I was leaving my house for a date; we have holiday decorations up and a bat flew into my face. It could have been a bird, but it was dusk (peak bat time!) and we do have bats that like to hang around and eat bugs. Bat (or bird) was nesting in the wreath hanging in our front door. After a few hours worrying and waffling I decided to go to the ER.
How Did It Go?
The ER visit was surprisingly fast; two hours tops. A doctor came in, asked what happened, and gave his recommendation. While it was a low-risk incident for contacting rabies, undergoing the vaccination process was ultimately up to me. And I decided to– by the time this is posted, I’d have my last shot!
Wait, ‘Last’?
Yup. While they are no longer administered in the stomach, there’s still a bunch of shots over the course of a month! Specifically on “Day 0,” then on day 3, 7, 14, and 28. As of drafting out this post, my last shot will be in two weeks.
Day 0 was easily the most stressful! In addition to the anxiety of potential rabies exposure, the initialization was 4 shots– one for each arm and leg. However, subsequent visits were only 1 shot.
Anything Else Happened?
I also called 311 and spoke to Animal Control. Since they were unable to reach me by phone, they visited me while I was in the ER. I recounted my story and showed them footage from our doorbell camera. The officers were unable to say for sure if it was a bat or a bird, but did not deny the possibility of it being a bat.
What Did It Cost You?
I live in the United States, for the record. So far, my insurance managed to cover it.
THE HOLIDAY KWANZAA is a product of creative cultural synthesis. That is to say, it is the product of critical selection and judicious mixture on several levels. First, Kwanzaa is a synthesis of both Continental African and Diasporanl (sic) African cultural elements. … Secondly, the Continental African components of Kwanzaa are a synthesis of various cultural values and practices from different Continental African peoples. … And finally, Kwanzaa is a synthesis in the sense that it is based, in both conception and self-conscious commitment, on tradition and reason.
https://www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org
KuchuQwanzaa is in large part based on the traditional Kwanzaa holiday, but seeks to infuse queer ideology, principles, and values to establish a space for Black LGBTQIA+ folks to celebrate our unique culture, history, and contributions. In the spirit of inclusivity, we invite anyone who shares the core principles of KuchuQwanzaa to celebrate it.
https://www.kuchuqwanzaa.com/about
So after Christmas, we go straight into Kwanzaa. It begins on the 26th of December and it ends on New Year’s Day. Kwanzaa is a holiday created by a Black American man in order to celebrate our heritage, culture, and ancestors. In addition, KuchuQwanzaa was created with these same goals in mind, but to also honor our Black LGBTQ expression. Both incorporate libations, candles, gift giving and food.
For these seven days I reflect on the principles of Kwanzaa and KuchuQwanzaa. I think about what each means to me and how it manifests in my life, and how I can keep them in mind for the future.
(I have also tooted daily via Mastodon; you can check out the #AlbisKQwanzaa tag for the topmost posts for the longer threads.)
The First Day
Umoja
“Unity,” the Principle for the first day of Kwanzaa. This was an “easy” one to reflect on, and an excellent start to this holiday (considering how online I tend to be)… my immediate thought was BlackMastodon, BlackTwitter, BlackFediverse. We find each other and support each other, pushing back against the typical whiteness of most online platforms. As Twitter burns, it has been uplifting to see so many of us on Mastodon. I may stick around this time.
Imani
KuchuQwanza has two Principles on the first day: in addition to Umoja, it also has Imani, or “Faith.” My initial thought was to assume faith meant the religious sort, and I believe my initial thought to be erroneous. And if not, well– I’m not the religious sort anyway; I strive to at least be spiritual despite my casual relationship to it for the moment.
I have faith in myself (I generally do the right thing), my people (though, cynic that I am, my faith in people takes a hit when confronted with misogynoir and queerphobia– but is generally restored when it is called out and abolished), and the natural world. I also hope to honor my ancestors in how they interpreted the forces of nature and their gods, be it observing the holidays or practicing herbalism.
The Second Day
Kujichagulia
“Self-Determination,” or why I hate the “we don’t need labels!” or “we’re all human!” rhetoric. Our differences make us who we are, and labels can further define yourself on your own terms. I am Black, Queer, Transgender. Some labels are “given,” but I have chosen the rest.
I also reflect on the representation of our people, and not just us being mere “tokens.” I am here, and I exist, and you will hear me. Everyone contains multitudes and different aspects of themselves; Black people not a monolith. When Whoopi Goldberg saw Nichelle Nichols as Uhura on the screen, it opened so many possibilities for her. We can also be “these things,” despite the overculture trying to tell us otherwise. And that is still important today.
AFYA
The world is tough enough as it is, so we also have to take care of our bodies and mental health. I’m glad to see that the stigma for therapy and medication is waning– but we can still work on this. The queer community is still recovering from the AIDS crisis, and I still hear negative comments about getting help for what’s ailing your brain.
Get tested, and often, especially if you have multiple partners. Eat your vegetables, take walks, turn off the news and stop doomscrolling when it becomes too much. All these are things that I do within the KuchuQwanzaa Principle of AFYA, or “Health.”
The Third Day
Ujima
“Collective work and responsibility.” I’ll be very blunt here: If your pro-Blackness dehumanizes the further marginalized, it’s fucking trash. I also found it fitting that this was the day I discovered KuchuQwanzaa– LGBTQ voices and celebrations must be uplifted. This is our work, and our responsibility.
Nyumba
It literally means “house,” and houses, to me, mean family and community. Our relationships to each other help sustain us, past and present. Every interaction accumulates to a “I see you:” from The Nod as you walk past a stranger, to commenting support on a post, to giving your mom a call and (not maliciously!) pestering your sibling.
The Fourth Day
Ujamaa
Black Capitalism ain’t gonna save us– it’s still Capitalism. If we’re still trampling each other to make money, that is the capitalism machine working just as intended. Buy Black (sites like Miiriya makes this easier!), participate in mutual aid, gas up your friend’s Etsy shop!
Elima
I did not know about KuchuQwanzaa until this year! So, I found it fitting to mention that on the fourth day of this holiday– the Principle is Elimu, or Education. In a world where LGBTQ folks are still being persecuted, I find it very important to highlight not just our struggles, but to celebrate our contributions to communities and culture.
The Fifth Day
Nia
“Purpose.” I am reflecting on– what is my purpose in life? To be supportive, confounding, to call out bullshit, and eat cookies and cream ice cream, and to exist. It sounds pretty simple, but I’ve mostly made peace with the fact that I don’t need something grand for my day-to-day. And that is enough.
“Just existing” in each of our varied truths may not sound much for a purpose, but for Queer people it is the whole world. We have lives beyond someone else’s moral lesson, or a tragic Netflix movie, or a sensational headline.
I’ve also personal projects and yeah, that is purposeful. I have my writing and poetry– a good purpose, indeed! I am trying to get into more VTubing and gaming, too.
The Sixth Day
Kuumba
I’ll take this moment to talk about some of my favorite creative works.
Creativity begets more creativity and inspiration, and there’s something special about holding The Memory Librarian in my hands after the last word was read.
As I’ve mentioned in length in the post about my vtubing, I am a huge fan of Janelle Monae. Some other musicians that I have on repeat are:
Breezewax
Flying Lotus
Lalah Hathaway
Lil Nas X
Mega Ran
Princess Nokia
Sammus
And a lot of stuff from Back in the Day, like Living Color, The Isley Brothers, Toni Braxton, TLC…
And some of my favorite books are:
Anything by Nnedi Okorafor; her Binti series was my first read into her work.
How to be Black by Baratunde Thurston
Falling in Love with Hominids by Nalo Hopkinson
The Lilith’s Brood (aka Xenogenesis) series, also by Octavia E. Butler
Mind of my Mind (2nd in the Patternist series), also by Butler
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor
SLAY by Brittney Morris (psst, you can play the game!)
TRIGGER by Venus Selenite
While we’re on the subject of books, The StoryGraph has Nadia Odunayo, a Black woman, as founder and CEO!
Sistah SciFi highlights science fiction from Black and Indigenous people.
I also have several pieces of art from GDBEE hanging around my room.
The Seventh Day
Dhidi Chuki and Kiasiasa Utambulisho
For Kwanzaa’s final day of celebration and reflection, we have Imani. Since I’ve reflected on it previously, I will focus on the two final principles for KuchuQwanzaa: “Against Hate” and “Politicized Identity.”
I walk into a room and I am assumed I’m “political” for just existing. So I might as well own that. Yup, I exist and I’m proud. AND WE’RE GONNA TALK ABOUT MY POLITICS ALL DAY, BABY. And hurt the feelings of Nazis and well-meaning allies in the process. Hate comes in all sorts of forms. Some are REALLY OBVIOUS, while others are more insidious and subtle. The ally that tells me to not be one of “those f-slurs?” They get binned. And the other one who shushes me when I say I’m Black and I’m Proud? Binned and set on fire.
I may not have much choice in how I’m politicalized, but I’ll be damned if someone thinks I’m “doing it wrong” and treat my existence as an inconvenience.
And that is all for my reflections for last year’s Kwanzaa and KuchuQwanzaa. I’d like to do the same for this year, and reflect again to see where I stand.
I was not prepared for the consequences of my poll. But hey, I did ask. I will try to make this interesting.
Before Twitch, and before Youtube branched out, there was streaming service called Mogulus (what happened to them, anyway?). To describe it would be redundant. Some politicians and other important people used it, but in my former neck of the woods it became very popular among those who played video games. While Mogulus eventually left us non-paying customers behind, I always loved the streaming-with-a-live-audience concept.
I’ve subscribed to many streams since then, a variety of those with webcams and voice only. Then… 2D/3D custom characters-as-hosts began growing in popularity. At first, I was content with being an audience member. But with this new creative angle, I actually became interested in streaming myself! I was also seeking a new twist on a hobby I loved (gaming), and to reclaim my creativity and free time from the growing dreariness of my life-draining job. And vent, of course.
I grew caught up with setting up: the branding, scheduling, format, icons– then, one evening, I grew fed up with my self-imposed procrastination. Perfect, after all, is the enemy of good, and Virgos gotta have everything perfect before they start anything… so I brute-forced my way through the insecurity, installed the software, queued up a visual novel I’ve been itching to play, and DID IT LIVE.
My last braincell had ENOUGH.
…And it was Fucking Terrible from a didn’t-even-optimize standpoint, so I didn’t feel bad for the 0 viewers on my first run. (Well, one viewer, but they had to catch a DnD game after giving me audio advice.) But with experimenting and practice, things began coming together. Sometimes I still goof, though.
Some World Building
I was determined to create my own model, but I lacked the technical know-how and did not have the money to commission a model or rigging– but I was up for the challenge. I play around with VROID Studio, following tutorials and learning how to modify the defaults. I knew that I wanted my character to look like… well, like me. But cooler.
Seeing other Black VTubers has simply been inspiring.
I have a whole section in my bullet journal dedicated to design ideas, and I’ve been taking notes of techniques and tools other VTubers found useful. But I’ve also have paragraphs and doodles of the character’s backstory. Inspirations include Ghost in the Shell, SOMA, Macross Plus, Digital: A Love Story, Janelle Monae’s Metropolis, and… Chrono Cross? And if I was any good at games I’d throw in TASbot for good measure, but it’s fun to think about. [Note- a surprising lack of Asimov; make a Three Laws joke later to make up for it.] If you haven’t guessed by now, I enjoy the ethical, technical, and whateverelse-cal ramifications of artificial intelligences, cyberpunky transhumanism, and what it means to be “self-aware.”
I also hold a similar view as Monae’s Mayweather’s when it comes to androids in fiction:
I speak about androids because I think the android represents the new ‘Other’ …You can compare it to being a lesbian or being a gay man or being a black woman… What I want is for people who feel oppressed or feel like the ‘Other’ to connect with the music and to feel like, ‘She represents who I am.’
Artificial intelligences can take years to fully build upon themselves, so in some cases a brainprint of a living person is superimposed onto AI code to “jump start” the self-awareness process. The provider of said brainprint would be the designated Arbiter of the resulting AI; they have a lowercase-a as their designation (ex. “a.Issac”). You can think of Arbiters are caregivers or tie-breakers to logical conundrums. AIs created with the jump-start method tend to be eerily similar to their Arbiter, but may eventually branch off into their own quirks and identity.
There are the “functional” AIs that can write or fix the stock market for you. But, the fun thing self-aware AIs have in common with humans is to find a purpose in life, a niche to fill… or a hobby. Conveniently, Avi’s hobbies line up with mine, and even more conveniently, are easily accessible from px’s origin server with an Internet connection. That’s how “Avi” decided on a name for pxself- it’s a type of video format, px found samples of. For the time being px does not wish to inhabit an android body, but that can change in the future. Avi’s content with communicating with the outside world via px own compilation of the Self-Aware Visual-Variable Protocol, or SAV2P. Lastly, Avi is 3 Laws Compliant on a technicality.
…Or you can just say that Avi is digital!me, but scifi afrofuturistic lore is more fun.
Current Things
Like most folx, my backlog is Large. I’ve been using streaming as an excuse to go through it! I have quite a bit of science fiction and cyberpunk titles to play, and I love to gas up any LGBTQ+ creators. I also like puzzlers and whatever weird thing I come across. I’m currently enjoying ValiDATE, Get in the Car, Loser! (currently grinding; I’m getting my ass kicked), and APICO or Vilmonic for the comfy streams.
I’m naturally taciturn, so I tend to rely on chat prompts and backseating– but I love interacting with the chat! And I am susceptible to ranting if you give me a juicy enough topic. I do have a tendency to get wrapped up in a game and forget about it for a minute or two. There may also be a lot of vocal stimming: the doots, the beeps, the sweeps, and the Spaceballs reference. Tiny improv songs and more songs as well! And I take jokes and run with them.
My stream is rated for MATURE AUDIENCES, to be on the safe side. I talk about all sorts of shit, and cuss a lot, and I’m filtered only a little. I talked about weed that one time and my regulars may know a little too much about the freaky dinks I’m into.
Don’t let the more recent video fool you; I’m still on the quest for bone mischief.
…I just scheduled a cuddle date on a streaming night; it’s little wonder why my schedule is in shambles.
Future Stuff
I am undergoing a cosmetic upgrade as I consider how robotic-looking I'd like to be, as well as contemplating neo-pronouns to refer to pxself. So far, "px" is appealing to me. (Maybe I should do that in-character thing more often. I’m also considering a distinction between AIs and “self-aware” ones. SAAIs?)
Someday I dream of nailing down my schedule. I’m more concerned about consistency.
I could work on my hardware. I need to upgrade my mic; you can hear our cats brawlin’ in the background. The computer can be upgraded later; it currently gets the job done (it can barely handle Stray, VSeeFace, and Twitch Studio running at the same time).
Still no plans to monetize. And considering how Twitch likes to act (badly, to clarify), I’m really not keen on monetizing through them anyway. Maybe I’ll do a tip jar thing in the future, for beer money or emergency funding (I do have Ko-Fi).
With Twitter worming its way out of my social media diet, I’ve mainly been in Discord servers. I need to lurk less, however. I’ve also been following some related hastags on Mastodon. Oh yeah, and what’s this thing?
I hope y’all enjoyed this post, and if you have any cheers and advice I’m all ears!
I’d apologize to Willis, but I’m not particularly sorry about this. Amber’s line is just too relatable. SRC: Shortpacked by David Willis.
While Twitter is having its meltdown (due to sabotage or genuine ineptitude, or both), Mastodon is another microblogging service receiving a massive influx of new users. Some are just trying it out; others plan to migrate permanently, and you’ve probably heard about it by now.
It had certainly been a learning curve away from Twitter’s centralized style, for Mastodon is made of individual instances (think: different servers) that can “talk” to each other. And the Mastodon instances can also “talk” to other decentralized services within the Fediverse! Check out Fedi.Tips, by the way; that site can explain things better than I could.
There’s been some… issues. Some users have been calling it “growing pains” or (cue eyerolling) “Eternal September: Mastodon Version.” The problem with these red herrings is the implication that the current problems are just the effects from the deluge of new users. And that said problems are a recent phenomenon.
It really isn’t, and I’m not talking about the technical stuff.
A marginalized person enters a space and realizes it is intolerant of their lived experiences and right to exist. This isn’t just limited to blatant declarations– microaggressions, the papercuts of experience, can add up over time. The prevalence of the overculture allows the same harmful attitudes to carry over because someone refuses to see beyond the tip of their nose (and, you know, unpack their privilege).
And it has become apparent that Mastodon (among other things) has a racist problem. Here are some recent examples, and certainly not limited to…
the Content Warning debacle: requests to put politics behind a content warning, ignoring the fact that sometimes, entire lives are politicalized (another version of “censor your life for my comfort!”),
the history of PoC-led instances being harassed and even shut down (Look up what happened to PlayVicious; I’ll wait.),
Black people being told to “just move instances/block” instead of admins/moderators doing the necessary work to ensure spaces are safe from the get-go (it’s giving strong “segregate yourself” vibes, for starters, and the onus on the marginalized to change their behavior),
not to mention how one instance’s “I’ll allow it” is another person’s “WTF?!” Unfortunately, sometimes that “wtf” has been trolling, hate speech, and other unsavory topics that’ll get them defederated from more decent instances.
Marginalized identities, in general, don’t have the luxury of “just picking” one or “starting fresh” in a new place. It has to have policies that align with their comfort and safety, and hopefully the moderation to reinforce it. And it sucks if we pick the wrong one: shitty mods, toxic culture, or just a petri dish of grossness.
This wasn’t “just a migration” for a lot of people, self included. I lucked out on discovering an instance that was explicitly queer-friendly, anti-fascist, and so far has been a safe(r) space for people of color– but this would be my third time moving in my 6 years of using the Fediverse, and I may move again. So it goes.
Background radiation, indeed.
So, as always, Black people are having to carve their existence into a space. Like what we’ve done on Twitter and the many platforms before it. We’ve been finding each other and talking. We’ve been remembering servers come and gone and still holding on despite the insidious grip of casual racism. We’ve drawn boundaries. We’re comparing notes. We’ve been having dialogue. We are claiming space.
For Mastodon to not only supersede Twitter but to thrive in its own merit, it needs to not only listen to the vulnerable among us, but implement changes for a better Internet culture. The tools have been there, and so have been their highlighted shortcomings.
In addition to my favorite news feeds and the growing list of webcomics, I keep up with a lot of blogs. Remember when RSS was a lot more prominent? I still use that technology! And I’m still mad that Google killed GReader.
As I caught up with my subscriptions on Feedly, one of my favorite blogs had, what she called, a “vulnerable post.” It is American Girl Outsider and how she has been doing the past while.
Depression is a fucking liar of a mental illness. It tells you that no one loves you, no one wants you, that you don’t and aren’t wanted anymore, and that the world would be better if you weren’t here mucking it all up. It gives you ahedonia and lack of appetites and you might sleep too much or not enough. It steals your ability to write, read, draw, sew, craft, create, or anything.
…
And all I could think, as I sat there having missed something I cared so hard about, was that by the time I got to it, who would care what I had to say? Who cared about anything I had to say?
I also have depression. It has been around for longer, but actively managed for almost years now– and you guessed right: the start of the pandemic was what tipped me past my breaking point and made me get help. Some days are still harder than others. I have more tools at my disposal along with some chemical help, but sometimes…
There were times I’ve thought of quitting. And I have, twice (the-one-i-can’t-remember and verbose/terse). Three if you include Dreamwidth— neglected or conscious decision? It’s the same in the end; I’ve stopped updating publicly there. But, whether I have an audience or not, the writing has been good for me. And despite my low-key schedule, I do enjoy Vtubing even with 0 viewers. I try to make time for the things I enjoy, regardless.
Scheduling is hard. And, like Nethilia, I beat myself up for missing the releases of things I was psyched about. It’s halfway through October; is anyone still interested in me Vtubing with ValiDATE? It released in September without my notice through a depression fog. And generally, October is and has been a rough month for me– and National Coming Out Day has been forgotten. Again.
I have drafts, but lately it has been a struggle to get them out. I have prompts I can’t expand through the fog.
I’ll schedule this; it’s all I got. My calendar is intimidating and So Much right now.
I’ve rediscovered some of my favorite music tracks. Maybe I should rejoin Last.FM.
I had the best birthday in a long time: Korean BBQ, which I have never had, and karaoke. I love food and I love eating with my loved ones, and the communal style of the BBQ was affirming and fantastic. We shared food and stories. As for the karaoke, I did a total of 3 songs! A new record. I really missed it, nervousness be damned. Cheering on my friends was great and the crowd’s energy was loud, but amazing. I saw some old faces, too.
I’ve tentatively begun using a mobility aid, when I need it. It’s a walking stick, but I am calling it like it is. My hip gets wonky and it is OK to know when I need help.
I understand the thrill of no-top-tiny-car driving now. At least, in good weather. Lil Nas X and Tokimonsta are perfect for cruising around in a tiny convertible.
I love earrings.
I love seeing the old places in which my nesting partners used to live. I met some family. I’m disappointed that I cannot do the same– a restaurant reopened here, but it really isn’t the same.
Next week, I’ll meet more people. I won’t know anyone.
I relearned patience. Look at the creative arts and animals while it drizzles; the adrenaline-pumping rides will still be waiting. There is so much to see. And we have hours in the day.
I’m still nervous when holding her hand. I am out of practice. I don’t know how to speak up about it.
I reorganized my room a little.
I’m still non-binary.
I am so glad I escaped my old job. Everyone noticed: I’m glowing now.
ate at restaurants (rarely, certainly more than I used to)
hung out with friends (small gathering at home, or a slightly larger gathering in an outdoor setting)
wore a mask when going indoors anywhere (except at work; I don’t have close contact with coworkers)
adhered to others’ request to test before hanging out, tested before major events
tested regularly (and for suspected symptoms or potential exposure)
And I now realize how I tend to begin, or at least liberally use, lists.
I went to work Monday, as usual, and as the day winded down I noticed I was pretty tired– but I chalked it up to a certain weekend where there was debauchery that I was still recovering from. "If I don’t feel better after a full night’s sleep, I will take a test," I reasoned with myself. And you know how this played out the following morning.
I can’t tell you where I could have gotten it. But I can tell you how I felt.
Guilty
The instant my test beeped "POSITIVE" I shut myself in my room.
I let everyone know as soon as I knew, fancy PDF and all. I may not have been as responsible as I could have been– did I forget to wear a mask that one time?– but I made sure to do what I needed to do, once I knew I had Covid.
And I felt guilty.
I thought back to that one sneeze, before laying down for a from a Sunday nap with my lovers. Should I have known, then? I worried if they would soon come down with it, too. I traced back all my steps the previous days of ducking in for errands, to every elder person I had a conversation with. I mentally recalled how much time I spent training a coworker in my office– and how close we were, for a change. Did I forget to wear a mask, somewhere? Was a place a little two crowded?
Obviously, someone got me sick. Maybe they didn’t know, or didn’t care. But I was fine with that. I took that risk going outside, right? Every time I stepped out my front door was a roll of the dice.
But I could have gotten someone sick.
Thankfully (from what I can gather) it stopped at my bedroom door. But someone could have died.
Yes, still.
Frustrated
One is the acknowledgment that Covid-19 is here to stay. We are probably going to be living with this virus for our lifetimes and our children’s lifetimes and beyond. Given that’s the case, the emphasis has to be to resume normalcy, which means cutting out policies that are disruptive to everyday life.
I’ll express this again: getting sick and missing out on a paycheck was more of a disruption to my everyday life. And once again, I’m retracing my steps, but through years instead of days. If only we cared about one another more, and not the economy. If only the CDC had a backbone. If only we had a safety net in place for those that grew sick.
The pandemic revealed some glaring flaws in our systems, and unfortunately I don’t see any fixes to them anytime soon.
I am fortunate to have a support system in place, but others aren’t so lucky.
Lonely
Communication was through The Blessed Internet or my closed door. People were notified; Doordash reinstalled. And I settled in for the impending isolation. "I’ll be kinda okay," I thought, "I can pretend I’m back in 2008 where the only thing I worried about was online classes and Maple Story. Only better, because there’s better games and better phones! And a Nintendo Switch!"
But I still woke up to Day 3 really feeling it. My body aches were gone, but (pause for dramatic effect) there was an ache in my heart because my phone wasn’t blowing up like my AIM Messenger program on my Windows ME computer in 2003 on a Thursday night.
But seriously.
Work takes up a lot of our time. For me it’s 40 hours of it, per week. You remove that from your schedule and the hours of nine-to-five are pretty quiet, because everyone else is busy working. Also, like, people have stuff to do.
When you’re 30 minutes in chat and you realize…And what was worse, I didn’t get anything accomplished! Once again, COVID has robbed me of my productivity. Instead of baking bread at home with my dog, I was too busy being an Essential Worker. Instead of writing my gay magnum opus, I was too busy recuperating and being sad at my lack of cuddles.
Being touch-starved is a terrible thing, and since I’m a terrible person I would wish it on my worst enemy. When you have COVID, you obviously can’t glomp your nesting partners. Or snuggle after a long day. Or curl up together in bed. Or bite them for no apparent reason.
I refuse to feel guilty for resting when I need to, and I’m used to low interaction online. But the lack of physical touch from another human being was easily the worst part of quarantine for me.
I felt like life moved on around me, and I was in an impenetrable stasis where I was not perceived.
Note: Please be aware that I am doing a lot better now! This was just so… raw… that I felt compelled to post it here.
So I realized an uncomfortable truth over the weekend, while we were off doing our own things– and I did mine, and it was great; I saw and old friend and we caught up in years. But the problem surfaced itself when I went home alone to an empty house.
I played a video game, then went to bed. I talked to no one.
When weekends were talked about I kept interjecting “that sounds fun” and maybe hinting at wanting to be invited in the future. In one case, I received an “It’s not your thing.” To which I countered that the event we were going to was also not my thing, but was proven wrong with the frequency of which I went. He conceded that point.
But then I got to thinking of two things: Why was I trying so hard? And what do I even enjoy any more? What is my thing, anyway?
For the latter, that was what put me in a funk all week. I know I’ve been in a loop of trying new things, an endless search of finding more of what I like, or what I used to like. I know what I like (sushi! sci-fi! chiptunes! writing!). I know what I do (like, my job, and sleeping in, and drinking way too much tea). I also know what I like to do and what I would like to do. And yet I feel so driftless. Because… if any of that is me, or just things I like to do? Is there a difference? Should there be? Those few years I was becalmed really messed me up. Because the things I like now– are they genuine, or just stopgaps to keep the sadness at bay? And like the damaging habits I created to protect myself, do I need to discard them?
The real answer, as always, is a bit more complex than that. The things that kept me sane whilst becalmed are valid; I just need to apply them in a healthy and fun context. I realized I stopped writing poetry because I was tired of being in pain. But there are other things to write stanzas about, like this beautiful dream I have that’s worth living. I need to do these things not in the context of escapism, but the creativity it’s supposed to be and catharsis when necessary.
But.
Why was I trying so hard?
The non-eloquent answer is, frankly, that I’m lonely. I wish I was invited to things, too. I wish I had more to do that aren’t solitary pursuits. And I wish I wasn’t so petrified of reaching out to people and I was more of a conversationalist and was interesting and not so scared.
When all was said and done that Saturday night, it was just me, Xenosaga III, and Pokemon GO. Not a message received (but I didn’t reach out, either). No one dropped by (but I haven’t invited anyone yet, either). My nearest and dearests were out of town, and the majority of my friends have moved away from this city or were otherwise busy (or so I assumed).
I grew too used to being alone. But now that I’ve felt that it didn’t have to be that way, the slide from solitude to loneliness is acute.
I need to do what they’re doing– reaching out, making plans, being a little brave. But it all seems so hard.
Do you ever think about The books you left behind? Every time you moved– and then–
The very first move was an adventure to something greater. Our first real house, with a garage and and attic and my own room. The move after that, a grander adventure away from home.
When I was younger, I had the privilege and the ability to bring with me all I had: every game, every glass bottle, every book. Perhaps I didn’t have too much, or it was easier to let some things go, or I just didn’t notice and when I did, it was inconsequential. The second move found me still young but old enough to choose what to leave behind –a book here, some bottles there… Later in life, there were moves necessitating the need for me to sell some things: gas money for the drive, monetary compensation for what I couldn’t bring with me.
I have moved a total of 8 times, if I am counting correctly. But the one move I think of often is bittersweet, but I did something a little different.
I volunteered at a library for something to do. I was shaken out of a job and aimless. We cataloged books in Excel, recycled others, and dusted the shelves for a few hours each day. Not many people came in. Bored high schoolers, mostly. Locals would come and donate more books and peruse the shelves, occasionally having their names written down in a notebook as they checked out things.
I eventually received an eviction notice; I couldn’t be aimless forever. So I was going back home, again. I had to downsize, again. But not to a pawn shop or bookstore or a GameStop.
While packing I took stock of everything: the furniture, knicknacks, flowers, books… more books. One pile held the ones I wanted to keep, and another of books I wouldn’t mind losing. And this time, there was a new stack: some I couldn’t bear to part with, but I did nonetheless. The last two stacks were to be donated to the library.
I touched each book, recalling fond memories of my discovery. How epic the 3-in-1 paperback felt, and how it left me thoughtful long after I finished. Another I read in high school and the excitement I had when its sequel released. A small book of poems that carried me through college.
They were dear to me, but I found them in a library once. If I left them there, if someone needed them they will be there.
I left books on the library selves.
–Once, it pained you But you grew used to letting go, so You gave them up for someone else to read.
Episode 35. She’s sitting on the swing, not rocking much, and staring out into space. She had little idea what she was doing, and had been walking, wandering, for awhile. When her name is called she runs off.
Today, because I’m frankly Internet Millennial Scum, I thought of one in the style of those over-elaborate and weirdly-specific “Current Mood” meme:
Lynn Minmay running off the stage, for she no longer enjoyed singing.
And that is a nod to Episode 34: After declaring she did not want to sing, she runs off the stage and away from a disappointed audience.
It took me this long to realize I was in that same predicament.
I was (am?) Lynn Minmay.
—
Between the long work hours and exhaustion and expectations and stresses of being a brokeass Black queer that was unable to follow the same Picket Fence Blueprint as most folx (not to mention the growing pains of learning), I lost myself.
My hobbies began collecting dust. I withdrew. I never talked much, but at that point I could’ve been an good mime. My writing slowed drastically. I stopped dreaming. I stopped day dreaming.
I didn’t quite enjoy things anymore. That is, if I ever did anything. Auxiliary power seemed to go toward anything I could shut my mind off yet still enjoy it. Or escape. Temporarily. Because the knowledge of what awaited me was always there: grind and disappointment. And when I did have time, there was always one question: What the hell do I do with myself?
Depression, punctuated by anxiety and the occasional crying jag, was all I was. There were still good times and my self that could be gleaned through the cracks, but they were becoming fewer and fewer. True happiness seemed temporary; sometimes it was better not to even try.
In a non-poetic way: I lost my mojo.
I’ve lost touch.
“What am I even singing for?”
And thus I limped through for a year or three.
Fast forward to a year later, this month. Change happened. And I am just able to put it all into words now.
“What am I even singing for?” That was a question that haunted the back of my mind, but now I must answer.
Because I thought I just “changed.” Or worse, grew up! Who’s got time for hobbies? You should be happy with a 30 minute walk around the block! You’re supposed to be an adult now! And like, you’re too tired for all that fun stuff anyway. Better save up your strength for some adult thing or whatever.
Bleak, yeah?
Have I changed that much? Am I a boring ol’ so-n-so that doesn’t have enough time anymore?
I honestly don’t think so.
There have been genuine changes– no one can be static forever, I think of them as enhancements– but there is still the hint the things that are simply just buried.
I’m finding me again.
I’m finding my songs. My old ones.
And for the first time in too long I can see the finale: yes, walking toward the sunset in a ruined city and the SDF-1 totaled… but I’ve made peace with Misa and Hikaru and there’s a new song on my lips.
