"Love is watching someone die"

I knew this was coming. I've known for a long time that some day we would have to say goodbye, and I've tried to steel myself against it for years. All those days and nights with her, I thought it could go on forever. I thought I was being so neurotic when she would curl up next to me and I would panic thinking of the day long-off that she wouldn't. That day is so much closer now. So much nearer than I prepared myself for.

She's too tired to play anymore. Too tired for climbing up onto the bed with me. Too tired to eat most days. She lays with her head to the floor and a far away glaze to her eyes and it terrifies me. She's so calm now, she could slip away from me completely at any time. I habitually check on her, just to make sure she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.

 There's this old Death Cab for Cutie song I loved when I was a teenager. It was released in '05, so I suppose I would have been 15 or 16 when I found it. I didn't know loss when I loved it. I'd lost two family members by the time I was that age, and I know what death is and how it affects a person. I had never been personally stricken, though. Today, for the first time in almost a decade, I heard "What Sarah Said", completely by chance. I was overcome with the selfishness of my own grief. I wept in the grocery store while looking for something that might suit Skylie's appetite.

I do say selfishness. Grief in itself is one of the most selfish experiences a person has. I don't cry for her, I cry for me. I cry because I am the one above anyone else who should have been there for her. I should have done more. I should have been smarter. Instead, she lays here now in her favorite chair that I set her in because she is too weak to climb up on her own. She is surrounded by half-eaten treats and bits of kibbles, but she doesn't want any of them. The medication only angers her, it isn't fair to her that I have to force them on her twice a day. Her teeth are softer now, too. she is missing two of her front teeth, and I'm not quite sure when or how they went. I should have been a better friend to her. For all the times she would come running at my tears, I was 'too busy' and I let her whither away when she needed me. She deserved better from me, and I let her down.

Feedback Burnout

I didn't know where else to put this, so I'm putting it here. While I do use this as my soap box most days, it is still my personal blog and I'm going to talk about something that is very personal indeed.

For as long as I can remember I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be an actress, but I'm afraid of crowds. I wanted to be an artist, but I've never had the patience for theory. I wanted to be a writer, but I have absolutely no focus and no self confidence to just bite the bullet and dive head first into it. For a creative outlet I've turned here to my blog. I intended to use this space as a dump for fiction, just as a storage hub for things I half-started or never gave a chance to. I wanted it to be a vent for my female rage and my post-pubescent angst. I wanted it to be so many things, and what I feel I have done here is turned it into a circus.

I don't really write for me, I write for who I hope would be reading. I have become obsessed with tracking my page views and finding out who thinks I am cool and interesting and unique. I have become a feedback junkie and my blog has become my fix. I'd like to come back to my original intent for this, now that I have some creative juices flowing toward the WWADcast stuff that we have on the go. If you'd like to see me further make an ass of myself, I'll be over there with my clown make-up on.

I'll be back soon, and maybe I'll do some behind-the-scenes, I-want-to-be-internet-famous brooding then. Right now, I've got some editing to do.

Adultlescence: Gear Down, Big Rig

Let me begin by saying that there isn't a special subcategory of society for women's rights and it bothers me when it is implied there is. Women's rights are human rights. Period.

 

Due to recent events and discussions (hi, Zach! <3) some points on female equality have come to my attention that I haven't commented on that I feel I need to. I'm standing on my soap box today to dole out some good ol' down home May Again opinions.

 

When a group like Rapebook are running around the internet, quelling the rights of others, it really gives the movement a bad name. When you're out lynching everything you as an individual or group disagree with, what you are doing is stomping on these people and their freedom of speech and the right to expression. you aren't doing battle with the patriarchy, you're censoring social media. You are treating the symptom without getting at the cause, and because of this you are only burning bridges instead of reaching out. No person who would make jokes about violence against women is going to think twice about the issue at hand if all you are doing is telling them what they can and cannot share. they are going to feel attacked. They are going to become defensive or strike back. This was the case with the well intentioned but poorly executed Rapebook, and it has since been shut down. Any person with misogynist tendencies who is silenced will only have those ideas reinforced. in the long run, it is our own cause that is hurt.

 

Do I think these jokes are funny? Do I support those individuals out there who create and share this kind of media? What am I, some kind of backward anti-feminist antagonist? No, no, definitely not. Hell, I don't consider myself a feminist, but I say this in the same way that I say that I don't consider myself a Christian. There are more points that I can agree with than disagree with, and I will support anyone who chooses to identify as such, but it does not fit me accurately enough to be referred by. What I am is a human rights activist. IN-activist really. I wouldn't call my life very active. More accurately still, I am a tolerance activist. I am a 'mind your business' activist. 'Feminist' has too many one-sided arguments and feels too narrow for me. I like to think that I can support men and women equally and a title like 'feminist' doesn't leave enough breathing room for me. Keep all of this in mind as you continue reading. My thoughts and opinions are in regards to the individuals they are in reference to, not any particular sect of the movement or God forbid you think I mean feminism as a whole.

 

Standing up for what you believe in will be one of the hardest things you will ever face in your adult life. I say adult life because up until that point there is only a facade of singularity, but that is a discussion for another day. The first time you have to stand all alone and say 'no' when the whole world is telling you yes will never be easy. What ever is that is worth it? The effort makes the spoils even sweeter. You do not back down, you do not quit. You stand your ground and defend your ideas with passion. Not everyone is going to agree with you. There are going to be people out there who will fight you right back. "Yes!" They'll scream in your face. They'll spit on you, insult you, do anything in their power to shut you up and shut you down.

 

Keep your back straight, keep a strong jaw.

 

Take a deep breath.

 

You can handle that bullshit. you don't need to be a victim to them. You don't even need to give them the time of day. A person willing to resort to such childish bullying tactics aren't likely going to be willing to have a rational discussion with you. Don't feed the trolls. You're better off just giving them the brush off. At the end of the day, their words have no effect. they can only bring you down as much as your tender heart lets them. Fck 'em, haters gonna hate. (But never stop trying to open paths of discussion, it is the only effective tool.)

 

Okay, now take another deep breath. You may not like the rest of this.

 

At the end of the night, your personal opinion amounts to as much to them as theirs does to you. That isn't a whole hell of a lot, if you're doing it right. What makes feminists, male rights activists, what all activist groups that are only speaking up for one group is missing seems so obvious to me. Actually, there are a few things. Here is a list!

-No matter how passionately you feel about a cause, you are just as capable of being wrong as those you appose. Just because you are speaking from the heart does not necessarily mean you are speaking factually. Please check your sources and educate yourself while educating others. Make sure that you're speaking from reason and truth as well.

 

-The opposition have just as much right to free speech as you do. In your effort to promote your cause, there should never be a time that you are actively trying to silence another. It is not about being the only voice heard, it is about being the clearest. Let your message resonate with those who hear it. You have to let society think critically and learn on its own. you can't just scream the loudest and expect to win. That didn't even work out in kindergarten. this is why people like the redhead in the U of T videos looks insane to the general public and this is why people like her are hurting us.

 

-Society is not one organism. Society is formed of millions of people that think, feel, and react in unique and individual ways. To say that all something are something is just as damning as saying they are not. your adversary is included in this. Do not presume to know them based on their stance. Each and every one of us is a person alone and comprised of much more than gender, heritage, faith practices, sexuality, age, weight, or how that individual chooses to dress. Don't assume to know what my feelings are about women's rights because I am a woman. Do not assume to know my opinions on justice because you have had others act similarly unjust to you. Do not assume to know my education, finances, or choices I have made with my life based on my employment. The only way to know these things about me, about anyone, about a method of thought, is to take the time to learn. Ask questions.

The reason I bring this up is because of a phrase that is apparently quite popular, but i had just heard. "Your rights end where my feelings begin." Uh, what? No. This is not true, and I'm not sure how anyone could even hold that notion. A person's rights are not up for your moral approval. You can't help what offends you, it is true. At the same time, you can't help what you find amusing either. Just because it isn't your taste in humor does not mean you can decide for everyone. This applies beyond feminism, this is for everyone and everything. When it comes to justice, and that's what this boils down to, your reason should guide you, not your feelings.

 

I hope that anyone who is strong enough to stand up for what they believe in is also strong enough to handle the criticism. If you can't, then you are partially to blame for your own suffering. There isn't an internet police force, and when you put yourself out here, you are opening up a pathway of communication. You may not necessarily like what you get in return, but the same applies to any media and any message. Always remember, there has never been a statue erected of a critic.

 

I will stand behind anyone who is fighting for freedom, whether for an individual, a group, or all of us together. I have nothing but respect for those out there facing down the (figurative.Literal?) loaded gun every day, but I can by no means condone silencing another for your own gain. What we are all fighting for is equality, right? The same rights and freedoms, regardless of sex, race, religion or what have you. This includes free speech. Why would a person want to rob another of that for their own benefit? If you are protesting for the tolerance of women in society, lead by example and show those chauvinists what the word really means.

Adultlescence: If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say

More often than not, I'd rather bite my tongue than say something that might offend someone or come back to bite me. Some days it seems like I should just sever it entirely.

When you talk about someone else behind their back, it doesn't reflect on them nearly so much as it reflects on you. It says a lot about your respect for other people, their privacy, and their intentions. Unless you know for sure what the situation is and it is your situation to handle, it isn't your place to pass judgement on those who are left with it.

Respect.







Then again, some people are just pricks.

Adultlescence: Makeup Wake Up

I'm not very feminine. Surprise! I hardly ever wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt, and when I decide on the rare occasion to wear makeup, I smear it on my face with my fingers. It feels like I'm painting on my face. I love painting. For all of the arguments I will make against gender oppression, one would assume I would be as anti-makeup as I am anti-dieting. My body is the only one I have, the only one I will have, and I work toward loving it as it is regardless of social pressure and the media's portrayal of the 'ideal physique'.

So, surprise again! I really do like makeup. I like that on a sour day when I'm not feeling 100%, I can play dress-up in the bathroom mirror anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. I play with the plethora of colours that eye shadow and lipstick comes in. I blend and blend and blend. That doesn't mean that I need to hide my face under all of these cosmetics. Quite the contrary, I like to use them to enhance what God and my exceptional genes have blessed me with. A little bit of eyeliner and a dash of dark purple eyeshadow in that crease part above my eye, and my green eyes pop. I look damn fly. It is a confidence booster, for sure.

Makeup isn't the root of my confidence. I think it is truly sad when girls say things like "I can't go out of the house without putting my face on." or "I look disgusting without makeup." Really, ladies? Really? That kind of negative self talk just turns my stomach. But who can blame girls for thinking like that? The media is completely against us. Makeup advertising campaigns play off of our insecurities so that we will feel obligated to spend more money on their products.

(Et tu, Ellen? )

Ok, maybe I'm mistaken, or maybe it is just Ellen Degeneres always making me laugh, but that didn't seem so bad. That is pretty straight forward marketing saying exactly what they are selling and why it is worthwhile to have. You know, if you have wrinkles that is. 

Maybe Cover Girl is just very good with their advertising because this one doesn't seem so bad either. It presents the product in a very honest way, I think. "This mascara is going to thicken your lashes. What were you expecting?" Good job, Christie Brinkley. I can't help but feeling that as women, we are misplacing our outrage. How dare some corporation tell me what I need in my life and on my face to be happy, successful and beautiful. They should be petting me on the back and telling me what a good job I'm doing. Isn't that how advertising works? The point of ad campaigns isn't to make you feel bad about yourself, it is to make their product seem desirable and necessary. 

I don't blame media. In order for consumerism to function properly, there needs to be a demand to meet the supply. Girls want this stuff in their bathrooms and on their face. But why? It isn't that complicated, ladies want to look better to have an easier time attracting a potential mate. There are ques on your face that speak to your potential partner, and if a little bit of blush makes my potential betrothed assume I am healthy, who am I to argue with nature? I can throw down a few bucks, have the cheekbones of an athlete and sit right here eating cupcakes all day. Yes please. 

It has been quite a few years since I've picked up a 'girly' magazine (unless you count Popular Science and aren't gender-biased) so maybe things have changed since my last issue of 'Cosmopolitan' but I don't feel like the ads are hurting me at all. Hell, nothing in that magazine hurts me, regardless of what certain feminists tell me. In any magazine you pick up, there are topic-central ads bursting from the pages and 'girly' magazines are just the same, focusing heavily on makeup, fashion, beauty tips or what have you. This isn't some huge media conspiracy, this is -once again- supply and demand. If we didn't want these things in these magazines, they wouldn't be there. Sales would drop and the editors -who are virtually all women themselves- would need to rethink their game plans. 'Cosmo' isn't trying to turn us women into painted up, over-sexed airheads because we're doing it to ourselves. Our insecurities come from elsewhere and it isn't right to attack those who are just cashing in on it. They aren't telling you what to wear or how to paint your face. they are a glossy 'what's trending' feed.

Makeup isn't evil. makeup isn't superficial. Makeup isn't patriarchal oppression. A bare face isn't rebellion. Inner beauty will always outweigh your physical appearance. Makeup is just a product that you can either enjoy or avoid. It is a few ounces of coloured powder, it isn't a ball and chain. First and foremost, before you can be beautiful with makeup on, you have to come to the terms with your own natural, unique beauty regardless of age, race or body shape.

The Best Part of a John Green Novel

Tonight, I am a completely different person. Tonight, I am Rachelle Cohen, enjoying the last few moments of serenity before the world crashes down. She doesn't know what's going to happen next, so she is blissfully ignorant. She smiles so much, it makes my cheeks hurt. She is so naive; a quality which seems to grow rarer every day. She thinks the best of everyone she meets. She is the social butterfly that I've been having such a hard time being lately. She just wants to sit back, listen to Nataly Dawn and talk.

I've been neglecting doing any solid writing lately. Instead, I pick fights on forums and sling out unedited posts on this blog. I've just been regurgitating every brief thought that comes to me. I spent a lot of yesterday trying to do something creative. I thought it would be a good time to start fleshing out my characters for the novel that I talk about incessantly but never write down. I must be a total pain in the ass to listen to about it, I'm sorry!

Yesterday didn't go so well. It felt awkward and uncomfortable to try to speak for my characters. How would they react? What would they say? All of my characters have a little bit of me in them, but I think all fictional characters do. But I'm not Rachelle. Some of the questions I'm using, for example:

1. What is the thing that has frightened you most? Do you think there is anything out there that's scarier than that? What do you think that would be?
2. Has anyone or anything you've ever cared about died? How did you feel about it? What happened?
3. What was the worst injury you've ever received? How did it happen?
4. How ticklish are you? Where are you ticklish?
5. What is your current long term goal?
6. What is your current short term goal?
7. Do you have any bad habits? If so, what are they, and do you plan to get rid of them?
8. If you were a mundane person, what would you do with your life? What occupation would you want, and how would you spend all your time?
9. What time period do you wish you had lived in? Why? (Looking at this as an attempt to change history doesn't count.) What appeals to you about this era?
10. How private of a person are you? Why?

I don't think I could answer most of these questions about my best friend and be even remotely accurate. It feels weird to just pull it all out of thin air, to know a person like I know myself. Earlier this week, I turned my nose up in disgust at my father and brother watching UFC, and then immediately return to read 'Conan of the Red Brotherhood'. Within two paragraphs of picking it up, the barbarian hero cleaves a pirate in two. No big deal, Conan. What's the difference? Aren't I just trading one violence for another? I'm still finding entertainment in bloodshed.

When you dive into a book, the story comes alive and the characters feel real. When I read about the Vixen docking at Thieves' Port, I can almost smell the salty air. Any bibliophile could explain to you what I mean. You become immersed. I can only hope that the characters I write about will come alive to my readers. A believable character is so important to a novel. It is the main reason I read 'Paper Towns'. So here I am, filing out the second half of Rachelle's character development questionnaire. Even if I am making it up on the fly, I know a little bit more about my hapless heroine. I hope it transfers over well, otherwise this seems like a huge waste of time.

The Demon in My Brain

The demon inside of me stirs. She is awake, which invariably means I too must be awake. She is restless. She leads me around and around, weaving an erratic patten through this city of mine. I think she's hungry, but I can never tell with her. Like a fussy child, my demon refuses to tell me what she wants but turns her nose up at all of my suggestions.

She nips at my toes until they ache, cold and damp from Halifax's wet winters. She pleads with me to take her inside. I know how she hates the cold and I try to steel myself to the weather as best I can, but nothing seems to be enough for her. Beads of sweat gather in the small of my back under layers upon layers of cotton and wool, but she still finds something. My demon bites my face and ears or chews idly on my fingertips. The only place she is content is buried under a mountain of blankets, curled up in bed.

If that was enough to satisfy the monster inside me, I could manage her much easier. That would be too easy for her. My hidden imp instead must lay in wait for the perfect moment to pick a new fight with me. The bathroom is too far, she cries. She won't relinquish her safety and comfort. Instead, she waits until the urgency is overwhelming and I may not make it. She feeds on moments like this, I think. My fear and shame give her strength.

When she is strong like this, she needs little sustenance. She turns her nose up stubbornly at most forms of food, or lets it land heavily in my stomach in protest. She twists and squirms uncomfortably inside of me when I eat things not listed on her brief list of acceptable edibles. She isn't cruel to me in this way. My demon will not make me nauseous or reject my meals, but there is a sickness to it. A heavy, weak, unhappy sickness. A hamburger for lunch will upset her for the rest of the day, which means she will upset me for the day in turn. My demon likes apples and muffins best this year. last year, it was toast with jam and the year before that was crackers and peanut butter. once in a while she is content with a cheese sandwich or a chicken strip, but it is best to stay with the safe bet. Carbs are always a safe bet.

The limited diet isn't so bad. To be frank, the loss of appetite is the greatest of her tricks. I love food and I love to eat. She insists I'm not hungry. After leading me past grocery stores, convenience stores, fast food chains and restaurants, she'll simply change her mind. "You aren't hungry anyway." She tells me in her small voice, soft and convincing. "You just wanted a coffee all along." As always, I am obliged to agree. Coffee is her true weakness. To stay in control, she must be awake. Who knows what a good night's rest will do to me or her control? So she hides sleep from me in that secret place she stores my appetite. She truly is a demon.

Why don't I fight her? Why do I let this tiny, demanding imp control me? It really isn't that simple. My demon is not an unseen parasite that is eating me alive. We co-exist symbiotically. Most days I am a mere vessel for her, my own mind hiding in some safe corner for the spring thaw. My demon thinks and speaks for us both but she needs me to act. She is a mere muse.

Two minds in one brain. They dance and swirl around each other inside of me, sometimes colliding but rarely conflicting. Some days that are harder than others, it can be difficult to differ between the two of them. On these tough days, we don't bicker. She doesn't make demands of me and I don't push her. Hard days can shut us both down, leaving my body abandoned as a hollow shell staring off into the middle-distance of nothingness. Hard days are void.

My demon can be dark sometimes. She can say hateful things and urge my body to act cruelly. My demon has a temper, especially when left ignored for too long as I have been doing now. She demands her caffeine fix that I have been avoiding. She is rapping her knuckles against my forehead in annoyance. The ache is a nuisance. My demon is a pest.

Second Cup has served me a nice, hot honey tea latte. my demon is already settling back in the warmth. her protest to my decision of a cheddar scone instead of the morning glory muffin she had immediately chosen is evident in the thick, groggy feeling in my abdomen, but there must be compromise, even when dealing with demons. maybe now she'll be satisfied enough to let me work productively. please, imp, let me be inspired. Let me create a world and develop a plot. Let me write about more than your nagging. Don't make me wait for spring again, I want to be me sometimes too. I'm not asking much, just a little time to create without the wave of depression ushering me back to bed.

Maybe I have it backwards. maybe I'm the demon after all and my muse is merely fighting to the surface. Maybe she is floating in this abyss with me, suffering as I do. Who do I think I am?