Is this the beginning?

Cooking reminds me that I am capable of taking care of myself and worthy of taking of and nourishing myself. - Roxane Gay Hunger:  A Memoir of (My) Body

I love walking into my tiny apartment and being greeted with the smell of chopped red onions. I don't know why it is red onions over other onions but I love the smell of red onions.

This evening as I was preparing a meal to go into my Crock Pot I discovered I did not have one critical liquid ingredient. This discovery forced me into the unseasonably warm evening to the nearest hippie-dippie-whole-food-patchouli-slinging-store to get what I needed (the ingredient was gluten-free soy sauce; judge away).  It worked out because I also needed some ginger powder and I was craving some sorbet.

I walked to the store, wearing a too heavy a coat for the evening, because silly me thought that with it being February in San Francisco and less than ten blocks from the ocean it might be cold out and I was uncomfortably mistaken.

Items acquired-I as able to hop on MUNI and get back to my lovely smelling apartment. Walking into  olfactory joy, I thought of Ms. Gay's quote about cooking. I recognize, for the multineenth time in my adult life that I don't cook for myself. Proof of this lies not only in the fact that I do not have a "proper kitchen" but in the fact that I had to wash off the dust from my Crock Pot and wash out dead bugs from the bowl. Yes, you read that correctly, dead bugs from the bowl. I hadn't used it in definitely over a year.

For the better part of a year I have been using a meal delivery service and going out to eat a lot. I say part of this is that I don't have a stove or oven in my kitchen (simply a sink and a small counter), but the truth is I have a certain degree of disordered eating. I do not mean to take away from the suffering that people experience from clinically diagnosed disordered eating. I'm only talking of my experience of eating.

I do not have a clinical sense of disordered eating. I just don't eat regularly scheduled meals, and I have no sense of appropriate meal sized portions. I don't know how to take care of myself in this sense. I LOVE to snack or eat sides. I am addicted to snack foods and will easily use snack foods or side dishes as meal replacements. And even since becoming a vegan I still do this- and it is almost easier to do this because the excuse of "oh they don't have anything I can eat so I'll just eat these seven different sides instead." I only say it is disordered because I see how folks around me eat, and I definitely don't eat like them. More often than not I eat to assuage the anxiety of the moment.

In addition to not having a "proper kitchen" I do have some strange diet restrictions. I am a Gluten Free-Vegan. This isn't for ethical reasons. It's for allergen reasons. It makes my body happy. And actually I don't have to justify why I eat the way I eat. Given this dietary complicated (and often times expensive) intersection my lovely friends will send me recipes of things to cook. Super plus bonus when it involves one of the appliances that I own, such as a CrockPot. A few days ago one of my beloveds sent me a Vegan/Gluten Free recipe for Kung Pao Chickpeas and that is what is making my studio smell delicious as I write this.

The past few days have been really difficult. I woke up at 2 a.m. on Wednesday night/Thursday morning and I felt..heavy. The kind of heavy one feels when they're grieving. I know this feeling. My mind raced with thoughts I could see but couldn't catch. I was overwhelmingly sad and terrified that I might have to miss work the next day.

"Fuuuuucccccck." I thought. I knew this was coming. I could feel it following me. And then I was sick. For hours- I was sick.

Eventually I was able to get back to sleep.

For two days I did not go to work. I could not. Anything more than riding the train to get coffee was exhausting. I struggled to remain focused long enough to read, and some books were easier than others. My couch provided incredible full body hugs, because the idea of lying in bed shamed me immensely. But I slept....a lot. Or I just laid there with my eyes closed- avoiding most people.

Last night, a friend came over.
"You know what would be good right now?"
"What?"
"Your TV with some DVDs"
"I'm not watching TV." (silence) "But there is YouTube and there is my phone. And I feel like this could be and addendum to the original contract."

He showed me comedy from El Salvador. We laughed.
I showed him Bad Lip Reading Videos. We laughed.

I was smiling enough that we took some Snapchat pictures together with silly filters. I don't think in all the time we have been friends we had ever done that. I was grateful.

I feel very good today and I know well enough to capitalize on the momentum of good feels but to still be gentle with myself. I felt good enough to attend a volunteer info session, go grocery shopping (twice) and throw chopped ingredients into a Crock Pot and call it cooking. This front-loading of self care will pay off when I have frozen food and can't fathom knowing what to eat or cooking. I hope to have a good day tomorrow for another dish (Coconut Curry) and laundry.

Historically, February to the beginning of April I suffer a depressive episode. I have good days and bad weeks.

I have a fairly good medication regiment. And this is the first Feb-April stretch that I've been vegan, which (not to get preachy) for me--And I speak ONLY for me-- I have noticed makes a difference in making episodes less intense. So...let's see how the ride this time around goes.

Thanks for reading.

I can be an alienating force

Some transphobic bio-essentialist TERF piece of trash came up on Twitter today and was spewing off ignorant ideas that reduced women to biological functions and anatomy which is problematic on a whole host of levels. Some examples of those problems include:

• It erases folks with chromosomal variations.
• It erases folks who do not have uteruses (either born without or those who had them surgically removed).
• It links womanhood with fertility- thus erasing any woman who cannot have children and shaming any woman who chooses not to have children. 
• It conflates biological sex and the social constructs of gender (have you ever thought about where you learned to be a man or where you learned to be a woman)?
• It erases women who have non-standard menstrual experiences
• It clings to the binary of male/female= XX/XY, which any biologist will tell you is not exclusive- it is common but variations outside of this are not as uncommon or unusual as we have been previously told.
• It requires that so-called"tradition" which is informed by practices of "domination" be viewed as the "norm" therefore placing all others as not normal. "Not normal" usually precedes not being deserving of dignity or respect and therefore are more vulnerable, more vulnerable means subject to more exploitation and violence. 

....the list goes on

However, because it is Twitter I can't provide even a mini lecture on the variety of biology and explain how the binary of even XX/XY is a misnomer I simply posed the question: 

"What about intersex people?"

To which this hateful person responded (and I quote):
"U mean the 150, 000 hermaphrodites out of 300 million. Unusual. Same as transgender. No need to change our norms."

I went straight for the jugular and simply responded with, "Wow. Is that how you respond when meeting new people? You must be into ethnic cleansing too."

Let me be clear- linking any human biological function or anatomy to an imperative and then directly correlating that imperative to the "worth" and "validity" of a human being is a form of ableism.
Fuck abelism.
And if that's what you think then fuck you.

A Break Up Letter

My Dearest U,

I can not. 

I cannot be your lover. 

Not even in the most casual of meanings of the word. 

Because I do not want to. 

I do not want to risk an emotional investment on which there will only be negative returns, because at any moment you will disappear- deported back to your home country. Or you will voluntarily leave. And as I have said, no matter the state of our relationship when this happens- your absence will cause me pain and I will miss you. 

I have no intention of being your partner. 

I have no intention of following you home. 

And I have no desire to become your wife. 

By involving myself with you sexually you are asking me to keep a part of myself available to you, and the way that my heart is constructed that will foreclose me to recognizing someone who will be more fulfilling and sustaining to me in the ways I want.

I want to be in love.

I want a partner. 

And you are not this person.

I need to be open to that person when they come along.

I want to be open when that person comes along. 

I ask that if you care for me as you say you do, that you hold your desire for me close to your heart and remain friends with me.

We can share meals, go to the movies, talk and laugh as we do so well together- but do not hold my hand. Do not try to kiss me or sway me into your arms. 

I will hold any desire that may arise for you close to my heart. 

I will not hold your hand, or kiss you or try to sway you into my arms. 

I will continue to be a friend to you, because that is all I can offer you. 

Lovingly,

S

It bears repeating: Our Artists Do Not Belong To Us; Supporting and Respecting Our Creatives in the Age of Social Media (maybe)

It bears repeating: Our Artists Do Not Belong To Us; Supporting and Respecting  Our Creatives in the Age of Social Media (Hari Kondabolu posted some Tweets and I had a response...so I put it here)

Those that are in the public eye (in whatever degree) do not exist for your entertainment. 

The industry of entertainment is an illusion that propagates fantasy and if you feel frustrated with an artist's so-called failure to live up to that social contract you're ignoring the humanity of that artist. 

You are making them an object responsible for your escape. Whenever you make another human being responsible for anything, they will inevitably disappoint you. 

So stop. Stop making them responsible for that. Let them disappoint you for something real- like a sexual harassment accusation. Because let's be real, when it comes to a bad haircut v. sexual harassment in the office as a choice of things to dislike about a person I'm gonna go with sexual harassment.

Artists (and all public figures) are multifaceted human beings and we get to see parts of them through social media  (and more traditional media outlets). 

However, we are NOT ENTITLED to any part of what they choose to show us. The current state of social media produces a saturation of images that requires individuals who are in the public eye to have to utilize social media to cultivate/sustain their audience. And the larger their image gets, the less control they have over this curation, and the more salacious the stories become. Truth or fiction, the spread of rapid fire gossip is toxic (see the image in my last post). If at any point they choose to stop sharing, that is for them- not for us, and as an act of love we need to support that decision. 

Also, because you have a social media account that is linked to their social media account, OR you have an OPINION about something that they have produced that in some way has disappointed you; IT DOES NOT GIVE YOU LICENSE TO EXERCISE ANY SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT YOU MIGHT HAVE ABOUT ACCESSING TO THEM. 

Our artists do not owe us anything when it comes to our entertainment. 

There are times when their art will go on journeys that are departures from where we are at and this is not a betrayal- it is simply a moment for us to to tell someone we love good bye and wish them well on their new journey and thank them for all the joy we've shared together. 

Now, let me be clear that when an artist is being a shitty human being (Chris Brown & R. Kelly being misognynoirists, or artists using their art to promote hate or worse recreating scenes from Abu Grab in their artistic aesthetic) we can express our disgust through powerful actions like boycott and discussion. I would suggest that when expressing our displeasure that we be sure to link our disgust to our personal beliefs and/or larger social issues. This requires us being prepared to do so in an honest way. Ya know, face your shit and own it.

And this is true even in our small, less public lives. People do not belong to us. We try so hard to hold on to people who do not want to be in our lives, and people try so hard to hold to us when we do not want to be there anymore. 

I speak of course, from a very white perspective which affords me the privilege of being able to move in the world in a way that is much more fluid than that which I have observed for PoC. The entitlement that anyone feels to another person because of social media is not just limited to artists and it's now to the point where it's a personal affront if you don't wish to make yourself seen or shared online as well as offline, or the rapid degradation from subject to object in the digital space. It begs the questions: Why does my agency not matter? Why do you think you can treat me like an object in a digital space? Asking for nudes by the fifth text? Fucking fuck off. 

But I digress.

The point is--with social media giving us so much access to our artists, and each other, it is easy to strip each other of our humanity. As in the offline world, we are not entitled to one another in the online world. And this can have emotionally (and--at worst--physically) violent consequences. 

Our artists are not our minstrels. 

If they produce something that does not speak to us and that does not promote hate, that's okay- there is always next time. We do not need to engage in an accountability conversation with them. 

The Love we have with our artists is a special kind of love. We only get to love a part of them. And this Love should come without conditions.

Support should come with very few conditions. 

Artists are working so hard.

They create and offer their gifts, each time hoping that it will accepted. It is one of the most humbling professions because each offering has the anxiety of "how am I going to match/top this next time?" blaring in the background. And the need to produce can quickly become less about what is authentic to them and more about what they are trying to do for us. 

Fucking let them be. 

Let them give us their gifts.

Support them by going to their shows (take your friends), buying their shit (give it as gifts to your friends), promoting their works (on your social media pages and in your cubicle at work if you have one), reposting their stuff and saying kind words to and about them.
If you do critique- do so thoughtfully. State the issue, link it to a larger social issue and offer a solution that advances the conservation forward.
Don't be a dick.
Don't take it personally if they don't respond.
It isn't about you.


This is all chaos, choose kindness

And p.s. if you have their number from back in the day- maybe check in if they have a manager who deals with their bookings...ya know...respect their boundaries. Don't be a CeCe. 

Day 20

Day 20 without television.

I am dog sitting at my favorite client's house. In addition to having an insane amount of incredible memorabilia and fan art- it also has two large televisions, and since arriving I have had no desire to turn either one one.

In the living room, easily 80"+

In the bedroom, much smaller than the living room, easily 60"+. 

I reinstalled Twitter onto my phone because I have to confess that the sudden silence of no-social-media-cold-turkey was deafening. I felt disconnected from the world. And trying to read the New York Times everyday was not something I was exactly interested in because--let's face it--they're a bunch of pussies and I missed my alternative news outlets. 

I must admit to degree of laziness when it comes to going to multiple news sites to get the information I am accustomed to having buzzed in to me.  However, reinstalling Twitter reminded me that I fucking hate how I had Twitter set up, which was to constantly notify me. You'd think I had a Good Vibrations store in my pocket it went off so much. The solution to this self-created nuisance was that as notifications came in I turned them off until only three accounts remained: my kid (yes, I have a spawn- no, I'm not raising them, maybe, I'l blog about it), Occupy Oakland and Democracy Now (because, ya know- priorities). 

Shortly after this reintroduction of Twitter one of my favorite comedians, Hari Kondabolu, tweeted that if they didn't do comedy they would quit social media; comparing it to a slow poison. The statement resonated with me on multiple levels. Namely, it reminded me of this image:

This was an image I saw frequently growing up, as it was a poster that resided in the youth meeting rooms of my faith (yes, I'm a recovering Mormon). And it is a very powerful, very clever image that illustrates the toxicity and the ease with which toxicity spreads as well as the willingness with which folks are ready to receive such toxicity. For me, this toxicity is social media, the space of violence it can produce, my addiction to conflict and emotional abuse, not being grounded, living inauthentically and being so flighty. I haven't detoxed from social media. I will admit that keeping Twitter is kind of a social-medial-methadone for me. But, Hari's comment got me thinking:  my life is so small, I have nothing to promote. I have like...76 Twitter followers.  I wonder if I could suspend participation that was unkind. I mean...I really ought to.  Just because I'm not posting long rants on Facebook or inviting trolls to dinner on my Instagram DMs doesn't mean I'm not passing on the toxicity. Shit is shit is shit, even if its of a different color. And if breaking my addiction to conflict is the goal then...I should cultivate kindness across the board not just where it is convenient for me.  

...could I actually 100% quit Twitter? Or at least give up mean Tweeting? Like Amanda Palmer who tweeted today that she tries to not tweet "not nice things" and then called President Trump "a jerk" which is....not that bad (in my book). 

With literal clicks of buttons, and not any real engagement we spread a lot of viciousness and toxicity.  With the same number of clicks and feigned engagement or fleeting sense of well-being we spread joy and happiness, but this online life does not always translate into our offline life. And I am going to aim to be off social media for the next six months and focus on my offline life (which may may these blogs a little long at times- as they probably won't be posted with any regularity). I also recently heard Jay Smooth mention how folks spend so much time collecting moments to share online that they fail to be present offline. And I fucking love Jay Smooth...and Hari Kondabolu....and Amanda Fucking Palmer...and their words come at me at the right time. 

Speaking of my offline life, here are some things that have happened in my offline world:

1. Read two books: Hunger: A Memoir of (my)Body by Roxane Gay and College (Un)bound: The Future of Higher Education and What It Means for Students by Jeffrey Sailing. 
2. Emotionally abusive ex-boyfriend has resurfaced, claiming he wants to re-connect because I am one of the nicest parts he's ever had about living in the Bay Area (fucking duh- I'm awesome). All overtures thus far point to this being code for "I'd like to have a sexual relationship with you until I'm deported back to or I willingly leave the U.S. to go back to El Salvador (which ever comes first). whaddya say?" I say, "That's gonna be a nah from me brah. Nothing about any of that is appealing." 
3. Went to the W. Kamu Bell's Playlist with the Oakland Symphony at the breathtaking Paramount Theater (one of my fav venues). 

3. Went to the Women's March and of course I kicked it with the Sister's of Perpetual Indulgence as we marched, chanted and then saw some wonderful signs. 

All These Moments Lost, Like Tears in The Rain

When I'm sick I want to watch television.

And I am sick.

A long standing periodontal infection (which is the clinical name for an infection of the gums) that I didn't know I had may have entered my bloodstream. Through the blessings of knowing people in the dental profession I was able to be examined today by a very kind provider who is clearly not in dentistry for the money and clearly loves what they do and their patients. They examined me and told me what I needed to do, wrote me two prescriptions (in the event my insurance wouldn't cover one) and sent me on my way.

It's 8:00 p.m. and I am in bed. With a fever. The right side of my face feels like it's on fire.

I was told that if my body does not respond to the antibiotics by Monday, to go to the ER and request and IV drip with antibiotics.

To help my gums heal I will need to be on a soft food diet for the next ten days.

Television goes great with fevers and comfortable beds.

Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane

Today I disabled my Facebook and Instagram accounts.

I deleted the Facebook, Instagram, Regram and Twitter apps from my phone.

Given that I can't remember the answer to security questions on websites trying to log back in may require password resets.

My goal is to stay away until the end of June.

I kept Snapchat, because only its the primary way for me to communicate with my sisters. More than text. And I was rewarded with a corgi Bitmoji filter that I nearly lost my mind over.

You don't know this about me, but I love dogs. I don't know how to turn loving dogs into a viable career. But I do. It's ridiculous.

Part of the reason for this break up is the full on admittance that I am addicted to conflict. And I am addicted to being emotionally abusive towards myself (and it spills out to others that I claim to care about).  And social media provides plenty of opportunities for that. And after researching the effects of being chronically angry, I will die an early death if I don't knock it off.

So.

Step 1.

Good-bye social media.