breezeshadow: Is it not adorable? (PumaKitten)
Who comforts the comforter?

It is a question asked by egoists, mostly. Or it is subtly sneered at in silly sayings and words: "Every girl you see is SMILING beyond the PAIN". Every kind gesture is laced with tragedy. The world is cast into doubt and despair: "How do I know she is happy to see me? Is she CRYING INSIDE?"

I do not know who comforts the comforters. It seems to me that a lot of them surely can turn to other comforters, to themselves, for solace. No one is standing atop a mountain, staff in hand, the sole comforter in the world, the Zeus of sympathetic ears. If they are, then that speaks to bigger problems, ones that a strange saying cannot fix.

Who do I seek for comfort? I am a gossip well. I fill up with things I hear, see, suspect, but almost never do I let such things out. Or so it used to be. Wells fill up eventually. Wells need to be emptied. Some things I fear I have pushed along.

Maybe it's not a bad thing, but it's a weird thing, a stressful thing. I have, unexpectedly, become the one who speaks up, stands up to be heard. I am the one being thanked by the CEO of the company for helping with something, for all of my department to see. I am the one who laughs at hearing someone hates them, regard their obvious gossiping when I approach as entertaining. The silence as I pass by, returning when I am away, has become funny -- "How obvious can you be?"

But what is funny for me is a mess for others. I talk to others in my department, and they talk to me, and the well fills with bracken waters. Ash stains my fingers, and though so much of me says "Don't say anything, wait for THEM", my morality sifts out the soot and says "There is no waiting".

Everyone is scary to me, so there is no need for added anxiety. I approach and enter an office with fear and anxiety bubbling from my heart and mouth, but when I decide to do something, I do it. There is no waiting, no comfort for the comforter. I look down at my health and career, and say "We are emptying this well, no matter the dirt left behind."

When did I become the mother of mothers? The nail that stands up, as they say? How has it become me to approach a manager and speak of bullying and racism, of people being afraid they were be fired if they speak up? How am I the one who gets the response of HR being looped in, words that are a strange blend of hope and fear? I am but a bystander, ignored but not degraded. In that office my voice speaks for others, when I cannot speak for myself. I return to those I guard wishing I could bring back better hope.

Who comforts the comforter? Friends, family, pets? Perhaps if I sought out any of them, they would try. But this comforter blankets her bed quiltless. There may be holes where the down is escaping, but in that twisted saying, good things come to those who wait. Will I have relief, or firm things to need relief from? As I juggle the madness of living, will I have a ball taken away, or a stray one that smacks me in the face? A million bad metaphors could get me no closer to an answer; it lies in a blood vial, in chemical reactions, in a lab printout, somewhere out there.

Who comforts the comforter? Who empties that well?

Perhaps I should ask who is filling it in the first place...

(P.S. I don't have any details I want to share right now, since the test results aren't in yet. So I'll say that I've been better, but beyond drama at work everything is okay there; and that depending on those test results, we may have an answer to a lot of my health issues soon. Feel free to approach me through message or IM if you want though.)
breezeshadow: WTF TIMES ICON (WTFCat)
Apparently I'm posting a lot today; apologies. I just really need to get a rant off of my chest.

TW for end-of-earth apocalypse, sociopathic assholes )

So I think I'm just going to hide his posts, possibly unfriend him altogether. I don't have time for this kind of nonsense.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: It's a wolverine, hey! (Default)
Seriously, my ability to concentrate has been kind of shit, as has been my ability to keep myself entertained as a result. Regardless, today:

a) I bought eggs from some random guy in the next city over for $4, which is cheaper than Target's organic cagefree eggs. Somehow.

b) I got some writing done:

It took me too long to write the latter half of this scene )

So yeah. Thursday night work had a social event at the Exploratorium in SF. I spent most of it traveling alone, which was honestly a way better way for me to enjoy that type of thing. The only issue is that TW for anxiety symptoms ) I think I missed a tragic amount of interesting things as a result.

I get kind of judgmental when I talk about drunk people. )

Seriously. I've had to be gentle to too many hungover people, and combining that with my overall family's alcoholism, my tolerance for drunken shenanigans is extremely low. They are funny to watch, for me, only to a point, and then I just want to leave.

But yeah. Definitely a place I'll have to visit again.

I'm not really sure what else to talk about; my mother could only wrangle 30min out of me on the phone today, maybe because phones have been on the anxiety list lately as well. Or because she called me and not the other way around. Who knows.

Either way, I feel exhausted despite having no real reason to, so I'm going to try and relax a bit and not guilt myself over not writing enough.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: It's a wolverine, hey! (RogerAlone'd)
I went the cheap route for my apartment, in more ways than one. I'm paying half I paid for my own place, and I think it's probably about half the quality too. For one thing, I spent a year living alone -- which for a socially anxious introvert like me, is not entirely a horrible thing. Now, I have to get used to living with seven other strangers, in an apartment. It's like a dorm but more crowded, cheaper, and a hell of a lot stranger.

My old apartment wasn't exactly normal. The living room windows were sealed shut. The bedroom window was stuck open. I'm pretty sure some sort of water drainage horrors were happening in the toilet. The doorknob fell off of the front door once. Literally all of the warm air was sucked out of the broken window AND under the front door, so it was inevitably cooler in there than it was outside (made for a fun winter up until I got a space heater). There was a hole in the ceiling that went unnoticed until it poured water over the desk and ruined the lease for my new apartment. And the oven set off the fire alarm if you turned it on.

But this place... I haven't even been here twelve hours. I've only seen one other person, and only really looked through the bathrooms and the kitchen. And oh man. Oh man.

I'm going to be able to write a novel about this experience, I can tell. Here are my current theories/observations about the place, while currently a stranger in strange territory:

Theory I: That other guy is a very convincing robot. With night vision. This explains why there is no toilet paper; he has no need for it.
Theory II: They are seeing how many people they could kill with that staircase. Alternative Theory II: It's an intricate bomb set-up, so whatever you do, don't touch those wires.
Theory III: There is paper under the carpet. That explains the crackling. Alternative Theory III: The floors ARE paper and pretty soon I'm going to fall through.
Theory IV: They aren't making food with that stove. Not food for humans, at least.
Theory V: Okay, so I really don't have a theory for the vodka bottle with the pump nozzle on top of the fridge. Other than "WTF? Why?"
Theory VI: The mad scientist experiments were relocated to the upstairs bathroom after the stove became too carcinogenic. That's not water on the floor in the bathroom.

I'm hoping that some of these things will improve as time goes on, especially the horrors of the bathroom and kitchen (it's truly frightening, guys. I'm afraid to cook on that stove). Also maybe eventually that kid and I will exchange words (I saw him. He was wearing headphones. I think he saw me. But said nothing.) And I'm not kidding: there is NO toilet paper in this place, that I could find. Which may frighten me the most out of anything.

But for now, I will just observe. And be very confused. And try not to fall into a mess of panicking over graduate school, loans, rent, and strangers.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: It's a wolverine, hey! (>.>Soldier)
So I'm reading old posts on my LJ, to try and get a sense of what I was like back in high school. This was inspired by recently visiting my high school, in order to get Girl Scout cookies from my AP Government teacher. I felt shy, quiet, and disconnected from the high school world -- like it was ages ago, like I didn't know about it or what to say.

I've felt that way about a lot of things, lately.

Reading the old entries is fascinating. The thing is, though I whined and bitched and fretted a lot, I was a very insightful high school senior. Though I denied my anxiety, it is plain as day, as are my desperate attempts to reason through it. But also clear are other things. Acknowledgements that I won't get anywhere if I don't push myself a bit. Acknowledgement that parents will be parents.

I feel like I may have lost that, somehow. That I have somehow matured backwards, skidding on that scale. I'm not sure it's possible for someone to do that. I'm not sure if it's just the depression talking.

It's talked a lot lately.

My AP Government teacher seemed very excited to see me, and seemed to be keeping track of my life nearly better than I could. I saw two other teachers, my AP Calculus and AP Stats teachers; I would have liked to see more but I could not find them, and felt weird peaking into rooms. But both of the others, upon hearing I graduate in May, were shocked that time had flown by. My AP Government teacher just said "I know."

So do I, my friend.

All of them asked of my plans. I told them all how I'm getting a graduate degree at Cornell. My AP Government teacher commented that it made sense that I would stay at Cornell, because "You are already at the top. Why go elsewhere?"

She has a point. A new perspective perhaps. I am stuck in the perspective of "never good enough". I have a 2.725 GPA. That's a B-, more or less even. My grades poorly reflect that, being mostly C's balanced out by the random A's. It's below a 3.0, and I cannot convince myself that that is somehow a good thing. So many places want a 3.0GPA or above. They do not seem to care if I come from Cornell or not.

That and I don't have research experience, just experience working at a dining hall and pushing my way through courses. Right now I am taking a mere 10 credits, three courses and a seminar. I feel inferior. Not good enough. Not smart enough.

Hence the different perspective. It's hard to think I'm at the top. I feel like I'm at the bottom. What I have to remind myself of -- think of, perhaps regularly -- is that I'm at the bottom of the top.

In the grand scheme of things, that may not be so awful.

I still don't have a graduate advisor. I still fear I won't be able to pay for my apartment. I still fear that other shoe dropping, falling.

But sometimes I need that bit of different perspective, even if it comes from not knowing all of the details. Or does it? I do not know. I found I did not speak much. I didn't know what to say, anymore.

The facts are odd to sift through, anyway. I finished my undergraduate degree a semester early. Technically everything I'm taking now is supposed to be for grad. I was told how to find an advisor. Eventually I should get one. But I freeze and become certain it won't happen.

I feel like I missed a bit of everything, everywhere, and now it's coming back to bite me. But is it really? I don't know. It could be the anxiety, or it could be truth. I suspect it's a mix of both.

Maybe it's that everyone seems so excited and proud of me, and I cannot match their feelings.

Maybe it's that never-ending doubt -- almost a certainty I'll fail.

Always thought that way, always will? I suppose that's what the book my therapist told me to read is for.

It feels weird thinking I may be able to handle life less now than I did in high school. I know that's not true, of course. Back then I just bottled everything up, hence why I had such extensive LJ posts in the first place. At least now I try to interact to people. I just don't know if I do it right. *chuckle*

I'm really tempted to set my status to something about the depression, to see what people say. It's been around for, what, five months now? Stupid stuff, doesn't want to leave. I really will have to talk to my psychiatrist about these meds.

But anyway. It was nice to see some teachers again, if only for the encouragement ((refreshment; um, what?)) and to relive the memories. My AP Government teacher even mentioned something about seeing my graduation on FB or something, which kind of surprised me. I guess I just assumed no one would care anymore.

Oh well.

Also, can I say it's just really weird to think one of my teachers (AP Government teacher, of course) was one of the first to really point out how weird/problematic my eating habits are? Go, go observant teachers. I still wonder if my AP English teacher noticed the depression.

In other news, AG is a pain in the ass. I'm trying to write the novel. I really am. But I just can't get into it. I keep getting stuck at the end of scenes, interestingly enough. Not sure what's up; I will keep trying. This will be one of my few chances to write the novel in a while, so I must take advantage of it.

But instead I'm playing League of Legends. I have this sort of love/hate/fear relationship with LoL. I find it fun. But it scares me because it involves other people and I'm sort of terrible at it and I don't feel like I'll ever be good at it. I still played three games in a row, but I felt inadequate in almost all of them. Granted, I was doing better than this one other guy, so I'm not a total noob. Just 95% of one. *laugh*

Also the CT weather hates me. Every time I plan something with my cousin Marie, the weather always turns disastrous. It doesn't like us getting together and planning nefarious deeds, of course.

And my mother and I have been mostly getting along despite a message she sent me where she basically went "You told me you didn't care about Dragon Day. You could have not invited me. My feelings are hurt." No, that does not make any more sense in context. And no, she has not brought it up since. Spill out the hurt, then leave the victim upset. Family strategy.

Also apparently the psychiatrist at her job is Mr. Hitler because he was yelling at them for stuff and my mother just doesn't like him. I feel like Mr. Hitler wasn't a Muslim, nor a psychiatrist, nor from Pakistan.

I also went to the dentist today. I guess my body got sick of the pain -- she had the suction/air thing rested on my lip while my mouth was wide open, and for some reason it HURT like hell. Kept clenching my fists, twitching, etc. to try and ignore it. I guess it didn't work because she went to do something -- I think open my mouth further -- and I just spontaneously pushed her hand away. I instantly apologized and she didn't seem too surprised/annoyed, but still, way to go feral on the dentist, self.

Of course at one point she went "Oh, I see this [wisdom tooth] is still healing" and then POKED THE HEALING AREA WITH THE DENTAL HOOK a few times, which stung like hell and left me even more sore. This being the same side she was placing the suction tube on. So maybe my instincts knew what they were doing when they tried to push her away. Leave my poor healing surgical wound alone. D:

Oh life.

To end this entry before I lose interest and never post it: one of the best weird dreams ever.

First it started off strange. One of my freshman coworkers and I were driving around in my Prius in the pedestrian streets of a Chinatown. We came upon these large red Chinese/"Oriental" designed arches. We drove through them, and parked the car, and got some tea and sat on rugs and decided to eat there. The owner looked like he wanted to object to us bringing the car through the gate of his restaurant, but hey.

Then I think I must have woken up, likely due to a text from K who hadn't slept enough. Then I fell back to sleep, and into the silliest dream ever.

I had been kidnapped by supervillians. I was desperate for a way to escape. Finally, I got free, and was running across this sunny, sandy land, frantic, certain they'd catch me...

And that's when I started kayaking down aqueducts. Without the kayak. Or the oar. I was sitting, legs straight out in front of me, wearing I'm pretty sure nothing but a white towel, and making the motions of kayaking. I moved forward like I actually WAS in a boat. The water was crystal clear and somewhat bluish, though not as blue as the sky, with its puffy white clouds. I passed by some kids who were also kayaking without kayaks, and we waved at each other.

Eventually I found a sign on sandstone sewer-like walls that had an arrow with the word "Olin Library". Excellent! I fake-kayaked to the end of the aqueduct, then got out of the water and hustled up a sandstone staircase, out of the mysterious sewer tunnel that the aqueduct emptied into, and out into sunlight. Yes, sunlight, in Ithaca.

I found Neil, who gave me a very brief hug before declaring "Sorry, I don't like hugs" and walking off. To another group of people. One guy whom he hugged. I was hurt and a little miffed. After all, I had just gotten back from being kidnapped. How dare he!

Of course it wasn't long before the supervillians were back and a bunch of us were facing off. One of the supervillians, who is actually someone who comes to the LARP sessions, tried to cast tear gas on me. Yes, cast. I protested, saying that he couldn't cast it. Why? Magic didn't work that way. As I lectured, you see, you need to use the elements, and tear gas isn't an element. Well, okay, I suppose an Earth Mage could morph the earth into gold and then shatter that to make tear gas, so you know what, do that. But no you don't have to make the gestures. They aren't necessary, you can just do it.

In the background, one of the real-life storytellers for our LARP slammed his head into a conveniently-located table.

And shortly after that, I woke up. It wasn't until I was in the shower that it started to filter back and I asked "Wait, what?"

I have the best weird dreams. I do love the logic of turning gold into tear gas. I didn't know it worked that way!

Also poor Neil, my subconscious makes him act like a huge ass in my dreams, without fail, every time.

Speaking of Neil, my mother has twice mentioned this break that maybe I will "rekindle my romance" with Neil. UH HOW ABOUT "WE'RE JUST FRIENDS" MOM AND IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS KTHXBAI.

So yeah. My life is still strange. I'm still strange. Some things never change.

Now to see if I can something out of this poor novel.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: AWESOME TIMES ICON (DuckyWEEEEE)
So I don't think I can really refer to Stan as my "online friend" anymore as for the first time today we got to see each other *gasp* face-to-face!

I happened to mention how my family and I were going to be in Burlington and then Stan's mother asked if she was going to meet me; apparently, Burlington is relatively close to where Stan's family lives, at least in the grand scheme of things. So long silly story short we chose to meet at Burlington's big Barnes & Noble with a sadly disappointing SF/F section. I bought Good Omens anyway.

So we ended up like chatterboxes and of course now I am musing over the entire thing and having my "My goodness, what I did wrong!" moments but that's kind of tricky since the most I did wrong that I can blame myself for is talk too much. Which I do all of the time. Hm.

Tadhg got mentioned enough times out loud that the proper pronunciation of his name has at least stuck. Uroua's may take a while, though. Thank goodness they are not my character.

Also I really need to develop Welen's education system, but more than that I need to write, to keep my mind sharp and my prose where it should be. I feel like I may dabble a bit outside of the fantasy realm because writing stories where I must be realistic is a challenge for me, like writing from a demon's point of view or something.

Instead I just wrote the first meeting and understanding between a vampire and a human, which is oddly adorable since apparently vampires clap when excited or understood. And chirp and whistle. I didn't want them to act like dogs, ha.

In fact I need other noises for them to make, but the thing is, vampires are pretty quiet. They communicate almost entirely through telepathy amongst themselves, making the noises necessary only for those who do not have telepathy or as extras from evolution. So I may give them other calls, like screeches, chortles, stuff like that that you may expect from a monkey or lemur. Basically I need to research lemur vocals.

Okay, so apparently lemurs do chirp and shriek. Go figure. I R AWESOME.

The story is here for those who want to read it. It's not quite done but at least it has a solid base to it thus far. And a carbon copy of Nur though this vampire is actually male and this happens long before Nur is born, but hey. Eventually I'll figure out more hair and eye colours for the vampires. I'm thinking green eyes. And brown fur. And I bet some of them would dye their hair crazy colours.

So anyway, for the past three or four days all I have done is read Wikipedia articles, and I can't really term it a waste of time because I've learned so much only partially-accurate information about World War II and Finland and Poland and military food rations. And it all started because my cousin was quoting Anne Frank and I thought "Okay I know she's famous for her diary and her death was tragic but who was this person?" and yeah, that ended my chances of free time.

What I should have been doing is checking up on my garden, but before I left for vacation it seemed to be doing very well on its own. I've been trying to let the corn compete on its own and weed out the ones that don't make it, but the corn has confused me by having three of the stalks, literally growing right next each other with no room, grow equally healthy despite the lack of room. *scratches head* One of them even had an ear. I don't get it. The spinach, meanwhile, seems to attract bugs and doesn't even look like spinach to me.

I'll see how it's doing once I get home and see if the peppers or squash have done anything. If so, I'll have amazing home-grown produce! How's that for green living. *preens*

But anyway, so at work I have been unconsciously trying a new way of thinking. Basically when I first worked at the amusement park I hated it, and it would stress me out, and on my last day I started crying, and all that good stuff. So this year, not realizing I was doing it at first, I decided to try and not let it get to me. Whatever happened at work would be brushed off my back as I got through the front door of my house.

In fact, work was an escape because things were rough at home, so I would go to work seeing to get rid of stress rather than wanting any. So anything that happens -- cranky customers, rough lines, rides being dumb, anything -- I have tried not to let get to me.

Surprisingly, it's worked fairly well. Even when I went worked in the bathroom one Quarter Night upon the request of my boss, even on Fourth of July when I had to stay until midnight running the Yo-Yo, even on Jamaican Day when weed smoke flooded the Carousel... Most of it has not bothered me, and has left me only a little fatigued when going to or from work.

That is, until a man puked on my ride. Not a little kid. A middle-aged man, who puked all over the seat and the wooden platform, informed me "I threw up", then told me "I lost my teeth." He found them, told me he did, and walked over.

Because I'm OCD I spent thirty minutes cleaning it up, still wasn't done, and my breaker finished it up in no time while I lamented the bathroom being out of soap, threw out my "soggy from the heat" attempt at a tomato mozzarella sandwich, and ate some mac&cheese.

Luckily on the way home "Schaedenfreude" started playing so I felt a little better, but still grateful for a few days off. Get to miss Quarter Night too, and do breaks on Saturday, which isn't a huge problem except for the whole "at the amusement park all day" thing.

Oh well. At least I get a paycheck this week, since I'll have no money left by the end of this vacation. Woe.

In other news, my mother is disappointed in Burlington. Maybe she won't take this out on us. We shall see.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: AWESOME TIMES ICON (DuckyWEEEEE)


I never did say my lover was human. More likely the travel mug of tea that fits into the cup holders. The stylin' cup holders. Also, I have the sketchiest garage ever.

Anyway, this is my new baby, a 2006 Toyota Prius. My father went through a decent run-around to get it from the dealer, who tried to get him to pay a ton for it because they were going to scrap his 2005 because pretty soon it will start breaking. To which my father explained he had a Ford Taurus last forever, and were they trying to tell him Toyota isn't as good of quality as Ford? He got to upper management shortly after that, and then on my birthday this little thing came home with me.

My mother threw a decent fit because for some reason posting about the new car and thanking my father without also posting about a CD, book, and DVD is a sin. Which just proves my point that this entire mess was a battle between the two of them over me.

Then I tried to talk about how she treats me and she told me to talk to her hand and all sorts of fun shit went down. Then my father told me to tell my brother that my brother should soon use his cell phone rather than the home phone to call, because soon my father won't pick up if he sees my mother's name and I'm just thinking "HAHAHA no." TELL HIM YOURSELF DAD KTHX. That or grow up a bit you know which one I'd prefer.

But then I got back from my father's and my mother has been friendly since and you know, I'll just count my blessings and hope next week's vacation doesn't end in an inferno.

Speaking of which we're bringing this baby up to Vermont! I don't know why. Suddenly, after refusing to TOUCH my father's 2005 Prius, my mother thinks she "has" to learn how to ride mine. Which makes me really uncomfortable, to be honest, because since I'm only going to be home one more year in theory I'm not sure why she "needs" to learn how to. But hey, one neurotic worry at a time.

... Oh God I just realized she's going to drive the way she normally does with my poor baby and ruin its gas mileage DAMMIT NOOOOOO *flails around*

But anyway, we're going up to Burlington VT and I am apprehensive about it, not because it's Burlington, but because it's a family vacation. And I am sharing a room with my mother. And my mother is always a control freak on vacations, and I don't trust her saying she won't be. That and I'm terrified we'll be broke because we have to pay for our own food up there and we always end up going to expensive places and agh. It's supposed to be a vacation but I'm already anxious about the entire thing.

Seriously, these days I have been less anxious at work than I am at home. Well, except when they put on the Yo-Yo. Because the Yo-Yo is evil. I've run that thing for three years now without incident, but that doesn't stop me from worrying when it starts creaking or slowing down a bit or, you know, being a mechanical machine.

Doesn't stop me from worrying about the other people either. I have pretty severe social anxiety disorder, and I'm pretty certain that no one likes me there, that they think I'm strange, etc. And so I just stay fairly quiet most of the time unless one of them talks to me first, which does happen fairly often, but doesn't stop me from freaking out.

Of course it has been two days since I've been at work which also has me having a minor freak out, since I'll freak over anything. Because I'm just that special. *snort*

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this entry, but tomorrow my awesome cousin and I are going to the farmer's market to see if we can find any particular exciting produce, to then cook and devour. And then I have to go to work. Fun times!

And during all of this freaking out, I forgot to talk about my birthday! So I turned twenty-one, and it would have been slightly more eventful if I didn't have the most sensitive stomach on the face of the planet. We went to Chili's, a restaurant I love, and I ordered a magarita.



Or maybe it was a small swimming pool, not sure. It started off tasting pretty good, and then my body did what it always does -- slowly, the drink started to taste like pure alcohol. And then, in a new twist, half-way through the drink my stomach had a completely freak-out session, to the point that I couldn't even eat most of my dinner because my stomach hurt so badly.

So yeah, utter stomach fail. I got some decent gifts -- DVD, CD, video game, book, car, the works.

Then on the fourth of July my mother held a picnic and I helped cook for it and she flipped out at me just because I was rinsing beans in the sink but anyway. She made a sangria and I tried it and even though she had diluted it tons it tasted like alcohol or something gross. I'm not sure how anyone manages to get drunk, because I'm never going to manage it at this rate. I'll either fall asleep or vomit before even getting tipsy. *facepalm*

Also, working on fourth of July at the amusement park is like working a busier, long Quarter Night. And I was on the Yo-Yo. THANKS GUYS.

I guess it's better than cleaning the bathrooms on Quarter Night, which yes I did. I was on the Mini Himi, which is the slowest ride ever, when my manager came over and asked if I was willing to clean the bathrooms for extra pay.

I said yes.

Not doing that again any time soon. I cleaned, over the course of the night, a pad on the floor, two dirty diapers on two separate occasions, and then someone missing the toilet. No joke. It was horrifying. I tried to avoid the bathrooms for the next few days, but I'm pretty neutral with them now.

My managers were grateful, at least. We'll see if the extra pay comes along. *laugh*

Okay, now I think I am done.

Tschuess.
breezeshadow: It's a wolverine, hey! (Wolverine)
I want to slam my head against a wall because of this lovely article. Basically, pregnant women are given a drug, not even tested for this particular use, to "cure" babies of having ambiguous genitals.

The drug has not been tested for this use, yet "the possible benefits are clear: the treatment can spare young girls the potential psychosocial problems associated with having ambiguous genitalia as well as the ordeal of surgery to correct deformities later."

Excuse me, that's a benefit? But it gets worse.

"Research has also suggested that affected women who were treated with dex in the womb show more typical gender behavior than other women with CAH; the latter group tends to behave more tomboyishly and express little interest in having children. New told the Wall Street Journal in 2009 that the treatment further spares parents the "terrifying prospect" of not knowing whether their newborn is a boy or a girl."

Whoa whoa whoa. What are we treating her -- a disorder, or society's gender issues? Since when it is terrifying to not know what sex your newborn is? People have done that for years. Luckily, the article then goes on to say that doctors are not sure that anything is actually being treated.

I'd say.

"Other doctors and researchers have criticized New for introducing gender behavior into the medical prognosis — in two recent presentations on CAH at medical conferences, New offered medical outcome data on prenatal dex alongside data on typical gender behavior. "Maybe this gives clinicians the idea that the treatment goal is normalizing behavior. To say you want a girl to be less masculine is not a reasonable goal of clinical care," says David E. Sandberg, a University of Michigan pediatric psychologist who treats and conducts research on children with CAH."

Yes, I agree.

Best of all?

"Perhaps most controversially, prenatal dex must be given as soon as a woman learns she is pregnant, which is usually several weeks before genetic tests can determine if the fetus is in fact a female affected with CAH — the chance of which is 1 in 8 for parents who already have an affected child or know they are carriers of the genetic disorder."

Well that's great. We don't even know if the fetus is a girl and we're shoving it full of steroids. Great to know. Real great medical practice there.

This gender bullshit is already on my mind because apparently a Cornell Medical doctor is doing surgery to alter the clitoris of young girls to "treat" a disorder.

Normally I'm pretty neutral about this stuff. I don't find a gender issue in every little thing Americans do. But I do find issues with supposed "medical" treatment that is ultimately just parents trying to feel good about having daughters that are more "acceptable". And note, it is always girls going through this shit. Because apparently, a large clitoris or tomboy behavior is "wrong".

Um, pardon me?

The Cornell Medical doctor is doing hordes of unethical nonsense I won't get into, because wailing about him is not my point.

I'm wailing about a system that thinks that "gender issues" is something that the medical field should be concerned about.

It's not.

Children's genitalia shouldn't be messed with for the comfort of normality and yes I am including circumcision in this. If it's not medically required -- and circumcision is NOT -- it should not be performed. End of story. If an adult willingly wants to go through that kind of thing, well fine, I won't stop you, but forcing children and nonconsenting adults through it is screwed up.

And the drugs to help with gender behavior?

Sorry, what? Gender is not biological or medical. Therefore, nothing should be done to influence it medically or biologically. I'm of the opinion that gender shouldn't be shoved on people through society either but hey, one thing at a time.

And the FGM performed for studies by Cornell? Is pretty much another damn gender swipe, because in America, we want women with clean, tidy genitalia to the point that we cut and shave them apart until it looks like a freakin' five-year-old's. Then we turn to the boys and cut them and inflate them because we want clean, MASSIVE men.

What the fuck, America? What the fuck? Personally, shaven pubic areas freak me out. It makes my skin crawl. I threw a pretty decent fit when my then-boyfriend got grossed out because I had hair down there, oh noez. It's supposed to be there, okay, and for pretty decent reasons (unlike leg hair, which is stupid. I don't like really hairy-legged men either so it's not a gender thing.), so I medically don't see any reason to get rid of it, though I may trim it a bit for hygienic purposes.

But this wasn't supposed to be about my private grooming life, so hey! Medical "cures" to ultimately gender-centric issues. Bad.

Real entry possibly after this one, just had to get this out there. I'm a biological engineering major with an interest in biomedical practices, so shit like this really gets me going because it's a) medically unnecessary and b) biologically unfounded.

Huh

May. 13th, 2010 02:55 pm
breezeshadow: It's a wolverine, hey! (RogerAlone'd)
So I've noticed that racism and bigotry is coming back into style, but only very specifically.

If I criticize Israel, then I'm an Anti-Semite.

But if I criticize Iran or Saudi Arabia, I'm just calling for freedom.

If I criticize Christianity, I'm am oppressor.

But if I criticize Islam, I'm just calling for free speech.

If I criticize women, then I don't think women deserve equal rights.

But if I criticize men, I'm just a feminist touting for equal rights.

If I criticize homosexuals, I'm homophobic.

But if I criticize heterosexuals, I'm just calling for equal rights.

If I criticize science, I'm a backwater Bible-touting Christian.

But if I criticize religion, I'm just reasonable and logical.

Honestly. I have seen so many blog posts out there screaming all sorts of generalizations that would be considered racism or bigotry if they weren't aimed at Muslims, men, or heterosexuals. But since they are, everyone just nods and thinks it's a-okay.

It's not.

It stuns me that it's okay -- no, encouraged -- to draw Muhammad with a bomb in his turban, and that we get pissed at Muslims for being mad. How about I go draw Jesus with a bomb in his robes? Oh, you're mad? Why? It's just freedom of speech! And don't give me that crap that Christians wouldn't call for my death; some would.

I am all for freedom of speech. I'm not saying any of this should be made illegal or otherwise. I'm not saying that the extremist reactions are okay. But for crying out loud, these generalizations are getting ridiculous. Extremists do not make up most of the population of any group.

Not all men are sexist, not all Muslims are terrorists who will shoot someone for drawing Muhammad, and not all heterosexuals hate gay people.

Get over it.

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