Buddha-blessed
Author: Kelly
Male Pregnancy, Alien Nation Style
Does anyone else remember the science fiction show Alien Nation? I didn’t, until Michael reminded me of it tonight while we talked about the recent media attention on male pregnancy, and he sent me this clip of a male alien giving birth:
I think it’s almost a sad commentary that one of my first reactions was “aaw, what a touching scene – I’m surprised they showed that, given people’s inclination to insist that stereotypically “feminine” nurturing behaviour in men equals being gay.” The question, of course, is whether that’s a commentary on me, or on media/society.
ramping intensity, difficulty
I’ve been doing okay lately. Better. I’ve had help, help that I don’t think is really completely aware of being help, which is in and of itself sweet and gentle and I think what has been needed. Just being pulled out, by force, to interact with people and the world, rather than hide in my bedroom. Hiding now, it elicits a phone call. (And in random trivia, that means there are now two people who’re aware enough of me and my habits that if I break them, they call.)
But as I was grocery shopping today, I realized that the next few weeks are going to be hard. Not only it’s the end of the semester so I have papers to write, but because the Hallmark machine is ramping up to Mother’s Day. I guess I get to see just how onion-paper thin my skin is, and how settled and stable I am. My birthday is a few days after that, and I have plans for a small vacation right then, so… hopefully that will help.
Doesn’t change the fact that I expect the next couple of weeks to be rough. And once we’re out of Mother’s Day, we’re right into her birthday.
Last night I was driving to Kurver to get some soft serve – singing along to the David Cook CD I had playing at loud levels, windows down, nice evening breeze. And suddenly from nowhere there were fireworks all over the sky, and I ended up skipping Kurver to drive towards and around the fireworks, just enjoying and having that awe that always washes over me. The road I ended up on reminded me of this place outside of Great America, in San Jose, where we’d go every year on the Fourth of July. Dad’d park the Ford and we’d climb on top of the camper and lay out on the roof and watch the fireworks explode directly overhead, feel the vibrations reverberate through our bodies and the car – my first true memory of understanding how we can be connected by more forces than just touch – the music (Peter, Paul & Mary, Paul Revere and the Raiders), the traffic and not paying so much attention to that because we were sleepy by then, lulled safe and secure in the bed of the truck as Mom and Dad talked.
These things wash over and through me every time I see fireworks, memories that connect me to my family, past, and present.
I think last night was the first time I watched fireworks since Mom died. And in the middle of the awe, I found myself singing along to the music, and remembering, and bursting into tears.
And now I’m telling tales about weeble spaceships and find myself laughing and crying at the same time. I just have to remind myself that this? Is better than where I was before.
when other people say it better
Intensity, that’s what I miss. I used to be driven by an inner sense of intensity, a purposefulness that I could draw on in times of need, that would spur me into doing what needed to be done. Now I don’t feel it and I don’t know how to draw on it. It has to be inside, somewhere. I have to still be able to pull out my passion, right? I almost feel like I’ve had a lobotomy, and so nothing stirs me to the depths of feeling I used to feel. I have to believe it’s still in there somewhere.
I don’t remember where I read this, but it so certainly and strongly rings true.
rooms
Do you ever stop and think about how your mind is organized? I do, I aways have – it fascinates me, the way we access memory and thought and storage, and even talk about it. Tonight I’ve been thinking about how my online/mental interactions with friends, via IM and Facebook and LiveJournal and email is structured. My social world is structured like a large house and surrounding grounds; people come and go all the time based on who I’m talking to. Right now the game room has a couple of people hanging out, and I wander through to get my ass handed to me once in a while. There are a few people in the kitchen; one’s baking birthday cakes, the other is working on an art project. Out back there are some goths under the gazebo (Goths Under Gazebos! new band name!), having tea and looking like they just stepped out of Victoriana. I’m in the living room, on the couch, reading a virtue ethics book and talking about communications issues, leaning against a friend working on Plato stuff. A few other people are sitting around working on papers or projects, a girl is watching AI but threatening to boycott over the loss of Michael Oz; people are wandering in and out as they pop up on the various communications systems.
It’s interesting; I can see it all in my mind, and the impression it leaves me with is definitely that of hanging out with friends, relaxing, having companionship even if not directly in front of me.
About the only truly sad thing about it is that a good number of the people I’ve constructed are within 15-30 minutes, and you do have to wonder about the focus on the digital when the meatspace is so close and possible.