Personal disclosure: I play video games.)

News.com.au recently published an article about a video game that “[promotes] sexual assault against women.” The game in question is Dead or Alive 3 VR (virtual reality), a one on one fighting game that is apparently quite popular (I don’t know what’s popular since I don’t play those). The series has always been mired in controversy because a good number of the characters are scantily-clad women with enough flesh to make four Frankenstein’s monsters. They are designed, drawn up, and dressed like a prepubescent boy’s idealised mental image of what a woman could be, and this has caused a great deal of anger from the feminist camp (and rightfully so).

Apparently, there is a point in this particular game where the player can repeatedly “touch” one of the characters. The character will protest when this happens and say such things as “I don’t like [this]”, but the player can continue regardless of the character’s resistance. The writer did not indicate if any other characters could be treated in this fashion (from what I understand there are male characters in the game), what the end result or goal was (if there is one in the first place), if there was the ability to escalate the action, or if there was a limitation on the length of time, so I’m a little fuzzy on those points. While the writer does not specify what has the feminists up in arms (if there is anything specific), the implication appears to be that, since this is a virtual reality game, the player has to “reach out” and performs the action(s) to get any response. In other words, the game “[promotes] sexual assault against women” by making the player actually perform the acts (as opposed to hitting a few buttons and moving a joystick in a certain pattern). This game has not been released in America and it is still unknown if that will remain as is, so this controversial issue may remain isolated to a certain area.

The connection between violence and video games has always been muddled and conflicting. While I am uncertain just how many studies have been done on the subject, I know a good number of them conflict with each other; however, the general scientific consensus is that video games do not directly inculcate violence within children (indirectly is anyone’s guess). I am sure this is going to become a lightning rod for that debate, and it will be a while before the dust settles.

Regardless, my main question is: why is this feature even in the game to begin with?

Assuming (for the sake of argument) video games do not promote violence of any sort, what reason can be made for its inclusion? What possible purpose could justify this scene? If there was a way to show the player that unwanted physical contact was bad (perhaps by punishing the player in some form), then why bother including it at all? The game already has scantily clad female fighters; why the escalation? It looks more like “fan service” (something to titillate and/or thrill a specific group; males in this case) than anything substantial or necessary.

Do I consider this matter sexist? Absolutely (it is unknown if the player can interact with the male characters in this fashion; if so, then I suppose we should be grateful that they’re egalitarian in the sexism). It is crass, useless, and doesn’t really do anything but invoke outrage and press (which may have been their intention in the first place).

Do I consider this to be a promotion of rape culture? That is difficult for me to conclusively answer. Players may understand the situation and are not influenced by it, in which case it couldn’t be considered a promotion in that sense (I play violent video games, but that doesn’t mean I think/will think it’s okay to shoot people). At the same time, a young child who watches an older sibling play this game may not possess the maturity to make that distinction and consequently learn a skewed bit of information. I will fervently agree that it is most definitely skirting a very thin line on the matter, and the designers/makers of this game should not be congratulating themselves on that fact.

Regardless, it is really creepy and serves no discernible purpose other than to provide a cheap and shallow thrill for the males that play it. Even if the players are not swayed by the whole thing, I cannot imagine the majority of them would feel comfortable performing the actions or even enacting it in the first place. Women get enough offensive behaviour directed towards them as it is; why include virtual women?