Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

And Other Shit Rich Cunts Say When They Dissolve Your Trust Fund. But that's a long headline, no?

Here's some back story. I knew something was up when I found out my aunt had talked my grandma into a joint bank account. Mash up assets and all that. What's one of the ways a trust fund can be dissolved? A quick Google search will tell you outstanding medical bills. So, with her entire millions of dollars' fortune (and I know my grandmother's SMALLEST bank account contained $15 million, btw) tied up with my aunt's and no way to distinguish any of it was my grandmother's... VOILA! Dissolved trust approved.

Now, I wasn't slated to received millions. Actually, a modest but life-changing $20K. I could've gotten my teeth fixed, my future convention booths stocked, my equipment upgraded. 

I know; don't cry over spilled milk. But I hope an elephant sits on the bitch and crushes her.

It makes sense now when my mom told me that my grandma in her last moments, delirious and desperate, kept repeating that she was going to Hell. No one in my family is particularly religious, but her father was a preacher, so I can imagine she had some residual beliefs. Yes, grandma, if there is a Hell, you'll probably be there. If souls have any transcendence or punishment, karma isn't looking good for you. But unlike you, my aunt has no guilt. Only pure entitlement to all the money you squandered in your life.

It's simply something worth venting about but all the more motivation to make it big. Let the bitch try to share a spotlight with me in those moments I make a mark and I'll have her ass kicked out.

Because throughout a life of being the dirty family secret, my mom's love child, I've learned to be sweet and caring, but guarded and vigilant. I've learned that family can be the coldest blooded and that friends can be the family that warms your heart.

My aunt dicked us out of a better spot in life. Not in class or any such societal bullshit, just a chance to fix everyday inconveniences and expedite some dreams.

I don't want this to be only a negative post, but I don't often dig very deep, so I'm feeling generous enough to give a torn piece of myself.

However, I've been working on my dolls. New cape, boot soles made of clay and hardening to be cut later, shoulder wedge built to sculpt the shoulder guards. Writing is coming along. Love me or hate me, I'm feeling my groove again. I'm excited to have found a cheap cube organizer set to organize my craft, writing, and creative stuff better so I'm not always digging in the four corners of my room. You'd be impressed by the game of Tetris this girls works in, but I've always been resilient and resourceful.

Securing a better life for my nephews has always been a priority. I've said before; those boys saved my life and renewed my purpose just by being born into this world. There is no way in hell I'm squandering my life when I have them looking up to me to guide them. They're so smart and sweet and talented and bright-eyed, and it fills me with pride that I am responsible for such wonderful human beings. Sure, I can take credit for how they are turning out, but I think we're all born with something that guides the people we become and I could never take all the credit. They have worked hard to be amazing young people too.

Don't sweat the small stuff, they say. What's difficult is sorting the small from the big piles of shit. From sorting out those who love you and those who just love to torment you. In the end, you must find that guide within and reach for what YOU think is most important in life.

And I hope the stuff that moves you doesn't harm anyone else and helps you and those around you grow and change the world for the better. Be the better person... but maybe don't think you are.

Comparisons don't do you much good. Just be better than who you were yesterday and don't worry about where you rank. Let the ones who inspire you lead you up and the ones who detract you fall behind.

Love, peace and chicken grease!

Christmas Magic

Comparison is often a gauge for how we rank a day. Christmas is one such popular holiday where people have some bias as to what constitutes a good or bad Christmas. Never mind the starving kids for a moment and allow yourself to just go on a personal bias. It's way too easy to ruin your day by virtue of sweeping comparison. In order to enjoy any day, it often comes down to your expectations for it.

And yes, it's often a damning milestone holiday but it doesn't have to be. I've gleefully worked Christmases when my family didn't have anything planned. My childless, single self was able to remove expectations and at least be grateful I was healthy enough, free enough, to work for those double or triple rate wages. We're not all disgruntled workers ripped from the arms of our sobbing family. Work on Christmas is a great way to validate goals on a day where most businesses are closed and most people have someone to celebrate with.

That's not to down on my family. It's often through grief that holidays were just too hard to put on a happy face for. Sometimes you know you're just going to be a wet blanket. Lonely days are great days to find a new hobby. Instead, I'll see those posts about lamenting being single or without family or broke etc.

So why don't he choose joyous times to announce it? Misery loves company? I wish I could say it was that simple. I think I was just being plain stupid (yes, I've been one of those people that does it). Was it some subtle ploy to be included or spoiled? That's likely. However, if you really feel you don't want to be alone on the holidays, start talking earnestly to your friends about plans. If someone has room in their day, ask to pay them a visit. Find a group or an event-- if you're depressed, there are low-key options like concerts or performances. If you're down on your life you may not want a highly social event, especially with the usual round of high school reunion questions where people ask questions they want to brag about themselves.

I get it. The established live-in partner, the steady job, the family-- the less effort the better. However, when you don't have the luxury, don't waste it on the lamenting. 

It's okay to have a shitty holiday. Don't get so low you want to die, but understand that it's okay to not have a social media worthy day to share. Over time, I've even become very private with the quality of my days. I don't want to notice patterns or lock in moods that don't really represent what I'm about. Really-- be at peace with highs and lows but don't get stuck there. It may be a good time to reassess your expectations.

By the way, and just my opinion, it's extremely creepy when people lament being single. Not only is it unattractive, it also tells people you have expectations for a person you think you deserve. People aren't prizes for good behavior. Finding someone is often a side effect of self love and sheer dumb luck. 

Come on-- if you're my age, you damn well heard Jasmine on Aladdin throw it down. She is NOT a prize to be won!

I'm going to have a great Christmas this year. Not only because of gifts but because my family is getting along, we have food to eat, and I wanna see their faces when we finally do get to see them open our thoughtful gifts. No-- this ain't no Charlie Brown Christmas. We busted our asses to buy or make gifts and managed not to stress out or lose sight of holidays being fun.

Make your own magic. It doesn't have to be the best nor does it have to be the worst. I lost my Grandma two Christmases ago (to the day) and my mom two months later on her birthday. I've had hard holidays. It doesn't mean the world stops. If you can't have the best ever, then it may take effort.

Or none at all. Fuck it. Make it another day. A day of rest and reflection. A day of food and sleep. A day of great wages. Treat yourself.

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Enjoy all the other holidays of your choice at leisure.

Why You Shouldn't Listen to Anyone Who Says They Know What's Best For You

Most people know that one of my favorite sayings is "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Good intentions were especially damning for me since I grew up with a very naive, honest and curious nature, one that needed a lot of tempering to keep people from taking advantage. It's not perfect, of course. Most people who try to manipulate or talk down to me, though, exhaust me into retreating. It's rarely turned into a need for confrontation. Fortunately, as an adult, sticking to my guns has managed to get a lot of people off of my back. I understand what it's like to be young and discouraged by those well-meaning people who think they can tell you how to live a good life and imply that your choices are all flawed.

Unfortunately, even the most critical, cunning and practical people can fall prey to the social structures that condition us to trust family or even those who claim to love us most. There are just some people so disturbingly versed in gas lighting, manipulation, and guilt trips, that the abuse eventually digs deep. However, some of us also learn the hard truths of why unconditional love is dangerous. The concept itself relies on putting your happiness in someone else's hands. We're sometimes taught that it's virtuous and not to question that purity.  It only reveals how broken we are, right? Yet, being a good and useful person is not about constant sacrifice from yourself to build up someone who practices the same selfishness that they scold you for. Being a good and useful person is a definition you come by through introspection, the individual self, and mostly because this is the person you have to face when all of the well-meaning ones have left you with the pieces.

I've spoken of the intricacies of morals before but it embodies the same idea here. In fantasy and reality alike, you see many well-meaning people who are the villains. Sometimes they have intelligent ideas or at least lofty ones, but ultimately the damage they do to others far outweighs any claim as to their own virtue. People who seek to make you out to be the villain are often just willing to completely overlook your good qualities and contributions in favor of their own narrative. Is it really a good idea to entrust your own opinions of yourself and your world to such fragile whims?

On a personal level, I often run into people who assume a lot about me based on very little. On a good and evil scale, I'm admittedly pretty balanced. I can admit where my choices were not my best (okay, pretty shitty and usually due to impulse or haste) and where they did a lot of good. People will even weigh the same action, but cast a different light on it depending on their mood. Good mood? I'm taking care of my family. Bad mood? I'm taking advantage. They aren't wrong. Advantage is taken, but let's be clear-- that is mutual. I am taken advantage of as well, but that is the way of compromise. That neither actual party is bitter or abused by the circumstances ultimately means that the outside observer is stirring shit into a perfectly ordinary stew.

There are many scales that you shouldn't ignore in favor of the others either. There is a scale for how you treat yourself. There is a scale for everyone else. Now, the many scales can get pretty complex once you start realizing that you weigh some things together that should also be weighed separately to remove certain biases, but... you must also protect certain biases. (Why do we protect them? Because biases are where we draw caution from the damage of our own experiences. They should always be weighed but with a grain of salt, not as the main measure.)

The problem with good intentions is that they measure only how someone, often temporarily, feels or thinks. Without knowledge of your experience or mental fortitude, they make dangerous assumptions about your happiness that could in turn make those who care about you miserable. However, if your misery comes back on them, it's just as likely that they will find some fault in you rather than their own bad advice. You must not have done it right or you didn't want it enough. Be wary of those who are quick to blame you this way. For that matter...

This is why it's my personal policy to make decisions where I have no one to blame but myself. I refuse to burden someone with the results of their own bad advice. They can go ahead and wonder, or even be sure that my life would be better if I had listened, but I will continue to be accountable for choices I make. If their advice aligns with my plans, I'll gladly tell them I was thinking the same and if they add any insight, I'll thank them for that. However, pushy advice that shows no understanding or consideration for my ideals is often politely rebutted. "I appreciate the concern but I will do what I think is best for me." It's not my problem if they feel this reply is selfish. Knowing from experience that self-care is best for my loved ones as well, I don't take it to heart when I'm accused of being cold. It's a shame only because they don't know how warm and kind I really am to those who don't back me into a corner. For the people I need to be strong for (myself included), I come through. It is not my responsibility, nor is it yours, to be universally compassionate at the expense of your own community. If you are in a position to be more broadly compassionate, by all means, take it. However, another favorite proverb of mine is "beware the naked man who offers you a shirt." Those who give up what they need themselves often expect you to do the same with whatever they desire... and you might not be able to easily part with.

No one knows what is best for you, and part of wisdom is admitting that you don't always know either. However, sometimes you just have to go with your gut. I've had a lot of experience with people that will look at a blue sky and try to tell you it's pink. And no, not because they're colorblind but because they want you to doubt what your reality is. It's not always well-meaning but it doesn't have to cripple you either. I've learned a lot through abuse and while I'd never thank the abusers, I'm certainly grateful that I could turn shit to gold. I like to think, in some way, that surviving my experiences might prevent a suicide, even save someone who will go on to do amazing things. I'm a fan of blind charity, where I don't need affirmation of the good I do-- just the possibility that my efforts may pay off somewhere.

It's okay if people walk away when you hold your ground. They're doing what they think is best for them. Don't let those people cast doubt on you or make you bitter. There will be other opportunities to meet the right supportive people when there's not a hanging crowd of negatives blocking them out. This is why I have a hard time truly believing people are good or bad as well. People can be good or bad for you, and it's even possible that they can be good or bad for mostly everyone, yet it still is essentially an observation. Either way, sticking around on the belief that you can make them 'better' on virtue of your own understanding... it doesn't happen outside of fiction and even that sort of fiction normally falls flat. Let people go who stray too far from where you're going. You're going to have single friends that don't want to be friends with a mom. There's nothing wrong with them or you-- what's worse is developing the attitude that you're the better person on either side of that fence.

Once more, it goes back to you doing you. By virtue of action, you can be the sort of person that balances out those scales. You can be the person you need to be for you and your loved ones and beyond that. However, you, your loved ones, and the world will not be unconditionally your ally. Get out of your own way sometimes. Sit this one out when you need to. There will be times when you need someone and times where you really just need to learn how to be with yourself.

Try to become an expert on you. That doesn't mean you can't enjoy taking compliments or even hearing out bad advice. I've often let people talk when I notice it's less about me and more about the regrets for choices they've made. Sometimes, my dad gets frustrated with something in his life and tries to make it about me, but these are always the times when I take a deep breath and remind him that whatever is bothering him, it sounds like he could use an ally more than another person angry at him. If he wants to vent, I'm all ears, but--don't be someone's doormat, punching bag, scapegoat. Ever. Especially not if you love that person. The best thing you can do sometimes is walk away. Sometimes just for a few minutes. It doesn't always have to be out of their life. However, if that's what it takes to heal, take those steps.

I wouldn't talk to my mom for three years after a lifetime of letting her hurt me. In those three years, we missed each other. She thought about why I was hurt and when I finally decided I could voice those grievances, we found a relationship of trust and honesty and respect. If I had stayed, she might never have regretted what she'd done because my presence would have always falsely reassured her that it was okay.

You can't take any of my experiences and expect the same results, but at the same time, you might find a new way to see how it works in your life. That's what truly matters. Should I say it again?

You, and only you, know what's best for you.

You Got You, Babe

I might have said in many ways how grateful I am to have the support system that I do (and that it wasn't always so ideal or even present at all). I see many people twisted up over the lack of support, and namely a very specific disappointment in a certain party. Women upset that their fiancés aren't enthusiastic about reading their work, individuals of all ages (even adults) lamenting discouraging or outright hostile parents, people wondering if they should ditch friends that avoid reading it at all costs.

Yet the more you push, the more resistance you will get.

What must drive you, and what you must never become complacent with or spoiled by even when your support is phenomenal, is you. I know it sounds insultingly simple and you'll hear it said a million ways by writers reaching out to support other writers, but you must do you.

Without knowing how you're built to be receptive to change, most people (myself included) will resist the more people insist. I tried to push people to believe in me at one point, but it's time and energy wasted in how I could keep proving I had what it takes. I'm not a joiner and I don't know why I thought I was so rare in that, but I find that most people aren't anxious to swim with the other fish upstream unless the reward for the effort is irresistible.

Well, what effort is involved in just passively sharing your work on social media, or word of mouth? A great deal of people also want to believe we discovered our most treasured assets and there's also a HUGE amount of pressure you're putting on them to be what you want from them. They do want to be your fan in some sense, but they don't want to seem like that simply because of that relationship. They look like a tool and anyone they talk to is suspicious as to whether they REALLY like it. You may be writing something they've never been interested in and even if its genre is close, it still might not be the tone they enjoy. They might see your writing voice as uncomfortably intimate and don't want to know how you bare yourself as a writer to the public. They also see how much it means to you and even the most honest friends might be terrified to jab too deep and send you into depression.

Even though I offer reasons, this isn't a good way to analyze their motives with a game of twenty questions. Really, you have to go passive on this one. Let them come to you but don't be wounded if they pretend ignorance. You probably exhibit sensitivities that make it difficult to approach you. Work on that.

How? Again, this work is about you. Delve into it, refine it, tear it apart, lay it open to critics and bleed. It can take many, many years to get a peep out of the people closest to you. You might want to find cynical reasons or use that writer's mind to weave a tale of their bitterness and resentment for your passion. Pfft. Get over yourself on that. I mean it. I had to. Jealousy is like that spot in your vision that moves when you look at it. Even if there's a chance they are, you're kind of just the annoying douche that pokes their eyeball to try to make them see it.

Like the header says, you got you. That introversion into your work is your retreat to build and wreck and rebuild anyway you want. Don't turn it into a place of overwork or grudgery in some desperate act of chasing perfection and acceptance. You really have to keep the pettiness out unless it somehow works directly as an arc in your work. You're going to make a lot of work for yourself undoing whatever garbage piles up around you unless you work on focusing on the work. You can sit down angry, cracking your knuckles in an effort to prove something to someone, but once you get going, kick that shit out.

I know some of my readers are in a good place. Even better than the place I'm in on some comparative scale even. You can back me up or refine the idea I'm on then. This is going to be more for the inexperienced or struggling ones who just can't kick the melancholy of where they are as opposed to where they want to be or think they should be.

No one can promise you'll shine like a beacon and turn over all your opposition. In fact, when you do well, quite the opposite is a possibility. What you need at every point of time is the state of mind to keep going no matter how celebrated or vilified you are. Be the consummate hero (or villain) and champion your ideals. Don't worry about whether it's good or bad. It's very unlikely you'll unknowingly pass some point of no-return. Mastery is a slow climb and you'll always find places to change tact, to be more present in life or buckle down on neglected writing.

Only you can give you that state of mind. I know you have you. It's your certainty. You won't become disembodied and regrets are beneath you. Start now. Change now. Work now. Keep at it. Fall off the wagon, get back in. Build a better wagon. Burn the damn wagon and get a sexy Italian sportscar. A sense of humor and a creative view on your life? You'll need them. Now kick some ass and consider every new fan, every loved one who joins your cause a little more, an unforeseen bonus.

You have to earn it to appreciate it. You can't expect it, no matter how hard you work. A loyalty prize is a cheap win-- it feels DAMN good to win the unwinnable. 

COLOR-PORN TIME!

I know I'm driving some people nuts with my damn subtleties but bear with me. This is Ashe's color scheme. That is not the same white as Dinsch's. Ashe's hair is more of a cream-tinted white, as his is not the platinum of albinism but just a truly light shade of blonde with a warm yellow base (platinum is a cooler base, which is I leaned on a green base for Dinsch). I rolled the mouse to choose these so no cheap presets would do (although I was pleasantly surprised to see my 'discovered' white is alternately called Albany Paint Brilliant White so someone liked it enough to honor it with a name). I found this medium blue then desaturated it a bit so it actually feels warmer and less electric in brightness. In the story, Ashe's white/blue combo is noted by Rienna since her fiancé shared those traits although she insists that her fiancé's hair is even whiter and his eyes even lighter, so I'd have to hit the palette for him too, create distinctions that aren't just tuned to my insane eyes.

Ashe's eyes take on a true blue hue called cerulean (link only to avoid confusion), and the Crayola version is what I had in mind. 

Side note: Their actual cerulean crayon was my first color crush. I actually had one that was poorly mixed as a kid so the radiant blue sometimes streaked with flecks of deep green. Every time I used it, brilliant scenes of mermaids and seagulls and worlds where the sea and sky blurred together filled my mind. Sadly, I haven't found another with that magic since but it remains vivid.

As for Ashe, his character is almost irritatingly playful. Seemingly simple-minded and shallow, happy-go-lucky and content to follow but comfortable enough to lead. I needed his coloration to eliminate any hint of coldness, to mask the horrors of his past as much as his outer persona did. If anything, he is adaptable and even perceptive, allowing himself to be insulted or confronted, taking no offense to someone blowing off steam. He knows when to be serious, but it is also a shallow mantle, one he doesn't fasten on too tight and is keen to shed as soon as possible. He is black and white in one container, which makes him a truly interesting character to develop.

Now that Ashe had his runway moment, I'll sneak peak the next color-porn feature to come with... Night. Oy. I'm going to be a pain in the ass again, but he's the dark child of my heart and I'm going to have to justify my pain-in-the-ass distinctions again.

Are you the master of your workflow or is there a chip (or chunk) in your armor? Feel free to vent or brag below!

Solitude, Survival and the Importance of Having Great Friends

Apparently, Blaise Pascal is not just known for being a mathematician but credited for an idea that man's downfall is his inability to handle solitude.

While I can say that I'm no stranger to nor abhorrent to solitude, I can't say it's always preferred. I've been able to stare into nothing and contemplate everything, but there is such a thing as too much. Of anything. Men's miseries are also compounded by an all or nothing attitude. I get what Pascal may mean here though. More and more people seek happiness that is dependent on what you're doing and who you're doing it with, forgetting to connect to the self, to be uncomfortable with your own thoughts and problems and not look to others for permission to be happy.

Evolutionary speaking, we know humans were not built to embrace prolonged solitude, even if some are perfectly capable of enjoying it (usually after a life of being weary with humanity's issues). High infant mortality rates, low life expectancy, disease, etc. made it imperative to not wander through life in a state of prolonged solitude. There's an imperative we don't quite understand to pass on our genes and even studies done on how smell is often part of the chemistry of finding partners. While some humans favored the idea of monogamy, a 'guaranteed' partner for the breeding, it was just as important to be a flexible breeder (the death or separation of a mate or even a lack of fertility or surviving children). Breeding expectations that were imperative for survival are destructive and unnecessary today. That's not to say it's lesser to follow any biological imperative, but we're also a species that has advanced with intellectual potential that can make more informed decisions on whether the results of breeding are worth it (or even the consequences of sexual contact). While I don't think it's morally necessary to be monogamous or that every pregnancy should result in a child, I do think sexual and reproductive choices are still something society is applying too much unnecessary interest and pressure to. Regardless of your feelings, bodily autonomy is a human right that we need to stop treating like a topic of debate. I won't argue your feelings about how you weigh life, but what you do with your morals and body should never decide for another. I bring this up because often, starting a family is sometimes not done for the sake of the child itself but from a fear of being alone. Just like entering into bad relationships is justified by 'not being alone.' People who never realize they were not going to just automatically find happiness in being a parent or a partner only compound their own misery if they still fail to connect with what they really want from themselves.

I'm going to jump around a bit here and there or the three topics at hand will drag on too long to reach a solid point. 

Practices that humans have been doing for 'thousands of years' are failing us in modern times. It's constantly under the microscope that the convenience of social media both makes more people accessible and has made it socially normal to ignore the people in front of us while connecting with people through digital channels. And the ease and convenience isn't making us more secure. In fact, it's making us more inaccessible, more stressed, more dependent on the temporary approval, often of people we don't actually know and who just as easily have no loyalty or staying power. And often we don't look at the name behind those Likes, but just at whether or not the number of Likes validates it. And no, not just in social media. The problem exists in texting and calling, older than the technological boom of the last 30 years in the case of calls. We expect people to be almost instantly accessible and even amenable to our desires and not responding, again, within our personal time frame of impatience, there is often hostility that we once reserved for people we dislike. We can contact the people we love more often and quicker, but it doesn't fulfill what we really need in a social connection and we find ourselves clogging up our days with the microscopic rewards that only cause spikes in depression and ultimately, a feeling of loneliness.

Back to the ancestors, it was necessary for hunting and farming and sex to be imperative when humans were struggling to survive. It often was an arrangement that was unromantic, practical but still required a level of amicability and cooperation. Sure, throughout history, there was courtship and romance, but there were always conditions of undesirability or arranged marriages, just plain snobbery and politics, using their own bloodlines as currency (and some of the freakiest consequences of prolonged inbreeding for that matter). Humanity, as a whole, has ever been misdirecting biological imperatives and expectations, ever miserable in never quite finding what makes them truly happy, sometimes doing little but passing misery to the next person by using moral signaling to mask the crime.

Liberals and conservatives of the extremist variety are BOTH responsible for society's inability to enjoy human relationships, not just technology alone. Modern humans still take the romance, patience, and pride out of being a decent and open-minded person. There are still antiquated attitudes about skin color and culture and using both as an excuse to isolate ourselves. There are also confusing ideas about gender and personality (and yes, as someone who is mentally fluid about gender roles, what people mistake as gender fluidity is just personality, curiosity and exploring your potential as a human-- why complicate it and just make more boxes to further isolate each other?). We don't need more labels for sure. I'll say that again and again. The more sure someone is of their myriad labels, the more miserable they are trying to make complete strangers adhere to them. And often the less time they spend developing skills and relationships beyond this ridiculous pride in being completely average.

It's true enough that the world is simply overcrowded. No, I don't vouch for genocide to 'fix' this. The problem with that is humanity has no gauge for who 'deserves' to live or die because it's either based on emotion or some petty disagreement on what traits are desirable in continuing the human race. It's too emotional or too logical and neither is a solution. Some people who think they have high moral gauges don't realize the hypocrisy when they have ever considered that some people 'deserve' to not exist. It's a lazy thought process because many 'bad people' develop beliefs out of fear, not ignorance, and can learn once you remove such lazy hostility from your confrontations with them. Either way, trying to regulate life is always going to have moral and practical debates that will never reach resolution, nor should they. We already live in a world where romance is dead for most of the population. People wait longer to decide if marriage is a good idea or rush to nullify or divorce when they realize it was a big mistake. Some people are desperately alone, so sure that given a chance, everything would just magically fall into place. Often these people become more undesirable, less self-aware, and lash out. Rather than meet them with the hostility they expect, the only actual way to reach them is to listen. Like most people, they want to connect but are sorely lacking in some aspect of their humanity.

Either way, Pascal wasn't wrong about the importance of 'a quiet place'. Solitude is also something we can suffer from even when surrounded by others. That's not new to our age, only the heightened level that modern conveniences have blown it up. Toxic family or friends, apathetic strangers, entitled people who only try to groom you for a relationship then bail if you make it clear you're only interested in friendship. We have such instant access to distraction and weak social bandages that we are losing the ability to connect and value that connection-- that much is true. Connecting to others and to ourselves-- we're avoiding it or making weak connections, there's no dispute about that.

That being said, I am not a person that 'suffers' from loneliness, despite my 'lamented' (pwahahaha) single status or my long hours of writing and drawing. I am not experiencing the inevitable depressing effect of loneliness. When I am alone, I am still connecting to my inner voice. I stare at fish, look around my room doing nothing. We live in a society that pegs this for laziness or inertia, but at the same time, people are drawn to me because I telegraph this air of contentment and purpose BECAUSE I understand its value. I solve problems, I slow down my rapid thought processes, I start to listen to myself and what I want to give and receive.

I rarely see my real-life friends but those moments are absolutely magical for me and maybe more so because it's neither expected nor frequent. Even many of the people I only know through the internet are incredible people. Because I am so connected to myself, I am never 'wrong' when I have a good feeling about someone. I DO choose 'friends for life' and even my working relationships have that kind of assurance. I study people without looking like a stalker, just subtly absorbing who they really are without exacting judgment. My friends are nothing alike (I've never had a 'type' in any sense, romantic or otherwise-- sense of humor and respect is about it). They have a range of jobs and/or living situations, sexuality, races, religions and so on. No, it's not some subtle way of saying 'my friends aren't only white', but I don't have unconscious barriers that prevent me from opening my mouth when I sense a possible kinship.

These are people that demand nothing from me, either in frequency or status. They know not to take it personally that my work and livelihood often sets me in a place of solitude for months (they also know I'm likely to drop everything when they call to include me because I'm spontaneous and impulsive). I am incredibly grateful that these people are in my life. Some I have known for years, some for a few months, but time doesn't set priority. I'm well over ranking my friends by their 'use' to me. I brag about friends to other friends and let them know I brag about them to other friends too. I would love to name them, but I know the list would grow and grow and grow because I can credit a lot of people in my life now towards my growth and support. Leaving anyone out would devastate me and a long list is something that bristles on my humility. It's never about quantity and I don't want them to feel like names on a list when they're so much more.

There's a lot of love and support that is far more important to becoming a better human than placing expectations on your social acceptability ever could. I had those shallow clubbing days where I was always making shallow connections. I would never go back. We are creatures looking for the balance of dependency and independence-- total independence just sounds like a place of isolation. We need to rely on each other. The internet is great for information, but it will never ever beat personal experience and the subtle cues on faces and bodies a page full of words can't replicate. 

I do think that we will get a grip on this fast-changing world, one way or another, but things will need to change. Attitudes will need to change. We'll need to understand and seek the value of both isolation and great friendships and relationships. I can't MAKE change, only encourage people, lead by example and hope people can find their own way to happiness. That the people they bring into their lives are simply there because they truly enjoy each other's company, not fill a quota to banish solitude or 'complete' some missing part of them. The best thing you can do is be a complete person for any and all of the people in your life.

Fish Parenting: Why People Say Pets are Like Children

Aside from notions of species superiority, there are undeniably parallels in being parent to a human being and parent to some creature that depends on you in some way. I can say this because I've been both. I've raised my nephews through most of their lives, from infant to middle schoolers. I've changed diapers, dried tears, taught life lessons, loved to the point it aches.

Before working at Petco, I didn't think much of fish. I had fallen in love with a betta fish when I was a child, crimson bodied, prismatic fins, completely non-aggressive. Be careful-- he'll fight other fish. Except he didn't. Claude made friends with all the fish we put him with. When he met his end because my brother decided to add craw-dads (crawfish to everyone else), it broke my heart, but I never thought much of them after. 

I cleaned fish tanks at work; mostly because everyone else hated doing it, but I found it incredibly calming. We'd get new fish all the time, but it was the cichlids that intrigued me. All the other fish-- tropical flakes. For cichlids, I was told they liked the pellets. While caring for them, I noticed we had one little yellow guy in the bunch (an electric yellow labido) and he wasn't getting sold. He grew bigger little by little and often was the one starting a 'dance' with the other cichlids, a ridiculous up and down flitter along the edge. It made me laugh.

When I went home, I looked things up. Starting a tank, what to get, what they ate. Wasn't planning on getting any fish, but I did want to know more about them. Maybe subconsciously I was preparing to be a fish parent. And then I decided it would happen.

It wasn't the goldfish you get at a fair. I started nesting, so to speak. I shopped for a stand, a filter, a heater, decorations, gravel, a gravel vacuum, food. I set each thing up as I got it, but I was waiting for the large tank sale. However, I couldn't wait because I grew attached to the yellow one and I didn't want him sold. So I bought a little ten gallon set and took it home to set up. I'll admit, I didn't do it 'right'. I conditioned the water but didn't stumble on the nitrogen cycle information. Luckily, cichlids are hardy enough that they survived my beginner's duh. I didn't just get the yellow one, but a lively blue mbuna too.

I set up the large tank properly-- seeding the tank with bacteria to start the cycle off of rocks in their current tank, testing the water until the levels were perfect. Holy crap, the little guys were terrified by the transfer. Perhaps instinctively, they must've thought bigger tank meant they were primed to be food for a predator. They swam cautiously until they began to revel in a world 5.5x what they were used to.

Every little problem was a panic. I would cruise over the equivalent of FishMD pages for every little thing out of the ordinary-- tumors? Bloat? Parasites? Aggression? What the hell did I get myself into? And then they started breeding! It was one of those moments were I actually relaxed-- cichlids don't breed unless you're taking great care of them. But holy hell, how do I take care of the babies? Luckily, nature builds that duty into them the way they were meant to. They worried, they grew, they learned on the fly just like we do. Okay, they also eat the ones they can catch, but fish do cull the population to keep their species healthy. (Oddly enough, they were almost 'reserved' about that part-- I never once saw them eat their young, but you'd notice when the numbers dropped.)

Flashing-- that was another wild card in fish behavior. Most pages worry you with concerns of parasites or aggression or an illness. It's where they quiver or rub along things like a cat. Crap, mine do it all the time! It took a while to observe that this was also a cichlid thing. My dominant especially likes to flash when he's annoyed, angry, even happy and, like any parent, it was an emotional cue and I could tell the difference between them in the subtleties. It's those things you start to fall in love with. You start to know their faces, the way that only they use them, the things they try to tell you when they can't speak. They're sweet and mean and wise and reckless. They watch me too. I'll never figure out what could possibly interest them about me most of the time, but they do little dances when I talk to them, get jealous of whichever ones I'm speaking to and try to cut in front to absorb my affection.

Okay, maybe their deaths aren't as devastating or long lasting in our grieving. Then again, maybe they are. I'm not saying it's a matter of ranking, but with fish, I accept their short-lived nature. It hurts when I do form an attachment. When my dog and cat died, I mourned for months, just like I've done with people I loved, but fish are very different. How, it's harder to say. I worry about them but there's a sort of knowledge about their unpredictable health I've come to prepare for. With our own kind, we tend to develop longer lasting attachments or instant dislikes. 

Love and hate don't feel quite the same, although the intensity can. There are so many different kinds of love that a 'different' love often doesn't have a vocabulary we can make another understand. I always laugh when I hear parents of human children protest with unshakeable arrogance that you don't know 'love' until you've had a human child. They are willing to forget that there are parents who never connect to their children so strongly if at all. There are parents who adopt with not a speck of blood shared between them and love that child as their own. Not all of us need to have people that share our face to feel a real and meaningful connection. Many people even connect more strongly to other species than their own, either through trauma or experience. I could say that you don't know love until it is a choice and you make the choice again and again. It's not about being unconditional or expected or accepted. Love, even short-lived, leaves its mark on how we grow and learn to receive and give it. People will even try to attach conditions on what someone else considers unconditional love, but in truth, we just don't get to define it for anyone but ourselves. My mom and dad, the most incompatible people to outsiders and even people close to them. They fought like children but came together like soulmates even after divorce and drama. It wasn't storybook romance and it wasn't constantly evident, but it existed-- without simplification or reason.

Now my nephews. I knew I was bound to them from the time they were born and it was the stupidest thing I could do to myself. I knew they would be used against me and that I would never have the legal right to decide for them as a legal parent or guardian does. I knew it would be turmoil, sometimes absolute hell, that as much as I loved them, there would be days I didn't like them at all. I knew I had no business being a parent, that I didn't want to risk either passing on my demons nor bringing kids into a world I couldn't vouch for. I didn't choose to love my nephews either, but it happened. Against all reason, against all intentions, I had already felt they were mine. Feelings don't equal the absolute reality, so for years, I couldn't trust like that a regular parent does. 

I have my father to thank for giving both me and them the security to give them that chance. He told me under no uncertain conditions that he would not let them get taken from our secure situation on the whim of their parents. It was hard to get them to trust that I wouldn't leave them or let them get taken away, hard to even step aside so they could bond to their grandpa as they had come to rely on me. I had to build a bridge and help them meet in the middle. My nephews were socially haunted and it took a lot of nurturing to help them build confidence in the validity of their emotions. They want for nothing, but they aren't spoiled either. They understand responsibility and trust. These aren't things that came overnight. It was a battle for all of us, not a fairy tale of starting a family.

Of course, people asked me when I would have 'kids of my own'. A socially acceptable question that really shouldn't be. Another thing I had to laugh about. They ARE my kids. I have no desire to start from square one with 'my own'. They're not 'practice kids' or any less than ones that I might pop out of my own body. Aw, it's such a shame; why is it always the people that would make great parents are never the ones that want them? My situation was something, not exactly tailored to me, but one I tailored into my existence. I can't say I sacrificed anything other than drug addiction or useless wandering. These kids were a wake-up call that made me into the person I am proud of now. I've had to adjust. I don't believe I would have handled 'my own' as well because I think sometimes the supposed guarantees give us room to take things for granted.

Parental affection isn't something universal. It's built on many, many blocks. Things like death or disappointment or consequences of life are not things we can gauge nor can we bear all the blame or understand all its intricacies. When a pet parent says they love their pet as much as you love your child, they do. We all know what our hearts filled to bursting feels like and it's not lesser based on your opinions of it. When people say it's just as hard, it is, because people lose sleep over it just the same as you. Or, as Bill Burr said, the stakes are higher with pets. Your kid bites me and they get time out; my dog bites you and it gets put down. Now, you could put everything on scales and play the 'my misery is worse than your misery' game, but why not just trust that people know what they're feeling. Hell, maybe they will have kids one day and join the 'you don't know love until you've had a child' group, but don't diminish a present claim like you're some fucking clairvoyant of their self-expression.

That being said, I'll break into another short topic: memoirs. I could easily fill a fat book with my stories now. In fact, my life might be incredibly dull in the next thirty years and have nothing more to contribute to it. However, I'm willing to bet that some things age better with time. No, my past won't change, but my impressions and understanding of it may. I often gather pieces of my journey along the way, look at how life made my view of things change. It's not that we can't write them when we're still young. It's just that the most captivating parts are how we come to grips with our hardships and triumphs, how they mapped out our lives. The longer you can wait, the more opportunity for depth and epiphanies you get. Also, sometimes you just want to see if you can outlive anyone who might take issue with it. I know that's morbid and we don't like to think about it, but a memoir is never just our story. There are sometimes casualties we never meant to drag through our truths.

Whatever you take away from this, sometimes you just have to trust your intuition and be okay with people not understanding the depth of your emotion. There will be people who only see the shiny bits you put on social media (or the gritty ones) and judge without really knowing where you're coming from. And that's okay. Sometimes we mean to say something simply and get interrogated when, no, we don't quite understand what we feel. Sometimes you just have to walk away, contemplate, try to develop the vocabulary and try again. Words will just never be able to convey it all. Try anyway.

The Distance and the Intimacy: The Love Affair with Writing

We're all consumers before we are creators, no matter how much our parents/caregivers might have insisted the massive dumps in our diapers were a sight to behold. Learning faces through the blur of first sight, hearing every strange noise to prickle the ear-- assuming we're born with all senses intact, that is. (Perhaps this is why some deprivation of sense is fascinating to me, but I'll get to that.)

What do I mean by distance and intimacy? Well, not all of us really know that our 'passions' have longevity so there's a time issue involved. Sometimes, and for long periods of time, we may break up with our passions, cheat on them, all the while pining for them. Sometimes a particularly sensitive piece creates a different phenomenon of distance/intimacy. Sometimes we need to blubber and roll in the juices and sometimes we need to be the harsh logical judge of it. We get through the passion parts and then poke, edit, play, indulge, reject, accept-- it's 12 stages of grief and euphoria, but we each fill in the blanks. I've said before-- ebb and flow and some of the best writing I've seen uses the push and pull of development, to align with the very real state of many struggles. Something the characters move on their motivations, sometimes things have to happen to them. Do we take the omniscient look and hash it out in great detail or do we limit it to experience the spotty details alongside the character? Neither one is king when it comes to depth. From any perspective, we can get uncomfortably close or coldly analytical.

There are a lot of aspects to me, for one, that people try to explain. It's especially trendy these days to assume to speak for others, even when the subject is more than capable. I suppose you could narrow down my attitudes to trauma, whether it be my sexuality, my draw towards art and writing, my lifestyle. You could correlate things simply, but there's more to that history than I will ever feel comfortable writing or explaining, especially when it pertains to the 'stressors' outside of myself, the people that did and still can terrorize me if I step over the line. I will not give them that piece of fame, to ride on whatever failures or successes I have in my life with association. If you have bogeymen in your life, give them to your fictions. A memoir is the thing to write if you outlive them all.

That being said, there are 'other' things. Things I stopped trying to understand, things I use and learn to master as much as possible and I don't aim to be mysterious with those so I'll describe this the best I can without using labels that might give you false impressions.

I've struggled with neuropathic issues from a very early age. For no apparent reason or stressor, I've temporary lost my sight or hearing or sense of touch, or had them 'heightened' to unbearable and painful levels. No amount of searching ever gave me answers and in most cases, I was too afraid to tell. I had some wonderful teachers along the way that saw me melting down in my confusion and helped me, no questions, no words. Sometimes it was just a space to cry in their office, sometimes it was me interrupting to go to the bathroom. The counselor, for some reason, really liked me, even gave me her home phone number and told me to call if I needed it, made sure all my teachers knew that I could leave class any time I needed to (on days I bothered to show up, I didn't leave class at all-- kind of an all-or-nothing when it comes to showing up). It's not that these people thought I was suicidal, but looking back, I think they knew my 'other' better than books or doctors had any grasp of back then. They also saw my potential. Another thing I couldn't see without hindsight, but learned to trust some people when they said good things about me.

Because I don't see what's in front of me or, rather, rarely do. I see things more clearly looking back, sometimes beating myself up for how stupid or ineffective I was in the moment. I became adept at trying to recreate the person I wanted to be, to try to learn to be a person that can see the moment or even a little ahead, learn to anticipate the world around me. Somewhere in the invention of myself, I became a storyteller. I never saw a place for THAT (I never could get the taste for lying) in my life, but there was a pocket I'd stumbled on where worlds did wait. Despite all the characters and events happening over 'there', it could still be a lonely place, not a place of inside jokes and the things I could talk about with others who weren't familiar. So I wanted to find ways to show people. I was already building those places, learning to express through art and writing what I struggled to say.

An honest place, one I have trouble lying about too. It's not a place that can actually speak for my desires, doubts or fears, just a gathering ground from my journey in this world. And I don't have these fascinating stories of world travel, but I can simulate it through the means that I have. It's maddening, a bloom of chaos and beauty. It can be safe and warm or frigid and frightening. It affects moods that people can't see the reason for, and sometimes I don't even know why I feel or act the way I do. It can be a real bastard trying to recreate it for the sharing. Yeah, sometimes I thought about giving up because creation and using it to funnel what I don't really understand is never a safe place. It's erratic and it's not structured. Because of that, writing...

Writing holds structure or none at all. The only demand is what you intend for it. I wrote stories for school, but then I wrote stories in school when I was supposed to be doing something else. Just little stories. 'Born to Play Video Games' and 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Kitties'... (I loved the Turtles, but the idea of drawing humanoid cats was just so appealing.) I wrote poems when I fell in love with rhythm and rhyme. It was music and color in words alone. Alongside this passion, always came the impulse and whimsy of 'doodling'. I love that word too, doodling. So often it was said to me in an attempt to belittle it or guilt me for wasting time, but doodling and noodling about-- those things brought me closer to a feeling of rightness. Doodling has brought me closer to some of the most amazing people in my life-- my best friends, family, and my friend's children especially. No matter how much adulting pressures my drawing to be 'more', kids always give me this surreal sense of expertise I forget to see sometimes. They're not comparing me to 'masters' or ticking off all they've liked better; they're capable of just loving it for what it is. (Not unique to kids, by the way-- my best friends always seem to lift me up like this too. Also people who are terrible at lying, but are also likely to clam up if they don't want to hurt my feelings either.)

It's hard to say whether I can make my characters and worlds resonate the same way they do with me. I'm not someone who can see the hook, the blurb, the simplification of the big picture. My love affair with writing and creating is selfish but it wants to be generous. It can feel superficial, it can feel overly deep. Courageous and cowardly. I can't lie, but sometimes I can omit or gloss over, defense mechanisms for survival and a habit I try to break.

I write because... it's too big to contain. Because otherwise it can leak out where I don't want it to. Just like my neuropathic struggles, it's not about the cure, but working with the intuitive treatment of it. Writing is often a sensitive organism, sometimes needing compassion, sometimes needing tough love. Raising kids-- much the same. You treat every kid the same and they lose sight of what could motivate them to improve or change. I don't discipline my nephews the same, nor reward them the same and when they notice this, I explain the circumstances, let them see the logic (the punishment fits the crime and so on). Almost always, a punishment or a reward merits a discussion, but there is also a lot of time for play, contemplation, or things being what they will be. I never wanted to be a parent, but like most labels, it's not important. These little guys grew on me and the one thing I want to give them are tools to maneuver through an unfair, unsympathetic, confusing world.

I write because it's not an exaggeration to say they saved me. I call them my little heroes. I knew it would never be fair for a human being to inherit my issues, but I did need 'new life' to remind me of the one the world tried to beat out of me. I did find myself and it wasn't just through me. It was all the things they helped me see-- family/friends, writing, drawing, music. I didn't need to 'have kids' to learn to look ahead. I just needed to open myself to the 'other' things.