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shadowkatDeep breath and sigh - it's now day 90. Ninety Days.
1. Tomorrow is a doctor's appointment, which requires a subway ride. Granted it is really only a twenty-thirty minute subway ride. About nine to ten stops. Not too bad. The subways are supposed to be clean. Masks are allegedly mandatory - curious to see how that's being enforced.
It also requires some walking along residential streets. Sitting in a doctor's office waiting room, and a doctor's exam room. The question is which mask to wear - the one with the additional filter? The surgical blue and white masks? The new ones I got with two layers?
I'm dreading it. I'm not a fan of visiting the doctor to begin with. I was going to explain why - but I don't think I need to. Anyhow, COVID makes visiting the doctor about a hundred times more stressful. Oh well, maybe I can snag a COVID test out of it - although I don't know what I'll do if they tell me I'm positive - there's a kind of freedom in not knowing. Yes, I feel weirdly comfortable in my uncertainty at the moment. (Note if I was in any other state - I would not be eligible to get a COVID test without symptoms, but New York is test happy and wants to test every single person it can get its grubby little mitts on. Its rather proud of the fact that it has currently tested the most people around the globe - it wants to keep that honor. New York is anything if not a tad on the competitive side of the fence.)
2. In other news, the Supreme Court determined by a 6-3 vote that the Civil Rights Act did protect LGBTQA folks from getting fired from a job for being LGBTQA. The ACLU was rather proud of this victory - considering it had been fighting for it for a while now. There's still more ground that needs to be covered, but a spot of good news. Kind of justifies my donations to the ACLU over the years.
3. Crazy Workplace
Meanwhile Crazy workplace notified everyone to be a wee bit more careful about what they say and/or post/tweet/etc on social media. Apparently there had been quite a few complaints received about Crazy Workplace employees posting racist rants and/or comments on various social media outlets. The gist of the memo - was cease doing this, or consider your job in danger, because you are making our customers and co-workers scared and uncomfortable, you nitiwts. This is your only warning.
And..union rep attempted to guess who my "reliable source" was regarding potential merger. I found their guess to be rather funny. "Well," wrote union rep, "the manager of maintenance of equipment and the head of compliance never heard of it, so unless its someone with a lot more pull than either of them have...lol!"
ME: Yep. [Why the Manager in charge of maintenance of equipment would know about the merger of the construction area, I've no clue. Or the Director of Compliance for the matter. They aren't in construction - and have nothing to do with it.]
Turns out I was right, when I told Chidi that our union reps were useless and knew nothing. I forwarded the email to Chidi who is the one who told me to ask the question, actually boss told us too. But never mind.
I told this to my mother over the phone.
Mother: Well, at least you don't have to worry about them figuring out who it is...via you.
Me: No, they are too stupid. They want me to tell them - but it's not happening.
4. Mother's depressed. God, who isn't? Also, while I knew 2020 was going to be a roller-coaster ride, I didn't realize it would be this bad of one. I should have - we have the Anti-Christ in the White House (Lando's nickname for him), I don't know what I was expecting.
I almost burst into tears twice today - feeling sorry for myself. Thinking I should have prepared for this better. But honestly, I tried. I did what I could with what was available.
And I'm tired of being scared and anxious over simple things. Latest, an area of my tub that appears to be wearing away and I don't know what to do about it. It's now rust colored. And rough. I can't figure out how to fix it or stop it. I think it's the water that pools in that place. I can't call the super to fix or look at it right now.
Routine helps. I am a creature of habit. And I've a strict routine that I more or less stick to. That provides sanity, as does taking long walks through a cemetery - yesterday's was five miles for three hours. Or meditation. Writing daily in this journal. Calling my parents. Texting my brother. Interacting on FB. Completing work assignments. Watching the Governor's live news briefings - which my mother is catching via youtube now.
My mother worried today about never being very good at anything. She wanted to be a good artist.
Mother: I always wanted to be a really good artist.
ME: I don't know I liked that painting you did years ago.
Mother: Which one ?
Me: The one with the black sun and orange background - it was good.
Mother: Your Uncle P criticized it and said it was horrible.
ME: He's a hardly a good judge. The man can't draw. And art is in the eye of the beholder. His wife's a professional artist and half her stuff - I dislike. What other people think of your art is not important. You're too critical mother.
Mother: You don't understand, I never had anyone appreciate my work - while you, your brother and father created amazing things.
Me: Some people liked our work, some despised it. I've learned not to care whether people like it or not. People tend to like whatever fits their mood or they can relate to. I published a book, some people loved it, some hated it, some didn't care one way or the other. It wasn't about me, or whether I was a good writer or storyteller, it had zip to do with that - it was about them.
I don't think she understood. But it's something I've learned over the past ten years - that I can't get validation from outside myself. Nor can other's define or tell me who I am or what I can or can't do or what I enjoy, or what I'm even good at.
Most people have no clue who they are, how are they supposed to figure out who I am? All I'm going to get is reflections of them imprinted on me like some bizarre fun house mirror. Same with validation - when people like what I do or write or create - it's not about me, I cease to be, it's about the other person and how they are relating to the piece of artwork. They are looking for themselves in it or something relatable to their experience. If they find that - they'll love it or hate it - depending on whatever it is they find. And it's often something different each time they look or read the work of art. If they don't find anything relatable? They'll wander off and find something else.
Its kind of like singing. I allowed people years ago to tell me whether or not I could sing or create music. Now, years later, I'm beginning to realize that some of the people who told me I couldn't sing - weren't good singers themselves. And I don't like their singing. It doesn't sit well on my ear. So why did I care what they felt about mine? No one liked my singing, so I stopped singing. I don't sing. How sad. To allow another person to take something away. Then I got upset and thought, I should sing. That there was something wrong with me for not enjoying to sing. But a lot of people do not enjoy singing, most of my family doesn't like to sing. Not everyone wants to sing. And that is okay. I don't have to want to sing. I do not enjoy singing unless it is a good song and it pulls at me. Otherwise I will not sing it. What someone else thinks about this - is unimportant. Their opinion on whether I like to sing, want to sing, or do sing is irrelevant. By rendering it irrelevant, I've removed their power over whether or not I can sing or want to sing or must sing entirely.
I examined the responses that I got to various posts on the internet a few months back - specifically the meta I posted to Archive of Our Own, and the responses said more about the people responding than what I wrote or said.
In various cases, they hadn't really read it all that closely and were reacting to a sentence or a paragraph. And in many, it was if they'd read something I had not written at all - some mysterious work that resided only in their heads. I saw that with various responses to my book as well. Often the responses I got from people - was a kind of power-play. They wanted me to write something that appealed to them, that they could relate to. I don't want to do that. I want to write about what moves me. I'm not interested in writing for them or about them. My writing is not altruistic in that sense nor does it have to be. Nor are they entitled to it. If they like what I write or put out there - great, wonderful, we can connect. If not? C'est La Vie. I have no control over that.
The difficulty in attempting to cater your art to please others, is ...you will be much like my poor mother, often unable to even please yourself. There's no way of knowing what someone else will love or hate. People are also fickle and can turn on you on a dime. Look at Joss Whedon.
People can often only see what their limited range of experience permits them to see. I see it all the time on social media. How people misread other's words. I see it in our news media. Everywhere.
At any rate, I've learned to write what is inside me, and let the chips fall where they may. I no longer desire fame or fortune, just a handful of souls here and there who may find something of value in it, whatever that may be.
Sometimes, I just write as I am tonight, to let off steam as one might with a pressure valve. If people enjoy it, find meaning in it, can relate...all the better, if not...it is what it is. I've little control over it either way.
I leave you with...a big fluffy cat, my niece's to be exact.
1. Tomorrow is a doctor's appointment, which requires a subway ride. Granted it is really only a twenty-thirty minute subway ride. About nine to ten stops. Not too bad. The subways are supposed to be clean. Masks are allegedly mandatory - curious to see how that's being enforced.
It also requires some walking along residential streets. Sitting in a doctor's office waiting room, and a doctor's exam room. The question is which mask to wear - the one with the additional filter? The surgical blue and white masks? The new ones I got with two layers?
I'm dreading it. I'm not a fan of visiting the doctor to begin with. I was going to explain why - but I don't think I need to. Anyhow, COVID makes visiting the doctor about a hundred times more stressful. Oh well, maybe I can snag a COVID test out of it - although I don't know what I'll do if they tell me I'm positive - there's a kind of freedom in not knowing. Yes, I feel weirdly comfortable in my uncertainty at the moment. (Note if I was in any other state - I would not be eligible to get a COVID test without symptoms, but New York is test happy and wants to test every single person it can get its grubby little mitts on. Its rather proud of the fact that it has currently tested the most people around the globe - it wants to keep that honor. New York is anything if not a tad on the competitive side of the fence.)
2. In other news, the Supreme Court determined by a 6-3 vote that the Civil Rights Act did protect LGBTQA folks from getting fired from a job for being LGBTQA. The ACLU was rather proud of this victory - considering it had been fighting for it for a while now. There's still more ground that needs to be covered, but a spot of good news. Kind of justifies my donations to the ACLU over the years.
3. Crazy Workplace
Meanwhile Crazy workplace notified everyone to be a wee bit more careful about what they say and/or post/tweet/etc on social media. Apparently there had been quite a few complaints received about Crazy Workplace employees posting racist rants and/or comments on various social media outlets. The gist of the memo - was cease doing this, or consider your job in danger, because you are making our customers and co-workers scared and uncomfortable, you nitiwts. This is your only warning.
And..union rep attempted to guess who my "reliable source" was regarding potential merger. I found their guess to be rather funny. "Well," wrote union rep, "the manager of maintenance of equipment and the head of compliance never heard of it, so unless its someone with a lot more pull than either of them have...lol!"
ME: Yep. [Why the Manager in charge of maintenance of equipment would know about the merger of the construction area, I've no clue. Or the Director of Compliance for the matter. They aren't in construction - and have nothing to do with it.]
Turns out I was right, when I told Chidi that our union reps were useless and knew nothing. I forwarded the email to Chidi who is the one who told me to ask the question, actually boss told us too. But never mind.
I told this to my mother over the phone.
Mother: Well, at least you don't have to worry about them figuring out who it is...via you.
Me: No, they are too stupid. They want me to tell them - but it's not happening.
4. Mother's depressed. God, who isn't? Also, while I knew 2020 was going to be a roller-coaster ride, I didn't realize it would be this bad of one. I should have - we have the Anti-Christ in the White House (Lando's nickname for him), I don't know what I was expecting.
I almost burst into tears twice today - feeling sorry for myself. Thinking I should have prepared for this better. But honestly, I tried. I did what I could with what was available.
And I'm tired of being scared and anxious over simple things. Latest, an area of my tub that appears to be wearing away and I don't know what to do about it. It's now rust colored. And rough. I can't figure out how to fix it or stop it. I think it's the water that pools in that place. I can't call the super to fix or look at it right now.
Routine helps. I am a creature of habit. And I've a strict routine that I more or less stick to. That provides sanity, as does taking long walks through a cemetery - yesterday's was five miles for three hours. Or meditation. Writing daily in this journal. Calling my parents. Texting my brother. Interacting on FB. Completing work assignments. Watching the Governor's live news briefings - which my mother is catching via youtube now.
My mother worried today about never being very good at anything. She wanted to be a good artist.
Mother: I always wanted to be a really good artist.
ME: I don't know I liked that painting you did years ago.
Mother: Which one ?
Me: The one with the black sun and orange background - it was good.
Mother: Your Uncle P criticized it and said it was horrible.
ME: He's a hardly a good judge. The man can't draw. And art is in the eye of the beholder. His wife's a professional artist and half her stuff - I dislike. What other people think of your art is not important. You're too critical mother.
Mother: You don't understand, I never had anyone appreciate my work - while you, your brother and father created amazing things.
Me: Some people liked our work, some despised it. I've learned not to care whether people like it or not. People tend to like whatever fits their mood or they can relate to. I published a book, some people loved it, some hated it, some didn't care one way or the other. It wasn't about me, or whether I was a good writer or storyteller, it had zip to do with that - it was about them.
I don't think she understood. But it's something I've learned over the past ten years - that I can't get validation from outside myself. Nor can other's define or tell me who I am or what I can or can't do or what I enjoy, or what I'm even good at.
Most people have no clue who they are, how are they supposed to figure out who I am? All I'm going to get is reflections of them imprinted on me like some bizarre fun house mirror. Same with validation - when people like what I do or write or create - it's not about me, I cease to be, it's about the other person and how they are relating to the piece of artwork. They are looking for themselves in it or something relatable to their experience. If they find that - they'll love it or hate it - depending on whatever it is they find. And it's often something different each time they look or read the work of art. If they don't find anything relatable? They'll wander off and find something else.
Its kind of like singing. I allowed people years ago to tell me whether or not I could sing or create music. Now, years later, I'm beginning to realize that some of the people who told me I couldn't sing - weren't good singers themselves. And I don't like their singing. It doesn't sit well on my ear. So why did I care what they felt about mine? No one liked my singing, so I stopped singing. I don't sing. How sad. To allow another person to take something away. Then I got upset and thought, I should sing. That there was something wrong with me for not enjoying to sing. But a lot of people do not enjoy singing, most of my family doesn't like to sing. Not everyone wants to sing. And that is okay. I don't have to want to sing. I do not enjoy singing unless it is a good song and it pulls at me. Otherwise I will not sing it. What someone else thinks about this - is unimportant. Their opinion on whether I like to sing, want to sing, or do sing is irrelevant. By rendering it irrelevant, I've removed their power over whether or not I can sing or want to sing or must sing entirely.
I examined the responses that I got to various posts on the internet a few months back - specifically the meta I posted to Archive of Our Own, and the responses said more about the people responding than what I wrote or said.
In various cases, they hadn't really read it all that closely and were reacting to a sentence or a paragraph. And in many, it was if they'd read something I had not written at all - some mysterious work that resided only in their heads. I saw that with various responses to my book as well. Often the responses I got from people - was a kind of power-play. They wanted me to write something that appealed to them, that they could relate to. I don't want to do that. I want to write about what moves me. I'm not interested in writing for them or about them. My writing is not altruistic in that sense nor does it have to be. Nor are they entitled to it. If they like what I write or put out there - great, wonderful, we can connect. If not? C'est La Vie. I have no control over that.
The difficulty in attempting to cater your art to please others, is ...you will be much like my poor mother, often unable to even please yourself. There's no way of knowing what someone else will love or hate. People are also fickle and can turn on you on a dime. Look at Joss Whedon.
People can often only see what their limited range of experience permits them to see. I see it all the time on social media. How people misread other's words. I see it in our news media. Everywhere.
At any rate, I've learned to write what is inside me, and let the chips fall where they may. I no longer desire fame or fortune, just a handful of souls here and there who may find something of value in it, whatever that may be.
Sometimes, I just write as I am tonight, to let off steam as one might with a pressure valve. If people enjoy it, find meaning in it, can relate...all the better, if not...it is what it is. I've little control over it either way.
I leave you with...a big fluffy cat, my niece's to be exact.