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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘tellin secrets’ Category

loss

Friday, June 30th, 2017

(There is nothing fun or funny to follow, so … move along if that’s what you’re here for.)

I don’t mean loss in the way that people *lose*. Not a parent or a spouse or a child. I’m talking about those losses that, when you explain them to other people, they rate like a splinter. ‘Oh, bummer’, and then moved on from, never to be considered again.

Or worse, those losses that you don’t feel justified mourning. My personal examples are just that … the best I can think of that I’m willing to share are things like when I sent my book to a few very famous agents and none of them were interested. Overall: pipe dream, best I can expect as far as sympathy was a nod and a smile. Still, internally, I mourned. I love my book like a baby, and I thought it was meant to be. And it was, but under different circumstances, and that makes sense to everyone who hears this story. But to me, it felt like it was meant to be with who I had in mind and everything else was just treading water.

Or worse, when my Clo died. Cloey was a terrier but also my best friend and the companion who grew up with me, from college graduation through breakups and apartments and a house that belonged to just me and her. People understand when your dog dies, but most of them in an ‘oh bummer’ way. I railed and cried and missed her like a person, but … ‘oh, bummer’.

The thing is, everyone tells you that kind of thing feels better later. Wait it out, etc, etc. My losses of men from my younger years (the kind of thing that hit hardest when I was a baby person)? YES. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I’m not the girl who was with Andrew in college, when he realized he’d always been in love with Andre. Or how glad I am that I’m not married to Monte, who now has beautiful twins and a lovely wife.

Of course, in retrospect, Monte did make out with the girl who is now the woman he’s married to while we were in the process of permanently combining our lives. And Andrew … I don’t know, man. I want to pretend my gaydar was good, but it wasn’t. He was cute and I dodged a bullet, that’s where that lies.

My book, though? If I’d been tough and tried harder, more times, maybe I would have gotten what I wanted. If I’d been braver and strong enough to let Cloey go through chemo at the animal hospital up at CSU, maybe I would have had her for longer. (I checked the archives and this post is the closest I got to writing about how hard it was when Clo died, but suffice to say my choices there are some of my biggest what-ifs.) There are losses that are just that – losses. They are things that make your life less for the lack of them. I have them and know I’ll have more, but it doesn’t make them hurt any less.

I miss the things that I think should have happened, the things that belong in my life but aren’t there.

(In other news, sometimes I’m a fucking drama queen.)

instagram

Wednesday, June 21st, 2017

Instagram vs Snapchat.

One of my very bestest friends is an avid snapper, and I was trying to put my finger on why I don’t snap now but I am all over insta like a … a … well, someone who posts a lot on insta.

I do post a lot, especially lately. I mean, I don’t know what a LOT a lot is, but I post two or three times a day most days. Is that a lot (she asks as if she wants reassurance but she really doesn’t)?

I guess I think of insta like a diary. Facebook used to be a diary. For example, six years ago today on Facebook I posted the status ‘iPad, check. Toothbrush, check. Camera… SHIT.’ Obviously I was going somewhere (sailing I think), and I forgot my camera! That’s a fun tiny blurb, yes? No? Yes. But Facebook is mostly for pictures and sharing political links now (and it’s dead, right? Let’s all agree. It’s basically dead. Our grandparents are on it and we are parents of people who are also on it. It’s Main St USA and no one actually thinks it’s cool to be on Main St.)

The thing about Instagram is: it stays and pictures are unambiguous. Filtered, yes, but if you were with someone or not with someone or home or in Portland, that’s permanently represented.

The thing about Snapchat is: it goes away.

I get the appeal of that, but I also feel like it’s part of the issue about space women are constantly struggling with. When you snap, you’re putting something into the world that says ‘heeeeeyyyy guys here’s a thing if you wanna look at it but if you don’t don’t worry it’ll be gone pretty soon so don’t worry about it if you don’t want to ’cause …. yeah anyway thanks byyyeeee’.

I could be wrong. It could (always) be my personal awareness of taking up space in the world. I’m a woman who, despite her best intentions, worries endlessly about the effect my very presence has on other people. Am I too loud? Is my skirt too distracting? Am I talking more than I should?  Does my new tree bug my neighbors? Does my new shampoo smell? It’s tiring, and Snapchat is a relaxing way to show people things. It’s easy to think ‘oh no one has to see this if they don’t want to’. However, by that same measure, Snapchat doesn’t tell any kind of story about you or your life.

So Instagram. Insta is the diary-est of all the available diaries.

(Excepting a blog but WHO BLOGS ANYMORE?)

So, Instagram. People can opt into you without you doing the same and vice versa. Everyone loves a sunset and dogs and yoga, which makes it feel like a wonderful place to *also* love all those things. You’re easy to scroll over, but also anyone who cares can roll back through months or years of what you’ve been up to, and you can too.

None of this touches on the overwhelming desire to share in the first place, of course. I’m always aware of what the perception of my pictures might be, and I’m open to it. This blog is over a decade old – I’m a committed sharer and the reasons are between my and my psyche.

I just … want to leave a mark.

God I’m old.

But still cute. You can confirm on my insta.

ice cold I roll my eyes at you boy

Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

Picking songs that other people are going to listen to is VERY STRESSFUL.

Like, I think I have good taste in music, but literally no one doesn’t think that about themselves. If they thought what they liked didn’t show good taste, it would thoroughly undermine the entire concept of good taste and that would be the nucleus from which the end of the world sprouted. (No? Are you sure? Like, double check quantum physics and get back to me. I don’t fully understand quantum physics but I went to an engineering school and am pretty sure someone there told me once you could use them to explain any damn thing you wanted, and this is the quantum-music-taste hill I’m going to die on.)

When I was in Portland with my little brother last weekend we had a whole app based youtube queue set up on his chromecast (<- today in sentences Emma from ten years ago would think were gibberish).  We were all adding, and it was skewing rap heavy because that’s mostly what he and his friends listen to. I could have backed off and let it happen, but I wanted to contribute and also not to listen to rap for four hours.

(I don’t dislike rap but I have a hard time staying engaged when there’s not a through melody. Like, I’m a huge Childish Gambino fan, but my brother hates him… I guess he’s intro rap? Because … of the melody? I know it’s shocking, but this is NOT something we covered in engineering school. All your preconceptions blown, right? Right.)

My approach was either great song or great video. I went retro a couple of times (Leave the Biker), full on pandering at least twice (see Lana del Ray and the Jenny Lewis video with Anne Hathaway and Kristen Stewart (a combo that surprisingly fills the needs of most people who like girls? Can I get an amen?)), and I’m not embarrassed to admit I appealed to my brother with people we’ve seen together.

That is way too much thought.

Literally, what is the worst thing that could have happened? That my brother’s friends didn’t think I was cool? I’m his older sister – they were pretty decided on the coolness of me long before now. (Probably I won some of them over when I looked super fly in a suit as his best man a few years ago.)

These are phases I go through. It’s like I’m scared, sometimes, to take up too much room in the world. To make someone do literally anything that’s not exactly what they had planned.

Probably I need to switch over to some Blondie. Some Tegan and Sarah. Some Tove Lo. Sometimes it’s ok to play your own song.

 

fish burps

Saturday, November 12th, 2016

I feel like someone told me once that dogs can’t burp. Is that right? Did they actually say cows and I heard dogs because if you squint cows are basically big dogs that we’re ok with eating for some reason? My dogs burp, anyway, so if they’re not supposed to be able to then maybe somebody wants to study them – hit me up in the comments and we’ll work out a price in dog cookies and beers.

I also burp kind of a lot. I don’t know if it’s more than a normal person or if normal people are just better about not doing it out loud, and it’s a hard thing to bring up in conversation. “Excuse me, ma’am, I see you’re drinking a beer. Are you silently burping when you look down towards your lap, or are you immune to delicious bubbles in your digestive system?”

I don’t cover my mouth anymore when I burp around Crockett. I used to, because it seemed sort of rude, but it’s a pain and also I think perhaps my desire to do so was informed by the differing societal expectations of men and women and my patience for that shit is rapidly converging with DOES NOT EXIST.

The thing is, Crockett doesn’t burp around me, and there are three possible reasons:

  • he’s not a natural (the ‘like I am’ was meant to be implied but it didn’t come across so I’m pointing it out you’re welcome)
  • he suppresses/subtles his burps around me to be polite in a way that has nothing to do with me being a lady, and would do it around anyone
  • etc except in a way that *does* have to do with me being a lady, and he does not and would not do such around his friends
  • or fourth he suppresses because he’s worried I won’t love him anymore I guess? but based on my burp frequency that would make him a loon so we’re discounting this one out of hand

In the name of science, I’m going to feed him a couple of Coors Light’s (high carbonation according to these experts) and sit on his lap while we watch a movie or something. Don’t worry, I’ll pay him with more beers (and dog cookies, if he wants them).

tina what the fuck

Thursday, May 21st, 2015

Therapy. Lesbians.

(This is much less dramatic than the intro made it sound, but the intro is accurate! Just wait!)

I decided to go into therapy, cause, you know. I think we can all use someone to talk to and stuff. My best friend is in school to become a counselor and sometimes she says brilliant insightful things based on what she’s learned* and I was like hey, lots of things have changed in my life, maybe I should stop exploiting my best friend for free therapy and talk to a professional.

*She said brilliant and insightful things before too. Like, one time, she accused me of wanting to spend the night at her house because I had a crush on her little brother and she was RIGHT!**

**We were maybe fourteen and her brother was a year or slightly less younger than her. Crushes on 13 year olds when you’re 14 aren’t gross. Crushes on your best friends little brother are gross. Too close, ladies, don’t do it.

So I found a therapist that was super close to work and a woman (important to me, I said to Crockett offhandedly that ‘I don’t want a male therapist because I’d probably try to make him like me’ WHICH WOAH I SHOULD probably tell my real therapist about that) and she was very much not my thing. She just agreed with me a lot.

Since I always think I’m right, that is not a helpful problem solving attitude.

If paid enablers were a thing I would totally call her first.

So I found another woman, further from work but still commutable during a work day distance, and she does all these wacky things, and she asked me questions, and wrote stuff down, and I just loved her. Unfortunately, lots of other people love her too, so she couldn’t work me in regularly until mid June. She called today with a cancellation for tomorrow, though, so I started the book that she recommended (The Happiness Trap) just a few minutes ago…

while watching The L Word.

Boom, therapy and lesbians. Do I deliver in the least exciting way possible or WHAT.