I am a refugee blogger from spacehey that is returning to her roots and using tumblr. I've moved my entire backlog of entries here, which you can find hotlinks for under the cut.
What originally started off as advice from a creativity and productivity book has turned into me rolling out of bed early most mornings and racing to write something first thing. It's mostly to keep myself awake, busy, and not doomscrolling, but if you've found this during your own scroll, fear not, I will not judge. I understand the struggle, and I would suggest following! I could be your new morning paper. Even if it is just me ranting about my own silly life experiences.
If you like my silly ramblings, please leave a follow and turn on notifications so you can get your early blurb fix each morning!
About Me!
personal blog
-art blog
-mlp ask blog (lol)
instagram (I post my art here most often)
tiktok
The Early Blurb Directory
Under the cut is a hot-link list of every blog post for easy access.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Good morning.
I've been in a weird transitional, cocooned sort of grey area as of recently. Things are mild, and while that isn't a bad thing, I am the root cause of it.
My highs and lows are very similar in that they aren't very potent. Sure, I feel joy, sadness, even despair and anger, but they all sort of just simmer down into this weird grey matter that I don't do much with. Because of this I've decided to finally bite the bullet and apply for college.
Now you may be thinking, Lina, college is essentially useless for most things in life now, having a bachelors in pretty much anything doesn't boost one's chances of getting a high paying job because so much of the job market has collapsed. And to that I say, yes, exactly!
I no longer, or at least partially, have to worry about my learning being monetarily beneficial to me anymore. When I was in high school I was so scared that I was going to choose the wrong degree to pursue and end up hating my job due to how limited my options would be, but now that a degree basically does nothing that weight has sort of lifted. I can kind of just go to keep myself busy and learn about things I'm interested in for the sake of learning and nothing else. Which to some may not sound very appealing, but to me, it's kind of a relief.
I know that getting a degree doesn't lock you in for life and you don't have to exclusively pursue things that align with it, but it always stressed me out so much as a kid because that's how I thought it worked, and the fact neither of my parents finished college sort of supported that theory. Though they both dropped out for vastly different and unrelated reasons, haha.
I'm hoping I can get a scholarship or a grant and start picking at the preliminary classes now while I'm still working part time. I've been so caught up in the fact that I don't have time to do anything that I haven't taken a step back to realize how much time I actually have. Once I get off from work at 12pm I literally have nothing to do but twiddle my fingers until 4pm when I pick up my dad, and in that time I could be studying and working on art.
And another thing I think might be pushing me in this direction is the simple fact that I work so much better when I've got an assignment due somewhere. Sure, it's sort of miserable having to do the work occasionally, but when I was in high school it was like, *because* I was flexing all of these learning skills for other reasons they transferred over so much better into my creative endeavors. I mean, hell, I began writing my life's work of a book series during high school, and once I graduated I essentially lost the spark to write. Whether that be because I'd finish my assignments early so I could write more, or because I was being given the tools to write better via classes and assigned reading, the result was still the same.
Not to mention the big looming feeling of "having an assignment" made any procrastination I participated in extremely efficient. Something about having A Thing to do makes me really good at pre-prepping for Said Thing by bettering myself, because if I want to do my best academically, I've got to be doing my best mentally and physically as well. Well I mean not totally but you get what I mean.
Will I probably be very busy again? Probably. But when will I ever be this young with this much free time again? Realistically I can't really know. So I'm trying to go by Shawn Spencers S.E.I.Z.E. program, don't worry about each letter of that acronym, the meaning itself is most important. I need to kick and scratch my way out of the grey area by shaking things up and doing something I've been making far too many excuses to avoid doing. So, here goes something.
Well, dear Anon, I don't have a super solid or singular answer to your question. There are quite a few reasons. I think it's mainly because it's nice to have an easy, low-effort outlet to talk about my own experiences. Given the time I'd love to make YouTube videos and other forms of media, but since I rarely have the energy, blogging has become the best option.
I started back on spacehey because I liked the idea of talking to an endless void and maybe, just maybe, someone could read something I wrote and relate to it, laugh, or just derive any value from it. Aside from that, I don't really have any other reasoning that comes to mind aside from the fact i absolutely loooove typing. If you've read any of my entries you'll know. Sitting at an abhorrently loud, clicky keyboard, and just going to town.
Yesterday was fairly abnormal. Well actually that might be a slight understatement, I believe a far more apt expression is that I got my shit rocked.
So yesterday, around 10am, I get a call from my Grandma, and she tells me she's being released from the hospital earlier than she had anticipated (basically kicked out during her required recovery time post-stomach surgery because they needed the room for someone else, smfh) and asks if I can get her after work. Right away I realize that if I don't get there sooner rather than later they may put her in some sort of lounge room in her hospital gown in front of other people with all the junk my Grandpa had brought to her room (classic idiot husband bringing everything instead of the specific thing she asked for). Needless to say I was not having that. I asked my boss if I could leave early, clocked out, and still in my work uniform, raced over there around 11:30.
During most of the morning these absolutely abysmal storm clouds had been forming overhead but it had only been drizzling, so I had assumed it was just a classic case of bipolar florida weather, but once I got on the three mile bridge connecting the island I work on to the main area of town, winds started to pick up and the rain just came pouring down. I could barely see five feet in front of me and the wind was literally SHAKING THE CAR and making me swerve in my lane. Not only that, but since my moms car still needed work done it was seriously struggling through the rain. It was terrifying, so I had to lock in.
As soon as I got to the hospital I rushed up to floor 8 and helped my Grandma pack her things to leave, and literally no one was doing their job. She had been assigned a new nurse that was very green and unfortunately very bad at her job so she hadn't helped, transport was ignoring her calls, and no one was confirming her release papers, as well as a ton of other bullshit I'm a little too uneducated to understand. But what I did very clearly understand was that what needed to be done and what *was* being done were two very different things. Luckily, since I work for an extension of the hospital she was staying at, and I was still in my uniform, I was able to make some things happen.
Now, I need to make something very clear, I have never, up until this point, *ever* abused my work title. I make a point of knowing my place and not holding a job title over anyone's head, especially considering I'm not in an incredibly high ranking job anyway. I try not to get in the way of people doing their jobs, especially if I know damn well they know more than me. But since I showed up in my uniform, which, for some reason even though I work at a different branch is exactly the same as other uniformed workers in my occupation, a lot of people assumed I worked at this hospital. And I let them. At least the people that were mistreating my Grandma because I will do anything for that woman. But of course, I was not rude to anyone and didn't step on any toes.
I basically used what little status I had with my uniform to get a cart to bring all of her stuff down instead of using a wheel chair. Just skating under the radar and letting people make their own assumptions. I figured, as someone who worked as a janitor previously, that the cleaning lady would probably know where their supply/equipment closet might be and could point me in the right direction.
Unfortunately for both of us, she could barely understand me and spoke in very broken english. I asked "Would you by any chance have a transport cart I could borrow?"
And from what little I could understand I *think* she thought I was trying to get her to move all the stuff for me, because she kept saying I'm busy, can't help, can't help, no moving, and I tried to clarify that all I needed was the cart but I don't think she got it. I ended up having to go ask someone else and I really feel terrible for not being able to communicate with her properly, because from her perspective it probably looked like some stupid white chick demanding she move a pile of crap and then abruptly ignoring what she said to go order someone else around. I at least hope I didn't interrupt her workflow too much.
After I managed to find someone who could understand me a little better I had thankfully secured a cart. Once I loaded everything up, the nurse my grandma had been assigned the night before came in, I forget her name but she was very sweet and offered to help me take everything down, telling me that she usually does this because they're severely understaffed and transport usually takes ages anyway. She was a ray of hope in the very bleak experience we had thus far.
We took everything downstairs to the front valet area, and this is where I ended up having to be a bitch. They had cones blocking a lane and I moved one, and the valet who was at the desk working that day started storming over. I knew I was not doing what I was supposed to, but I had no choice, seeing as the person valeting was either the only one working and was being swarmed, or was being lazy and letting the cars pile up. Considering all the times I've been to this hospital and seen absolutely no one at the valet station, I have come to make the assumption that no one there actually cares about doing their job, but I digress.
I had to use my adult voice and I was like, yes, I know I'm in the wrong spot, I'm valet, I need to help an elderly woman into this car, and I flashed my badge and she just shrugged and walked away. The detail that the elderly woman was my Grandma was not particularly important information at that moment. That was by far the bitchiest I have ever been in a professional setting and it made my skin crawl, but by then it had started to rain again and I was not gonna let my Grandma get wet.
When transport finally came they took her down and by then it had started pouring. I'm talking like, raining so hard it feels like you're swimming through the air. So he was not eager to take her out into all of that mess. I had already gotten fairly wet from loading the stuff into the car so I puffed up my chest and braved the storm, loading her into the passenger side with an umbrella in one hand and her in the other. Once she sat in the seat I somehow actually managed to lift her up with one arm into the car while holding the umbrella, and not a single drop of water got her. Very proud of that.
But now there was a new issue, and one I had anticipated since I was technically parked somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, I was shut in on both sides with tightly packed lanes of cars forming an impenetrable wall on one side, and the curbside on the other. The rain, at this point, was falling at such a speed it felt as though the sky itself was punching me, but I had to get out of the car and brave it once more to move the cone so we could make our great escape. I moved the cone, jumped into the car and moved it, then jumped back out of the car to move the cone back so people wouldn't try and form a line in that lane, then jumped BACK in the car and (within safety guidelines) PEELED the fuck out of there.
To say I was soaked was an egregious understatement. My clothes squelched any time I moved, and I had an actual, at least three inch deep PUDDLE in my seat. It was like I was the definite article of wet. The Wet™, one could say.
But that was not the end of it, because we were still FORTY FIVE MINUTES AWAY from my Grandma's house and had to be there at a certain time, so I had to drive through this hellish rainstorm on the interstate in a car that was making another new and fun noise I had never heard before! I felt like I was going to die. But I couldn't. It was my duty to get my Grandma home safe and I'd be DAMNED if I don't do just that.
It was a very terrifying 45 minute drive because as I said before while on the bridge, I could barely see a few feet ahead of me, but I somehow unlocked some sort of secret ability that kept us from dying. So much so that my Grandma said she felt very safe with me behind the wheel despite the terrors outside. So, safe to say, that was the confidence boost of the month. Omg.
Finally, after all that travelling, we made it back to her place, I unloaded all of her stuff, and both my grandparents thanked me. I felt like I had just overcome something really big, I could tell they really appreciated what I did for them, and that's all that mattered. I went in to give her a very minimal contact hug before I left so I wouldn't get her wet, because at that point it was a 50/50 split of rainwater and sweat, but she said she didn't care and squished into me with a big squeeze. I'm pretty sure she rang out some of the water that was on my shirt. But it was really sweet and it tugged at my heartstrings a little. She also shoved a ten dollar bill in my pocket and before I could detest she said, "I want you to have it, you were my hero today. Don't give it back cause I won't take it."
And I thought to myself, y'know, she's technically the only one that tipped me that day. Which I thought was funny.
Afterwards I left and my wonderful childhood friend that lives only a couple minutes away from them was kind enough to let me shower and change at her place. I can only imagine what I looked like when I showed up at her front door soaked, barefoot because I had stepped in a huge puddle earlier, and with probably the most defeated look she had ever seen on me, because she literally said, "Oh no, what's wrong?" and all I could say in reply was, ".....mmmhh baaad...."
I don't know if she's ever seen me so exhausted before, cause I usually try to present my cleanest, nicest smelling, most put together version of myself for my friends, not out of necessity but mostly just because I like smelling nice.
And shortly after that it was around 3:20, so I unfortunately had to rush to go pick up my Dad after work. Another 45 minute drive that turned into an hour and a half due to weather and traffic.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
oh great yeah awesome so Tumblr let me post the stupid god morality test bit but not the ENTIRE BLOG ENTRY THAT I JUST LOST TO THE VOID. AWESOME. does anyone else's posts just fucking evaporate when you try to post a draft but the Internet acts up?? I got an INFURIATING "internet weirdness, try again" notification at the bottom of my screen and suddenly a blog entry that took me an HOUR to write is just GONE. no tumblr!! I cannot try again tumblr!!! you have erased the only copy of what I just wrote tumblr!! what the fuck
Or actually more like weird morning. I come to you live from my desk at work, and my first ever solo shift. My dad had an earlier gig today and couldn't get our usual guy to cover his shift, so I offered to. Usually whatever days he takes off he just automatically takes the day off for me as well, so a day like this has not occured until this very minute.
A part of me really thought today was going to feel different or weird, but I surprisingly feel very prepared and shockingly confident in my competency. To be fair, I don't have a hard job, at least not in the traditional sense. I don't have to do any difficult paperwork or sell someone something they don't want, but it's nice to feel secure in my own capabilities for once. I think my dad was more nervous than I was.
Why I chose to make a blurb entry, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps because it is the closest thing I have to making a real-time log of what's going on without breaking several confidentiality laws. Or at least, I think we have those here. Whether or not I'm allowed to record prolonged footage at my place of work has been clarified a total of zero times, so I figured it'd be best not to risk it. Aside from that, I just really like typing. It's so rewarding being able to take down words at about the speed I think, because if I handwrite at that speed it ends up looking like doctor's short hand written by a stroke victim. Sometimes *I* can't even read what I wrote, let alone possibly entertain the idea of someone else being able to read it. So yeah, typing is a lot better. I am also an avid button-presser. Give me buttons, I will press them. My ass could not resist a big fat red button of unknown capabilities.
I am definitely taking a big risk having my laptop out at my podium, seeing as I usually just have my sketchbook to pass the time. I tend to keep it out all day incase I want to doodle during slower parts of the day when I don't have to attend to anyone. But the humidity is so thick I'm pretty sure my sketchbook would turn to paper mache if I left it out for too long, and I've already tried bringing out my art tablet (it's about the same size as my sketchbook so it's usually a good substitute) but the moisture in the air is literally so dense it was clinging to my screen protecter in a layer of dew drops, which, if you aren't aware, makes it impossible to draw on the screen.
But I figured, what the hell, I'm all alone today, so if I get in trouble for it, at least I can't get my dad in trouble. That's all I really care about. Though thankfully my work reputation is in good standing so I'm not particularly worried.
I have also noticed I write very differently depending on what medium I'm using. Handwriting is usually very archaic prose, little to no flowery text, just getting the job done type wording. Texting is very similar in the sense of simple text, obviously with a lot of added short-hand and slang. But when I have a keyboard in front of me, it's like I've got the ability (at least more often than not) to write not only what I'm thinking, but also write it fairly well. I tend to speak in more riddles and metaphor with the keyboard than anywhere else.
For instance, I had initially started this entry on my phone in an attempt to be more inconspicuous with my extra curricular time at work, but I got about two sentences in and realized it was not only extremely dry and repetitive, but an absolute pain in the ass to transcribe. It was like I had this giant cinderblock sinking into my cerebrum. As you can see from the sheer volume of words in this new draft, thoughts flow in a lot quicker when I am met with physical keys.
Thinking about it I bet you there are at least two other entries on this blog that are similar in subject, because I really do like typing, haha.
Anyway, I think that's about all I have for you. At least, I don't want to ramble much more than this, I try to keep these entries shorter so they're more easily digestable, cause I know most people can only handle so much of my ranting before it becomes tiring, lol.
Good morning.
Been getting better sleep the past two nights so big yay for that. Not really sure if I've got anything of value to say today, but here we go.
I think I just like clacking of my keyboard as a capper to my morning routine. These entries have sort of become both a finish and starting line, although I suppose most times the line doubles in a looped race track. I guess that's an easy way to look at a work day, a race track. Going in the same circle with a few pit stops until you win or lose the race, except the win or loss isn't what numeric place you're in, but your mental state. If you're feeling good, you won. That's how I like to think of it, anyway. Feeling good is always my end goal. I just need to have enough spoons to do the extra stuff to cash in for Feeling Good Premium™. Although you could also think of the numeric place as the amount of money you make each day, but I'm paid biweekly, so it doesn't register in my brain in that particular way.
It is a sort of miserable metaphor as well, because going in a circle, the same circle, everyday, for years on end, sounds sort of really bad. But that is what life hands us, we merely get to decide if we are thankful for the participation trophy or strive to get first place. Or something. I think the metaphor is falling apart. I wouldn't be a very sound inspirational speaker.
But yes, a start and finish line. It's like, yay! You did it! You're ready for work! Go enjoy some clicks and clacks on thy keyboard, most favored peasant. But it's also sort of like preparing for battle. At least right now it is anyway, because of how hot it's been and will continue to be until nearly october. I hate hot weather man. I mean, I don't hate warm weather with a cool breeze, or hot weather when I'm in the mood for saltwater and eighty-five pounds of sand in my buttcrack, or even hot weather when I'm at home and can sit around in a sports bra and shorts, but having to work in it, I hate it. I really, truly do. Because I'm in florida, too, so it's *soggy* hot. I'm getting slow cooked at a high temperature and everything is wet. Is it my sweat? Is it the crippling humidity? Is it an oddly small amount of rain despite the sun somehow being out and continuing to stab me thirty seven times in the chest?? You guessed it! It's
It really is exhausting man. Especially since I was really gonna start trying to do the whole working out thing again. I usually have enough energy after work to force myself to do it as long as I have a change of clothes, but man let me tell you, the sun has been sapping me of every single ounce of my mana. And I can't even cast spells anymore. It's absolutely unfair.
I do really feel as though the essence is sucked out of me as soon as I leave work these days, which is seriously annoying considering I've done some of my best work and play during my free afternoons. Sometimes I consider trying to maybe get another job or finding something more permanent to do in the afternoons, but I'm already drained near that time so it probably won't be happening. I seriously need to lock the hell in and use that time more wisely, but it's hard trying to figure out exactly what I can accomplish in such a medium timeframe. Especially considering if I want to do anything at home I have to drive thirty minutes home, which takes up a good chuck of that time anyway. Maybe I need to get back into video editing on my laptop, but I need footage for that. Everything I want to do requires me to complete so many preliminary tasks man uugghh.
It also sucks when, on top of all of this, I find myself in a slight creative slump. The worst world between worlds. I'm still in my Star Trek hyperfixation, so no complaints there, but I've just got no juice in the juicebox to do anything interesting. I'll figure it out. You just gotta promise to clap if I actually do anything cool, alright?
I'm kidding. Don't do that. Not unless you want to. I've found an irrefutable key to happiness is refusing to respond to things you do not find entertaining. Joke wasn't funny? Don't laugh. They'll do better next time. And when they earn your real laugh, it'll feel twice as good. The only time this backfires is when my humor bar drops drastically during the later hours and everything is funny. Then they get confused. But thats okay, it's only natural.
Okay I'm rambling again, I'm gonna get going. See y'all tomorrow for our regularly scheduled yap.
Look at me, actually putting in a real attempt at a something I planned before the inevitable failing. I'm gonna try to rewrite my usual tired pessimistic disposition with a little cautious optimism.
I had a video idea back in the middle of may with the basic premise of fixing the funk I've fallen into. It seems to be something I fall back into every few months, but this time I've formulated a plan to fight back.
I've made a list, of course, seeing as that is how most of my grand schemes are realized, and the general idea is that I am going to start putting effort into myself again. I've been scraping by on bare-minimum effort and wondering why I constantly feel like shit. Hopefully with the motivation of making it into a video driving me, I'll finally get around to caring for myself again. But I mean in the sense of working out, eating right, and decluttering, I promise I've been showering.
It's odd because my bare minimum is a lot different from what it used to be, it's actually quite a lot more in terms of things I continuously keep up with, but I need to do more. I forget how my friend phrased it the other day, but it was something along the lines of, I need to stop surviving day to day and actually *living* in the days I have. And it's true. Aside from last week, May practically evaporated into one big blip. Months only start to feel short when your routine eats you alive. And especially if that routine either has little to no variation, or is just the basic necessities to say feeling human.
I can't say that I've felt all that human the past few months, thought I don't really know what I mean by that entirely. I am a human, therefore I suppose I feel like one. It is very inherently human to feel like shit and be aware of it, and be miserable because of it. But the human experience is also about hard work and pleasure and reaping the benefits of the places and things around you. I want to get back to that part of it all.
What is frustrating is that part of everything gets a hell of a lot more difficult every day the price of bare minimum effort is raised. Not just in terms of money, though that is a large component, but having the spoons for everything, in the steps it takes to feel like a person and gather the courage to do more than what is required to stay alive. I guess you have to look at life a bit broader and realize that the fun stuff and the hard work stuff are also an integral part of that "needing to stay alive" thing, because being alive is partially automatic, with the breathing and the eating stuff, but *living* and feeling *alive* I've found so far from personal experience of being alive, is the pursuit of enriching our bodies and minds. And that usually requires hard work in many facets, whether denying yourself a sweet treat to meet a weight goal, or lifting a heavy object to rearrange your room. Or something like that, I don't know.
Either way, I've written a script, a plan, a list, and now I just need to put it on my wall so I can get a sweet sweet dopamine hit every time I check off a task I would already be participating in to keep myself afloat on the bare minimum ferry. Or boat, it doesn't have to be a large water craft if you don't want. It's all up to interpretation. Personally I prefer flying.
I think June will be a good month. That could be the medication talking or the fact I almost completed the full checklist outline of my morning routine within the set time frame, or even the fact that I started my day with a track from the Star Trek: TNG ost. Time will only tell if this whole living thing becomes easier.
Hey there, been a while.
I went on a trip to attend my cousins wedding, and when I got back I totally lost the will to do anything productive. I had a visual reminder of this, as I hadn't flipped my calendar over to may, nor crossed off any april days past april 20th. It was like after the trip I never really came home, as though I was lackadaisically floating from task to task. I was doing things, the bare minimum, for this entire time, y'know, going to work, showering, eating most of the time, that stuff. But as far as folding the clean clothes that sat in a pile on a blanket in front of my dresser, that was never to be folded.
It's like I mentally checked out after that, and I'm not entirely sure why. Part of it could be because of how nice the place was we stayed at during the trip, being subconsciously envious and longing to go back to the beautiful, open, uncluttered house with steps at the door and a garage beside it. Maybe it was the ability the house gave me to be truly present with the people around me, as the internet barely worked so we all actually spent time with each other. Or maybe it was the sin of comparison, constantly beating myself up for not being like the cousin that was getting married. She's always been far ahead of me in life despite being a couple months younger than me, and I attended her wedding while single and still living with my parents while she graduated from college the same week. Not long before that, my other cousin had her baby. The first great grandchild in our family.
Thats how old I'm actually getting now. I'm not one of those kids running around at a wedding reception celebrating someone I don't know so that I can get up to no good in a ridiculous dress and eat cake. No, I'm the weirdo that is supposed to be the adult in this scenario. But I'm really not. Not the type of adult I'm expected to be, anyway. And I do my best not to complain, but I do really think that entire experience messed up my brain.
I'M supposed to be the adult at that party. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm supposed to be in college and living on my own and getting married and having kids, but I'm not doing any of that. Instead I'm having trouble folding my clothes and writing several paragraphs complaining about how everyone else is better than me.
And I'm fully aware that realistically I am useful, I am good, I am grown and I am growing at my own pace, and that not everything everyone else does, can or should be what I live up to, but I think I'm allowed to be mad about that. I think I'm allowed to be mad that my life is not going how I wish it was.
But when I take a step back from that anger and that comparison to others, I realize I may not mentally be ready for all of those things anyway. I'm not ready to get married yet, I haven't even ever had a relationship that lasted more than six months. I'm not ready to have a baby, my body would be fucked for the rest of my life. I may be ready for collage, but I can't chose what I want to do. And by god I am so ready to have my own place, but momentarily it's monetarily impossible and improbable.
All of this to say, I folded those clothes today. I finally got around to it. No cheating, no leaving them on the bed or floor, fully put away, even the socks. And I turned the calendar to may, even if it is almost a week away from being over. At least I did it.
In part I hate with all my heart that that's what a victory looks like for me sometimes. No matter the fact I'm fully cognizant of my variety pack of mental illnesses or disabilities, no matter the fact that my best is not comparable to someone elses. It still angers me. And yeah, I wish i got points for being aware of it and being able to point out why I'm angry. But self awareness only makes you slightly more miserable. I think I need a new therapist or something, because I feel so static and I need someone to punch me in the metaphorical minds eye to jostle it again like when i first started going to therapy when I was 18.
But yeah, folded my clothes. So i guess that's something.
I also straightened up the rest of my room and actually ate breakfast. Maybe the key to getting things done really is early 2000's girly frutiger aero music and a rich coffee candle.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Probably going to be a very brief entry this morning, but short and sweet is better than nothing.
This is, I think, the third day in a row in which my body has not let me sleep past 1:30 am. I'll just suddenly be Awake and toss and turn for a little while, check my phone and maybe read, and eventually just give up around 4:30, seeing as thats the time I usually get up for work.
It is puzzling to say the least. But that is why I've decided to talk about it, because if it continues I want to make a small log of it and see my findings after a little while. It could just be a three day fluke, it could be my new way of functioning for the rest of my life, although I fucking hope not, but I wanted to at least have an entry regarding it so I can recall when it began.
This is even more bizarre taking into account the fact that I had actually been sleeping a lot later the past couple of weeks to see if I function better with a full 7 hours instead of 5, but I don't recall any major difference. I've got several different disorders that make me mildly tired all the time anyway, so I couldn't tell even if there was a substantial change. But thats why my body suddenly refusing to sleep for more than 4 hours has been so odd.
I will admit, part of it is because I've gotten a little sick recently, just a run-of-the-mill head cold with The Gunk in my nasal passages making breathing a chore for around four to five business days, but most times when I'm sick my body will wake up due to the fact I Can't Breathe, roll over and blow my nose while half asleep, and then go back to bed like I never even woke up in the first place. I actually like to think that I don't have many issues sleeping, but seeing as my body has chosen this fun new hobby, I am inclined to feel as though something else may be afoot. What that is, I'm not exactly sure. Google says it could be due to stress, but aside from the regular onslaught of man made horrors beyond my comprehension, nothing in particular has changed. If it was due to a hyperfixation or something my sleep schedule should have gotten wrecked a whole damn month ago.
The pattern is essentially that I am suddenly not only fully conscious but my eyes are fully open and aware, similarly to how I wake up on days I don't have my morning alarm on such as weekends. Except it's at 1:30am. And I am most certainly not fully rested. But it feels like I am? The lack of sleep doesn't actually hit until around 12:30pm once I clock out of work. But that could also just be exhaustion from a day of work? There are so many variables to keep track of. Anyway, once I'm up I almost immediately try to go back to sleep, because any type of screen is not recommended when trying to return to sleep. However, in most dire situations, such as me laying in bed and feeling every second of an entire hour pass whilst wide awake, dire action must be taken. So I'll take my phone out and read whatever book or fic I've been nibbling on in a way to trick my brain into thinking its bed time, because I usually read to actively dictate what I'm thinking about before I fall asleep to ward off intrusive thoughts. It actually works fairly well. However during these 2:30 am mornings, it unceremoniously fails to lull me back to Dreamland, and ends up having me just waste time in my bed reading until around 3:30 when I give up and start getting pissed off. Then around 4 am I start my morning like I would any other day.
And its just so. WEIRD.
Like!!! What the hell man. If it happens for a fourth time, I will be switching up the tasks I do to waste time. I'll probably either try journaling or writing here. A 2am entry would be the earliest blurb indeed. But we shall see. I can only hope I will be unable to continue testing, hoping that my body will release me from it's vicious grasp and let me sleep a crisp five hours again. I am starting to miss it. And I know most people say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I do not need to be more fond of sleep. I am perfectly fond of it. I miss it. And I sort of very seriously need it. I am going mad.
Have a wonderful rest of your day. I will hopefully report back tomorrow well rested.
Shortly after my last entry things got a little crazy. I have now fallen totally under Star Trek: The Next Generations spell, and am elated every day I continue to indulge. But for those who follow my personal blog, you may very well already know the ins and outs of my current mental state, so I'll try to talk about something other than Data in this entry.
My doctors appointment went about as well as it could have gone, and I say that on the more positive end of the spectrum, but as all things usually go, it just requires more work from my end now. I've gotten two calls from two different places I was referred to, and I *know* that all I need to do is return the calls and schedule appointments to get the ball rolling, even if I seriously doubt said sphere will roll in the direction I am aiming it. And I *know* nothing will happen until I return the calls. But I am sooo terrible with these things. I prefer to schedule appointments in person rather than over the phone. Hell, I prefer scheduling over text than over call. I can't stand not being able to hear the other person clearly. Asking someone to repeat themselves more than thrice is good grounds for me ctrl+alt+deleting myself. I jest, mind you, I have no serious intention of using a keyboard shortcut to erase myself from existence, but I really do not like phone calls. I'm already bad at gauging when it's my turn to talk in an in-person conversation, let alone over a phone call with the audio quality of a ground up marble.
But I will get there eventually. I just need to be home around the time both the offices are still operating so I can have my mom in the room with me during the call. That almost automatically makes business or medical calls easier for me, whether it's because she's my mommy dearest and a large source of comfort, or because she was in the medical field for 25 years and knows the inner workings of most doctors offices, I am unsure. It's most likely a healthy mix of both. She is an absolute powerhouse over the phone and is not afraid of being considered a "karen" by the likes of some random doctors office secretary; To which I will never be able to express the full breadth of my gratitude for. I love my mommy.
Aside from that, I've also just been desensitizing myself to the scariness of driving. I am a fairly capable driver, and a safe one at that, never having gotten into an accident before. Although I've only been driving with my license for around six and a half months, I've been driving with my permit since I was around 17, so that's around roughly six years experience, totally accident free. Not too bad, if I may say so.
It is hard sometimes, though, because driving I feel is an inherently frightening experience. Oh joy, I'm piloting a giant metal machine going 60 miles an hour and everyone else is doing it too! And the whole thing with depth perception, having to trust your brain enough to let yourself *think* you're in the lane when by your own behind-the-wheel point of view it looks like your car is eating the road. The thing is, it's not even that bad for me when I'm alone. I can blast music and listen or sing along just enough to lightly drown out the debilitating anxiety that follows me wherever I go. But when I'm driving with a co-pilot, a passenger, especially my sister or my best friend, my stomach twists into some pretty gnarly knots. I *know* I will not endanger them, but I can't promise the other fuckwads on the road won't. And that scares the living daylights out of me. At least if I die in a car crash alone, I am only taking my life, and I am to blame for that, but taking the life of someone I hold dear? I'd probably try to go out with them.
It's a pretty crippling fear, especially considering it is in direct opposition to a life long dream of travel and exploration. I want to see so much, I want to do so much, and I absolutely love having a co-pilot. Someone to share those things with. It never fails to make the experience all the more sweet when given the chance to experience it through their eyes, too. That's why my driving anxiety frustrates me to no end. I have come to find, though, that as long as I know where I'm going, and I've got some music, I'll be okay.
I always forget the exact verbiage of the quote, but there's this one scene from a show I quite like called "The Marvellous Ms. Maisel", where her father, Abe, is talking to his grandson about fear. He basically ends up scaring the kid more than comforting him, but the essential lesson he tries to teach him is that everything is scary. Literally everything, all the time. And he uses many examples about how just simply walking outside could kill someone. But he says in the end that we must persevere in spite of the terror that ghosts our paths. And while in the show I can't remember the outcome of his speech, it actually resonated with me quite a lot. Everything *is* scary, all the time. But there's nothing you can really do other than work through it, however difficult that may be.
At this point I don't remember what season, episode, or even if it was particularly important to said episode, but it's really stuck with me over a year after watching. It's gotten me to step out of my comfort zone and really try to conquer what small, silly fears I have, even if it does take me a while.
So I guess I'll get those phone calls done eventually.
I have once again befell executive dysfunctions tight grasp and not had the energy to write to you.
Yesterday was pretty amazing though, so I can talk about that. I had my first ever adult doctors appointment, which is basically gonna get the ball rolling to fix up my life. I got referred for an adhd re-diagnosis because it's been so long since I got my diagnosis and it was with a different doctor so we don't have the information on file, which is a little silly considering if you talk to me for more than a few minutes you can tell, and the adhd medication I used to be proscribed for 3 years *was* on file, but oh well. It'll delay getting my own prescription again but I will just have to wait it out. I was also just referred over to a physiologist in general so that I could get my autism diagnosis as well. AND!!! I got a referral for hormone therapy/pcos management, so I might *finally* have a way to deal with the crippling weight of my eternal struggle!
I am very cautiously optimistic, but at this point, I am more than willing to spend my entire life savings to be in the body my brain has always wanted to be in. To be normal and. Well I don't know what else after that. I just want to be able to do things everyone else can at my age. I'm so tired of feeling like a disgusting beast or a crippled bystander in my own life. And maybe, just maybe, this will be the road to that ending.
Now of course I'll never be normal, I don't think anyone really is, and if they say they are, it's propaganda from Big Normal to sell more 9-5 desk jobs, but at least being a little healthier and a little less hairy will get me off the bench and back in the field to play with everyone else. I also got referred for weight management, which is definitely one of my biggest problems. I've just plateaued and I've got no way of fixing it.
The only thing I'm scared about is the loose skin. I've already started experiencing that since I've lost over 50 pounds, my arms and thighs are a lot looser than they used to be, and probably the parts I'm most embarrassed by, because at least I can wear things that cover my belly. I'll probably end up becoming the idiot trying every type of topical cream and home remedy to tighten my skin back up, lol.
Although realistically I don't think I want to loose that much more. I think a comfortable weight would be about 160/170, considering I'm much taller and broad shouldered than most woman, but I think I'm okay with that. I think I'm okay with being bigger than everyone else, even if sometimes I want to be the smaller person, because I've always been a protector, and I wouldn't want to lose that. I love that I can make others feel safe by my presence alone. Fat or not, I'll always be that. If I ever have the will to do it, I'd probably just want to fill in the loose skin with muscle, but working out is such a daunting prospect. I have a gym membership, but actually getting myself over there and then actually knowing what the hell I'm supposed to do is SO hard. I like lifting weights and I love the leg machines but I know there's like a certain order in which you do things and I do not know said order. Last time I went I was an idiot and tried everything till failure and couldn't walk right for like three days, so, I'm not very good at limiting what I do apparently.
Along with going to the gym also comes with packing work out clothes, packing a clean outfit for afterwards, showering if you sweat, having a bag to keep all of these things in, and having to be around *other people*, uuuguughhh......
I just wish everything I actually am capable of doing to fix myself didn't have so many unexplained steps. I wish someone would guide me through all of this instead of tossing me into the ocean as a bad swimmer. I'm doggy pedaling, sort of floating over the water, but I'm not doing super great, I got salt water in my nose, and I can't see the shore, but I am so very willing to learn if someone would teach me.
Maybe I just need a personal trainer or something. For working out or for life? Not sure.
It's been a while, sorry about that. Although I'm pretty sure only two people read this, I still feel a little guilty for the inconsistency. I shall endeavor to improve.
This morning I'm not thinking about anything in particular like the last few entries, I'm just in the mood to write. I got my meds refilled yesterday so I'm doing a lot better, I was skating near the edge of self neglect there for a moment. Off meds I'm not horribly neglectful, but I can't bring myself to *actively* participate in taking care of myself aside from the basics, which barely includes brushing my teeth. I wonder why the prospect of dental hygiene, or hygiene in general, is so hard for neurodivergent folks such as myself. I assume it has something to do with executive dysfunction, considering I appall being dirty or neglecting my own needs, but I sit there, too tired to accomplish anything, and then eventually just sleep. Luckily, I have been able to find a medication that fixes most of these issues. Somehow, even when the time release runs out, I still feel more capable of keeping up with my routines as my brain awaits the medication to filter in during the wee hours of morning.
This is not something I admit lightly, mind you, since I have always felt a weird sense of guilt and anger towards medication. Why can't I just function like everyone else? Why does a single pill dictate if my brain will fire on all cylinders? And why does a single pill dictate if I have the will to take care of myself, and partake in my hobbies for that matter? I mean, the difference between my unmedicated vs medicated art is astounding, just look.
It is unfair. It has always been that way, but then, if it wasn't, it wouldn't be a disability. I tend to need to remind myself that my neurodivergences are, in fact, disabling. And I've probably spoken similarly in past entries, so it's an on-going struggle.
It makes me angry, or just overall upset, knowing that I am simply a complex clump of chemicals that has a few missing, and needs more chemicals to do the things my flesh suit needs to do. It is quite absurd. Although, as stated earlier, I am endlessly lucky I've been able to find something that unlocks the part in my brain that allows me to actively participate in life. And hopefully, if my upcoming doctors appointment goes well, I may be given more tools to combat the everlasting fight against my own flesh.
It really has always been an uphill battle, too, considering I yearn for so much. I yearn to *do* so much. I want to run, I want to work out and grow strong, I want to feel pretty in whatever I wear, I want to feel like a real girl. I've always felt like a fake one. My body has singlehandedly mixed up the perfect chemical brew to make me feel as though, even though I am female, born female, assigned female at birth, and perceived as female, and actively WANT to be a woman, that I am not living up to the title. All because of the fact I am different. I am bigger than most, I have been plus size most of my life, and I believe I have pcos, which causes all sorts of issues, but the worst for me is hirsutism, which essentially means growing a beard. There isn't really a cure that I'm aware of, it's a battle I'll have to continue fighting unless someone makes a medical breakthrough soon. Twice a week, I sit in front of a magnifying mirror for three to four hours, plucking the dark hairs out of my beard area. It hurts quite a lot, and my neck is always raw and breaking out because I constantly have to poke and prod at my skin just to feel like a regular person. Not even feminine. Just normal.
Right now I'm trying out an oil that slows down hair growth, but as mentioned earlier, if I'm off my meds, that all goes out the window. How am I supposed to put an oil on my face and neck every morning AND night, when I can barely manage to brush my teeth or wash my hair? And so I end up cursing to myself, because in this uphill battle, I am riding up the hill on a bicycle with a seat that is too small, my legs are getting tired, and the tires are flat.
As soon as I hit puberty I began struggling intensely with my identity. When the beard started to grow I thought, shit, maybe I'm supposed to be a man, because I clearly can't be a woman like this, even my body is telling me. This of course was not the case, I would never want to be a man physically, maybe like a body swap for a day out of curiosity, but NEVER forever. I want to be a girl, and have always wanted to be a girl. I was nonbinary for a while, and I still sort of tread that line, I go by she/they because it feels like the only apt way to refer to myself. Whether that be because my own sense of self is so warped that I couldn't possibly feel as if I am solely a girl, or because I am and have always been queer and it really is just comfortable, I won't ever truly know. At least, not until this godforsaken hair is off of my face.
If it were up to me, I don't think I'd have any body hair. And that isn't due to beauty standards or societal expectation, I just hate the feeling of it. I hate it in my skin. Why is it in there? Stop that. Eyebrows, eyelashes, and scalp are even pushing it sometimes, but I digress.
Some day I hope that I feel effortlessly feminine. Not in the sense that I need to be pretty all the time, or even that I need to look nice, but that I don't have to deal with an endless war on my own body. I've always been bigger than most woman, I'm 5'7 and a lot of woman, and I take pride in it most times, especially since I can take care of myself and I don't have to be afraid of walking into public spaces alone, but sometimes I do yearn to be dainty. To be small, and easily loved. Attractive, alluring, and effortlessly feminine.
Now of course, I don't think I'll ever be skinny, I am quite literally big boned, and god willing I want to have beefy arms one day, but that dream is always in the back of my mind. I want others to look at me and perceive me as if I am an illustrious, effervescent, delicate, graceful and beautiful woman. Not just the fridge protecting the snacks, as the saying goes.
I know that I am inherently at least a little pretty, even though I feel like throwing up just typing that, but sometimes it feels as though other woman have something I lack. I am only looked at as platonic comic relief or with lust. I am not a person to be cherished and worshiped, but the butt of every joke, or even a fetish. And as someone with all of these differences, I have always defaulted to comedy. Yes, look at me, I'm the beauty AND the beast! I'm a werewolf, look out for the full moon! I hate it, that I can't really be taken seriously or really take myself seriously either, and that I will never be looked at the same way my skinnier, daintier, shorter, softer friends are looked at.
It is probably a fruit salad of different components that causes me to feel this way, and it's most definitely got something to do with the autism, since I have always felt, for lack of a better word, other. I mean, hell, I'm pretty sure my last entry was all about the otherness of autism. At the end of the day, I have and will aways yearn to be known, seen, understood, and loved. It's probably one of the reasons I attach myself to fictional characters so often. Whether it be because I see myself in them, or know deep down they would probably understand and empathize with my struggles.
A bit of a later entry than usual, but seeing as it is also the weekend, we're already in slightly unfamiliar territory.
Today I'm thinking about otherness, more specifically the otherness that comes with being autistic. While I have yet to get a formal diagnosis because the most official one in my home city is pushing $400 usd, after 21 years of trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me, I can semi-confidently self diagnose.
I've been experiencing this otherness, this feeling of differentiality for my entire life now, but it's been especially hard these past few years now that I have a name for it. You would think it'd get easier with a label and resources, but it has somehow only further drilled into my brain that I am, succinctly, other. I find myself being acutely and unfortunately aware of my differences in the way I miss certain things, speak in a different manner, and process the entire world uniquely to that of a neurotypical person. Auditory processing is something I have a lot of issues with, I mishear most people all the time, but I have my work arounds. More often than not I've found as long as you play your issues off like a punchline to a joke, people don't seem to be as bothered by it. My most common mishearings are usually that of innuendo, so I can usually play it off similarly. It's hard though, because innuendo is not on my mind 24/7, I'd honestly prefer to avoid the subject save talking with a select few, but one must use any tactic they have proven successful in order to survive in a world that does not understand, and does not put effort in to understand.
The most peculiar thing I have observed is that as I have gotten older, I feel as though I have only gotten more autistic. I would have thought that by now, especially given the tools and proper locutions, that I'd have gotten better at combatting my symptoms, or at least that they would have lessened altogether. This however is not the case. No matter how many times I have tried to force myself to behave in a normal or socially palatable way, it never gets easier. It actually gets harder, especially knowing that I would probably function better if I was just given the right to behave how I do naturally without judgement. The only time I have that privilege is when I'm at home with my family, but even then, there are some limitations. I am lucky to have a family that is also extremely neurodivergent so that I'm not an outlier like I am in most all other social settings, but it doesn't mean there aren't still differences.
The reason the subject of otherness even made itself present in my mind was because for the past few days I've been spending time with my friends from out of town. The past two days, practically non-stop. I care for my friends and enjoy their company, and I'm fairly certain it's a mutual feeling, but I can't help but feel like an idiot around them sometimes, and not in the positive and carefree way that I've seen other people describe, the freeing nature of turning your brain off around someone and just being. I mean an idiot. I can't ever say the right things, and even when I'm not meaning to joke, it comes off as one, and they laugh, and I'm just barely aware enough to play it off as if it was a joke. This isn't the case all the time, but when one spends 9am to 9pm with a group, two days in a row, one begins to feel a little stupid. I feel intrinsically as though I always have to be entertaining and interesting and correct the entire way through to be seen as valuable in any given social interaction that I end up burning out halfway through and turning dumb and mute near the end. I am metaphorically and literally burning the candle at both ends, leaving a sickly waxy nub in the middle and not only still trying to offer it, but also providing everyone with a match and going, "Look, there's still some left, go for it," because it just feels right. It feels like it's what I'm supposed to do. How am I supposed to bring value if I am quiet?
But then, when I am not being quiet, I always say something wrong. Even when they don't mention or pay mind to what I have said, I can tell it was the wrong thing to say. I have to refrain from talking about special interests because they know nothing about them, and I don't want to sound like a broken record and annoy them. It's not that they berate me with hate or even correct me most times, they aren't even malicious about it, and this goes for most all of my friends, but I always feel some mysterious sense of otherness gently emanating from them. From everyone but myself, I suppose. It's like an inside joke I'll never quite get.
This happens a lot when rehashing past mistakes with friends in order to explain how we got to be how we are now. An old friend and I were explaining to a newer friend in the group how I had chose to leave the group for a few years because of some childish misunderstanding we had as children, and found it to be the easiest solution to the issue I had thought was my presence, and due to my verbatim memory, I recalled exactly what she had said to make me distance myself and stop being friends. They had changed the subject before I had gotten the chance to clarify that there is and never has been any ill will between us, and that I was simply trying to help her recall the correct information because I had it stored away in one of the many filing cabinets in my brain, but I could tell it was too late and that it had hurt her feelings slightly. It was completely by accident, I was only trying to be helpful, but I wasn't sure if I should've apologized either, because maybe I didn't hurt her feelings and perhaps I was being a little self centered thinking that something I said mattered enough to hurt her feelings. It's all so confusing and I hate the variation in many social interactions that have to do with emotion, especially considering that emotions are very hard to combat. Thats usually why I prefer defaulting to humor, because everyone likes to laugh and share jokes most of the time.
It's just frustrating knowing I'll never really feel understood, or like I don't need to put on a performance. Even with my best friend, though she's told me numerous times I don't need to, I feel an overwhelming urge to be entertaining. To be the best host I can be. Otherwise, there is no value in her coming over to my house, even though that is not at all the truth. We can enjoy each others presence either way, and could go as far as sitting near each other and not talking for hours and still feel fulfilled, but it never comes without the smallest hint of guilt. I must be the one that makes the visit worth something.
This could just be a me thing, though, and not totally related to autism. As I have said before I have a colorful plethora of disorders and diagnosis, some on paper and some hypothesized, but either way, still inhabiting my flesh suit.
In a totally contradicting light, though, I have also heard many of my friends refer to themselves as autistic even though I don't see them as such, or they don't have similar struggles I do. I am aware that autism and asd as a whole is, in fact, a spectrum, but claiming that you're "high functioning autistic" because you're introverted and don't have very good social skills is borderline insulting, even though I know it isn't intended that way. But it leads me to feel as though my self-proclaimed title of "high-functioning" is not only a falsity but inaccurate, even though I have been dissecting my own brain since I was first able to think. Perhaps high-functioning isn't even the correct term, I don't really know what is, but it's what I've been going with since I am, with great struggle, capable of suppressing symptoms and masking enough to appear normal to the untrained eye, in most cases for the purpose of looking more palatable at work. It feels like it invalidates my entire experience.
It's frustrating, having these feelings pulled up like weeds with flowers growing atop them, feeling as though uprooting them only disturbs the soil and leaves me an undecorated indelicate mess. I guess it is something I will simply have to come to terms with, that I am, though surrounded by people that try, alone in the universe.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Kids, todays lesson is about older media. For those who know me and/or have kept up with these entries, I know you're already rolling your eyes because I've drilled this point so far into the ground it's poking out the other side. But I'm deadly serious.
There is an astounding lack of dedication and care in story writing nowadays. And I don't say this as a 75 year old man that wishes people would make movies as good as the "oldies", I say this as a know-nothing 21 year old woman that is actively living during an egregious oversight. One that is, to my knowledge, a fairly recent problem, too. Sure, there have always been cheesy movies and media created just to earn a buck, but from what I've experienced, the good used to outweigh the bad.
Now, was this entire entry provoked because I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation for 5 hours straight last night? Yes, however, I believe there is at least a note of merit in that. I am not someone who can sit still. My attention cannot be held for very long. I have watched many shows over the course of my short existence, and even if I've taken my ADHD medication, even if I like something, I will find myself glazing or losing focus because it's just how my brain works. Adhd is indeed a bastard.
However, last night, not only did I actively participate in watching Star Trek, but I yelped, hooted, hollered, kvetched, and giggled like a school girl. I have never been so intently enthralled and entertained by a show. It's as if my entire life I have only ever watched things and enjoyed one aspect of it, shuffling off the rest as embarrassing or badly written. Take Supernatural, for instance. Wonderful premise, great characters, I think of the show very fondly, but it is not in any way a good show. The writing has a range of fairly good or outrageously bad. That is simply the standard I have grown accustom to. I would not go out of my way to recommend it to other people, because it is a LOT of chaff to separate for a few grains of wheat. That grain being Castiel and Bobby respectively.
I have a similar sentiment towards shows like Doctor Who and Sherlock. Wildly interesting plots, characters, cast, overarching themes, etc, but if you think a little to hard about anything, the illusion of cleverness faulters. That is just how most cult classic shows go, because a fandom can only be strong if it agrees there are things to fix or change to fit their ideals attached to the characters they have grown fond of.
Now by no means am I saying these shows are bad, because technically, they are not. I love them, they are easily some of my favorite shows, I say this while typing on a keyboard positioned in front of Castiel and eleventh doctor pop figures. This is all simply my own opinion, if you do not like it, you can leave, or you can disagree with me in a comment, I don't care either way, this is my blog. However, and I say this with the largest crystalline grain of salt, they do not nearly match the quality of complex emotional storytelling that I have been met with in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
One common outlier between all of these shows is that yes, they all have their more campy episodes, all good shows do, but Star Trek somehow balances it far better than I have ever had the delight in witnessing. The countless allegoric storylines covering modern issues such as sexism, racism, slavery, gay rights, and even more specific struggles such as family lineage of mixed individuals, parental issues, family dynamics, the response and repercussions of trauma, and many many more, are all handled with the utmost sincerity. I will not say outright that there aren't a few...weird moments, I mean, come on, it was a tv show made in the 80's about the future, things are going to translate over oddly. It happened in the very same way with Star Trek TOS. The woman simply had to wear scantily clad short mini skirts, because it was the 60's version of the future. And while I love it, as I love most anything with retrofuturism, purposefully intended or not, one must recognize the effect time has on any given media made in a certain era.
This, I think, is one of the most common issues I see tripping people up when they watch old media. "Deanna Troi was a girly girl obsessed with chocolate, how sexist!" Yes, sure, I agree, it was overdone, but later in the series she gets the youth sucked out of her, manipulated, genetically and physically altered, kidnapped, and a multitude of other horrible things, and because she is a strongly written character, she rises to the occasion and takes charge of her situation as best she can despite the odds.
There is an infinitesimal amount of value to be derived from older media, especially certain ones like Star Trek, because it not only is a reflection of its time, for better or for worse, but it shows how things have changed. And while there are a plethora of differences that come to mind, the one that presents itself to me first is the simple fact that we are being starved of good media now. I could be completely wrong, maybe I'm just not in the right circles to find the good stuff, or perhaps I just have a bias for older media, which I do, however, never in my life has it been clearer to me just how blatantly starved we really are. There is so much nuance in the way things were done only a few decades ago, and hell, even in the early 2000's. Even though I previously put a few of those shows down, superwholock's shows are vastly superior to the things being made now, because at least one iota of thought was put into them. And before you boo me, I am acutely aware of the few rare outliers that have come out recently, such as the newest Superman movie, but my point still stands.
I felt a slurry of emotions wash over me last night as I watched Star trek. I think I watched about 5 or 6 episodes, since thats what my family does at night after both my dad and I get home from work. We don't usually get that much time, but I was desperate to start watching as soon as we could so we could fit in as many episodes as we could, since I knew there was a Data and Worf two-part episode arc on the way. But, we had a few episodes to go before that, so at around 6:15, we put our dinner in the oven, and began watching.
General spoiler warning for Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6, episodes 13-17
The first episode we watched was season 6, episode 13, Aquiel. A Geordi-centric episode, which I was delighted to see, as he is one of my favorite characters. The basic plot of the episode can be chalked up to a romance-murder mystery, centering around a woman, Aquiel, who disappears and is assumed dead. It was, of course, wonderful. I'll have to write full on reviews about each episode, but that is for another time. Next was episode 14, Face of the Enemy, which was a striking episode. Deanna gets kidnapped and surgically altered into a Romulan, is given little details about what has happened, and has to act as part of the Romulan intelligence, and a ruthless one at that, much apposing her own character. She was absolutely incredible, fierce, and trailblazed the entire episode. I was honestly shocked every time she raised her voice, her presence was so commanding the entire episode. Our next episode was 15, Tapestry, where Picard dies and Q takes him back in time, allowing him to change the past and see what would happen. Again, very strong episode.
Then, at last, we got to episode 16 and 17, the two parter, Birthright. It's a duel-focused two parter about both Data and Worf discovering their own personal truths in the form of Data discovering he can now dream and meeting his father within said dreams, and Worf being told his father was not killed and searching for him, only to find the refugees of said battle in a Romulan hostage camp that has been there for generations now and has been colonized and kept within boarders, knowing nothing of their true Klingon culture.
Data spends most of the episodes in a dream state or frantically painting about said dreams, which as an artist and someone who favors Data quite strongly, this was nothing short of a treat. Someone from another Trek show, Deep Space Nine I believe though I haven't seen it yet, I believe his name was Bashir, I care for him quite a lot even though I have only seen him once. Good golly gravy his interactions with Data and overall energy was refreshing as hell. The dream sequences were absolutely phenomenal. Brent Spiner having to play across from himself as two vastly different characters never disappoints, he is brilliant.
Worf is absolutely no-nonsense, as he is most always, and when he is provoked with the suggestion of his father being alive, he does exactly what I had hoped he would and dangles the son of a bitch that provoked him with the information over a guardrail until he agrees to take him without payment until after. Worf is out of uniform for most of the two parter, in a solid black outfit, sort of like a cat suit, though I'm not entirely sure, either way, he looked incredibly intimidating. I knew it was serious when he was out of uniform, and as I had stated earlier, giggled like a schoolgirl.
He infiltrates the refugee camp and essentially brings Klingon culture back to the captured Klingons, what a bombshell. I felt such a visceral disgust when the Romulans in charge kept referring to them as "equals", even though they were clearly not. I squirmed in my seat when I found out Ba'el was the result of one of the Romulans marrying his enslaved Klingon. I cheered and sang along to the battle song when Worf and the young Klingon came back from the hunt.
It was all so well done and so incredibly emotionally provoking, and I have never, in my entire life, watched that many episodes of one singular piece of media in succession and been thoroughly enraptured the entire time. It could be because I am a simply minded fool, but I would like to think it was because these are genuinely some of the best episodes of television I've ever witnessed.
I'm so serious when I say I presently feel like those videos of white people trying cultural, or just generally seasoned and well prepared food for the first time. How have I not taken the time to watch any of this before? How has it taken me this long to find something this good? Why did I not listen to my parents and watch it with them years ago? And why aren't things this good being made any more? The fact I have finally experienced such joy from a show made well over thirty years ago is baffling and borderline insulting. Who the fuck used to be in charge, and why aren't they or like-minded people still in charge now?
We presently have a lot of injustice in the world. Manmade horrors beyond our comprehension, and that phrase has never quite rung as true as it does currently. I know that the recent file release has left me with countless anxiety ridden and fearfully sleepless nights, and I have even seen dear friends slipping into a maddening psychosis because of the sheer amount of terror in our world right now. I have no solution to this, I'm just some madwoman nerd on the internet, but if you are in need of a true escape, please turn to Star Trek. It has filled me with a joy I have never known before, because it is actually Good. I can say that with my whole heart and chest. Good. Great, even. And wonderful. I have loved many shows with my entire heart, especially Doctor Who, knowing that they aren't particularly well done, but by god, Star Trek: The Next Generation is capital G Good.
It's odd how time changes the way you act and react to certain experiences. Of course, time does this to everyone, all people are different characters within themselves over the course of their singular lifetime, but what I'm thinking about this morning specifically relates more to recognizing and being actively entertained by the differences in how one's self interacts with the world as one grows older.
This comes to mind specifically because I've noticed a slight shift in how I hyperfixate, since it's been a long time since I last did, my own patterns and inflections are bound to change, as all things do, but it's just a curious thing to take note of, I suppose. It's more like concentrated bursts, followed by a calm lingering presence. It is still there, I am proactively thinking about and pursuing the interest that has so graciously sprouted from a seed I was unaware I was sowing, but that differs greatly from my past experiences. Although, to be fair, the mind and memory do tend to betray me.
Perhaps I did experience hyperfixation in the same way when I was younger, and only now because I am older does it feel different, but I can't help but shake the feeling that I am processing things differently. I think it might be because, as I have mentioned in passing many times before, hyperfixating for the longest time was my only real coping mechanism and a form of escapism. I would fixate totally and completely on one subject, insert myself into it, and change little things about myself to fit the surroundings, imagining that I would be far better off, far more competent, in a fictive setting. Especially because in most fictive settings, revenge is possible, justice is possible, and the means to wish away all the issues my body presented me with in reality was as simple as moving my pencil a little to the left.
And while I still occasionally experience these feelings and still even participate in them sometimes, they are no longer a crutch, more a means of entertainment. It's as if I'm no longer grasping for straws and I have room to breathe. I am by no means perfect, but I often have to remind myself that I am far better off, far healthier mentally and physically, far more loudly loved, and far more sound than I have ever been. This is not my peak, at least I hope, but I have definitely climbed a few smaller mountains to get here.
Last night I think was when the change hit me. I had an odd sense of guilt wash over me when I had not partaken as much as I had wanted to in my hyperfixation that day, and I laid in bed calmly instead of tossing and turning in excitement, anticipating all the new art I was going to create the next morning, how I would insert myself into my fixation, presently star trek. And as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, it was as if I took a step back from my own mind to analyze the feeling. Guilt? Why guilt? No one is counting on me, there is no pressure, I am fine. It was such an odd sensation. Hyperfixations are like comforting junk food to the brain, and it was as if I just wasn't in the mood for brownies. Which is perfectly acceptable, sometimes sweets aren't what you're in the mood for, but they will always be an option when the mood arises. I think I struggled with this specifically because, contrary to my own personal beliefs, I tend to see most everything in a very black and white nature. I'm not sure really of what answer I was planning on deriving from all of this, but it was just interesting to pick my own brain apart, I guess.
