Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Monday, March 27, 2006
UPDATE: Mother
The nursing home sucked. Big time. But it was short lived. My mother developed another health issue which required emergency transport back to intensive care. More emergency procedures. More required surgeries. More morphine. More doctors. More specialists. More tests. More confusion. More anxiety. More helplessness. More fear. More paranoia. More stress. More tears. More wondering how much more she's going to be made to suffer and fearing the answer will come with either more suffering or an abrupt end. But hey, at least she's not in a nursing home.
That's all I have to say about that without going through an entire box of tissues and banging my head against a wall and cursing life, the Universe, God and anyone else I can think of for putting my mother through this.
UPDATE: Lower paying job.
I was very tempted to take that job. But. I couldn't find a less expensive place to live, a way out of my current lease or anyone to sublet my compartment. And I couldn't see any of that happening in the next weeks. And after going over my budget, again, I reached the conclusion: There's nothing left to cut. I won't get into the realizations I discovered when I looked for ways to cut expenses. But let's just say I'm already living on the edge of reality with my finances. I haven't owned a car for years, I rarely spend the money to take public transportation (the bus is a luxury for when I'm feeling flush and it's raining and my asthma's acting up), I have medical expenses, I pay a lot of income taxes, I have next to no social life, there is at least one week in every month that I fast one or two days so I can feed my cat, yet I have permabloat because I'm living on pasta and beans (store brand), when the tea gift basket I received as a gift runs out I'll be drinking nothing but water. I rely on friends' cast offs for clothes, books, movies and magazines.
I know, I know, I dug myself into this hole. I'm not blaming anyone but me - it's all my fault I broke my ankle and got in a car accident and cracked a tooth and had pneumonia which made my asthma worse and racked up thousands of dollars in medical and dental expenses. It's my fault I moved to a compartment I can barely afford even though according to the Chicago Tribune I'm actually paying the low end of the rent scale in the city.
So. Trying to live on $666.666666 less per month: Not feasible. And really kind of stupid to consider. Oh sure, the whole idealistic thing. Peace of mind. Happier mental state. Change is good. All true. But. Change for the worse is not good. I've become so accustomed to making do and doing without that I didn't realize just how meager my needs have become. Oh sure, a pair of shoes on sale now and then, a drink after work once a month or so...but as I took a good look around the compartment I realized: Everything I have is old. Most everything I own is more than five years old, much of it a lot older than that. If it's less than five years old it's either cheap, a gift or a castoff from a friend or relative. No big deal, my needs are small. But. Where in that equation is there room to cut $666.666666 per month from my budget? I pay rent and bills. Whatever little bit is left after that is used to feed the cat and transport myself to visit my sick mother. How's that for sounding pathetic when put in writing? But, there you have it: My life. So no. I didn't take that job. And for the most part I don't regret the decision. I regret that the job didn't pay more, but I don't regret my decision to not take it. Though it does make me shut myself up when I feel angry/resentful/fed up with my boss and job because, you know, hey, I had a way out, another opportunity, and I didn't take it. I chose to stay.
I have a lot more to say about that but I won't because it makes my head hurt.
UPDATE: Blind date guy.
Called to apologize for not taking me to dinner when he said he would. Note that he didn't apologize for being a rude, inconsiderate jerk. Note that he didn't offer to take me out again. But he did apologize for not doing what he said he would. This is called: Trying to assuage his guilt. He now feels absolved of guilt because, hey, he apologized. And then went into a lengthy and very detailed explanation of why it's really all my fault. Yeah, but, he's the one who kept calling and emailing and said he really like you, Trill. How is that your fault?
He explained that to me. "Women like me" need to wake up and realize men don't want us. "Women like me" should get married when we're very young because youth is all we have going for us. "Women like me" need to find satisfaction and fulfillment in their careers and volunteer work. Because "women like me" will never be what men want. Why would a man over 30 date me when there are much prettier younger girls who are just as smart or smarter than me who want to date older, mature men, "like him?" And he went on to point out that even though I'm nice and funny and intelligent (awww, gee, thanks), I'm not good looking or wealthy, (here he made his point by pointing out that I rent a tiny apartment and don't even own a car) "You're in marketing and design, Trill, c'mon, you should know better than anyone that you're not exactly marketable. You're not the product men want." He surmised that if I were dumber or more mean that would help, too, because there are men who have needs to take care of dumb girls or like the abuse from mean girls. But I'm not either of those things. His advice, well intentioned, of course, "friend to friend," is that I find a job I really like and throw myself into that, concentrate on making money because that's all "women like me" can hope for in life - make their own way and find satisfaction from that.
"Women like me" are too nice and too intelligent to date stupid guys or jerks, but we're not pretty or wealthy enough to date men of equal mental caliber. "Guys love to work with 'women like you' but they don't want to date or marry you. You're business associates, that's how they see you. Confident in work, nice people, good source of ideas and creativity, but not datable." He told me that's my niche in life: Work.
Husband, children...nope. Not my niche unless I find some "low class jerk who's too stupid to be intimidated" by the fact I'm smarter than him. But, he cautioned me, I'll be miserable and bored with a guy like that so really, that's not my niche. Better to focus on work. No disappointments for me. And that's his point. "Women like me" need to deal with our reality that we're not young and pretty and that men do not want us. Once we accept that and forget about it and "stop whining about no decent men out there" everyone will be a lot happier.
"There are lots of decent men out here," he said, "we just aren't interested in 'women like you.' You never hear pretty, young intelligent women saying there are no decent men. They always have plenty of decent men to date and marry. That leaves the men who are jerks and losers out there looking, and that's who 'women like you' meet. Then you assume there are no decent men. But in reality you just can't compete with better women." He then told me I owed him an apology because he had his hopes up, he really liked me, invested a lot of time and emotion with me leading up to our first date and I disappointed him.
See? All my fault. No, I didn't ask him to call me and email me. No, I didn't ask our mutual friend to set us up. No. I pretty much did nothing because I was a bit preoccupied with my mother on life support. But. Somehow I let him down, disappointed him because I'm not younger and prettier. (And no, I didn't lie about my age and he's the one who wanted to be set up with me after seeing me in a photo with our mutual friend.) But still, apparently, it's all my fault.
Oh yes. It was quite a phone call. He's a real pal. And a swell guy, too, what with the apology and everything.
And yes. I know he's right. I've heard it all before from other men. So no. I wasn't hurt. A little surprised he'd bother to tell me all this, but not hurt.
And that's all he had to say about that and I agree.
UPDATE: Mortality
I used to fantasize about ways to kill myself which would look like an accident. Now I spend my days thinking of new ways to make my suicide look like an accident at work. If it happens while I'm working my family gets a much larger settlement. So every day I fantasize about the possibilities of death at work. I've hit upon a few possibilities which seem like genius in their simplicity. I'm really looking forward to it. I focus on all the things my family will be able to do with the insurance settlement and that makes me really happy.
UPDATE: Everything happens for a reason
I met a guy through a friend who liked me but then didn't like me because I'm not young and pretty and his advice was that I find fulfillment in my career because that's all I'll ever have. I then get offered a lower paying job which makes me realize I have nothing. My mother's health takes a turn for the worse and I realize life is fleeting and fragile and pointless. I remember I have a nice life insurance policy which pays out in a hefty sum if I'm killed while working. I spend my days at a job I hate devising ways to kill myself at work so it looks like an accident so my family can have more from my death than I ever had in life. And there it is, full circle: Fulfillment from my job because I have nothing else.
