Darren Endymion's Blog, page 25

Can Shyness Be Considered a Disorder?

I think it should be. From someone who suffers from sometimes debilitating shyness, I can say from personal experience that it has a lot of the same factors as other disorders: it can be debilitating, it can make your limbs twitch uncontrollably, your social life suffers, you are prone to hot flashes, the simplest interactions can be exhausting, and spontaneous paralyzation is a constant threat.

An otherwise witty, intelligent person can be rendered speechless and stupid in a matter of nanoseconds. All it takes is some awkward social situation, large crowds, being asked to speak in front of more than zero people, or the merest glimpse of your crush coming toward you. In practice, I am full of witty, urbane, poignant sayings when mine comes toward me. In practice, I bray out an embarrassingly loud laugh and a hello which in contrast seems passive and almost silent. It has gotten so bad that I suspect my crush, Scientist Prince Charming, is now too embarrassed to look at me head on. I think it is kindness, or perhaps he is just wary. Shy people tent to lunge and jerk around. I did that, too, when my asshole coworker decided to poke and tickle me as my crush passed by. Yeah. Thanks for that one, you harpy. The next time you have something in your teeth, I���m not telling you. And I���m tripping you over the banister on the way downstairs. Try to Mary Poppins your way outta that one.

Shyness makes the simplest interactions a burden. Rather than speak up if you have something to add to a conversation, you will stand there and blush for no reason other than that you considered maybe saying something. God forbid you open your mouth to talk and someone talks before you can. That���s a nuclear blush right there. Total meltdown. Proceed with evacuation procedures. Women, children, and flammable materials first.

You overanalyze everything in retrospect, like, ���Did he notice my rolling eyes and foaming mouth when I was trying to say good morning?��� Little things like that. Of course, actually saying good morning took a week of personal pep talks and a handle of vodka as it was, so anything was possible.

Here���s the irony, though, once I get to know a person, the shyness evaporates as though it never was. I had two reactions to this fact last week. I was discussing my paralyzing shyness when my crush comes by and I was wondering how I could get over it. One friend at work literally laughed at me and said, ���Yeah, right. You? Shy?��� I had to remind her of when she first came around and what our conversations were like then. Another friend on my team does remember. She said that I was a little awkward and a little shy at first, but it was through e-mails that my personality really shone. But, you see, I���m not attracted to either of them. And that makes all the difference. The point here is that once I get to know someone, I���m both barrels inappropriate, not shy, can talk and say anything, and my speech patterns are those of one possessed by a demon.

The problem is, how do you get to know someone when there is no reason to e-mail him and the only moments you have are around many other people and for very brief moments? A confident person would find a way. A people-person would talk anyway. I am writing this at work to post later, and as I wrote that last sentence, Scientist Prince Charming passed by me and gave me a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. He does it every time he passes me. This time he almost ran into two of our managers. Logic says that he wants to talk to me, too. But I apparently can���t. My whole personality burns up in the heat of my blushing face.

But if shyness was an official disorder, we could create a foundation. We would have a low-key web site. We would accept not monetary donations, but scouts. People to venture forth and take care of the social situations for us. People, for instance, to ask out my scientist crush for me. To tell the jokes we make up and to get into that comfort zone for us. There would be workshops taught by the Formerly Shy. There would be test runs. For days when you were feeling too shy, your doctor could put you on FMLA. Federal subsidies would follow. We would have meetings, for all the good they would do. But we would be together, holding hands, blushing, and not saying a word.

Dashing Forward with No Direction

Writing, I think, is one of the few things you can either do with a meticulous plan or absolutely nothing in mind but the barest of scenarios and still end up in the same place.

I plot, plan, and fill out worksheets. It seems stupid, and sometimes I get on myself, thinking that I should be able to create on the fly, but it seems to be my method. By doing character profiles of varying sizes, I fill out the entire story from beginning to end. All the twists and turns that will take place, how this character would react that way and why, things going on in the background of the main story, and the character’s backstory and therefore his/her motivations.

Writing a synopsis at that point is only to give myself a roadmap in case I forget that I want point B to be moved to after point L. By understanding my characters and the basic concept behind them, I try to get them to behave in a certain way which is true to my vision of them. Sometimes they surprise me, which is always nice. Sometimes I wonder how they are going to act or be in a situation, because it’s not familiar to them. That being said, when I have that firm concept of a character, I am free to vary from the plot I originally envisioned. If a character matures more than I had anticipated, it’s great. That’s not to say there is no spontaneity, and the characters and plot will often surprise me (if you’ve read my book Winter’s Trial, there was a twist/connection that came out at the very end which surprised me as much as anyone).

Since the new thing I’m working on will (hopefully) be for an upcoming anthology call, I have a word limit and a theme. That does make things easier and harder. The plot needs to be brief, and the characters need to be real enough to float, but not so heavy with story and character that they sink. I don’t think this is how short stories should be written. In fact, I think it’s a cheap way of doing it, and shows my weaknesses. I have never been good at the short format, so this is a challenge for me. I know that a very good short story writer can put all the heavy character and include the plot and come out with something rich, detailed, and nuanced. I would come out with an idea for a novella or full-blown novel.

So, I’m flying blindly. I am not filling out character sketches for 30 pages of story. It seems redundant and forced. And that brings me to the lesson I have learned through this process. Having characters in mind, having a plot in mind, I am otherwise going blind into this endeavor. And it’s working. The whole first and second scenes are firm in my mind. The next one is vague, but the one after that is probably the second clearest in the whole thing. And so on.

Usually this gives me anxiety (or outright fear as I have discussed before). I worry that in that blank spot is some crucial bit of information, that it’s a load-bearing scene which needs to be dissected and poured over and examined until it’s 100% clear in my head. I obsess. I actually STOP writing in order to figure the scene out. This is where the fear sets in and where I usually stop.

Screw that! I’m not letting some 30 page short story stump me.

I think this is good for me, this not knowing. Working through these blank spots (there are two which are totally blank in my head) will show me that I can do it on a smaller scale. And if I can do it on a small scale, I can do it on a larger one. It’s not hard. I know where I have to end up, and if those blank scenes turn out to be load-bearing scenes which totally change the outcome, then that’s how the story was meant to be, and I will change the ending accordingly. By working through this, by purposefully remaining in the dark, I will confront my stupidity and my panic and realize that I can, in fact, work through it.

Gearing Up for Production

I am currently gearing up to begin writing on the new project, and it feels good, but I’m filled with trepidation. The first four months of the year are the worst at my work. It’s constant overtime, constant working, tired nights, endless days, and each year brings a thread of exhausted rebellion and a weak promise that never again will I put myself through this torture.

Yet here I am, preparing to not only repeat this torture, but to tack on another project — a short story hopefully for an anthology. Even if I finish this project early (with it being a max of about 30 pages, this is entirely possible), I don’t plan to stop. This feeling of being about to begin is electric, fulfilling, and much missed. As I have said before, I plan to continue writing after, waging a fierce fight against this cowardice I mentioned last time (and I am finding, much to my horror and dismay, that this is a battle that I need to fight on several fronts, not just writing). This is a tough decision, because January is ghastly, as is every month until after tax season in mid April.

I did this last year. My short story The Snow Queen was included in the second Torqued Tales anthology, and though I made nearly nothing from it, it was still very fun to do. This new project is also for an anthology, and it has a lot of people excited and gearing for it. That’s not why I want to go for it, but because it’s right up my alley and may even help shed some light on current personal situations I feel myself in.

More than all that, though, I think it could even be something so dramatic as life-affirming. It’s about reviving something in me that I thought potentially marked by cowardice which would take an eternity to grow out of. It’s maddening to see what you can do, yet never be able to get off your ass and make it happen. (This happens with writing, overcoming my shyness and talking to the boy I have a crush on, updating my resume, going on vacation, all because they mean change and taking myself out of my comfort zone.)

So, this fragile state I’m in is about assembling the story parts and putting them together, filling in the blanks, and adhering the two disparate halves of the story into a cohesive whole. Yet I’m allowing it to become more, to mean more, and to spur me onward with the other things in my life which could use some shaking up.

And if I have to do it during the busiest season of the year, well, that’s when I will do it. I have two choices. One, to continue to lament about all the things I wish I was doing and who I wish I was doing them with, all while watching life pass me by so that at the end of it I think of all I could have done if I had battled my fear and laziness a bit more. Or two, to make the changes, to take the risks, to work and work and work until I have nothing left to say other than that I did all I could. And if I succeed, great. Wonderful motivator. If not, then I can know what to do the next time, what I can do to better myself, to to keep struggling onward, to reshape my perceptions.

Wish me luck, I suppose. Or, more appropriately, wish me an adrenaline boost and a way to set my little ass on the road. And most of all, hope.

And success, I suppose. That works, too.

Cyclical, Cowardly Writing

So, I can write a 500+ page novel in about 3 months. I can write a 30 page short story in 2-3 days. Both of these are published and both were lazy, undisciplined bouts of writing. With speed like that, why, then, are those the only two things I have ever had published?

Well, the title of this blog entry should tell you something. After Winter’s Trial, I had a mental plan of what I was going to publish and when and in what order. Inspiration struck elsewhere, so I followed it. If I’m not feeling one project, I’m not going to do the best work I can on it, right? But at what point is that a cop out? When is the point where I should buckle down rather than flit about? Clearly what I’m doing now isn’t working.

Granted, this hasn’t been the best year for me. I was either distracted by my own stupidity, the stupidity of others, health issues, moving plans, or work issues…but I had that before.

I have come to the conclusion that I lack discipline and courage. As you can imagine, this wasn’t an easy conclusion to come to. I prefer to think that, like Mary Poppins, I am practically perfect in every way. Regretfully, that bitch is fiction, as is the notion of my own perfection.

Very simply, I need to focus.

The good thing about my brain is that it retains the stuff I care about. (The bad thing about it is that if I don’t need or want to know something, it will literally reject the knowledge and not allow it to even penetrate the surface. This makes polite conversation exceedingly awkward.)

What this all means for my writing is that, unlike many writers, no project is ever truly lost. There is an immediate time limit, as in, if I don’t write for three weeks, the immediacy is gone and it will be a struggle to get back into. However, I have found a note/idea written literally ten years before and am able to pick it up and continue on with it — every plot point remembered, every character nuance recalled, every twist and turn of the story within reach.

I did this very thing about a year or two ago. I found a note written when I was much younger (possibly even in my late teens) and everything came back to me. I filled in gaps and gave it weight and depth I was lacking at that time. I researched, wrote, and…stopped again. The story was so big that I chickened out. Back to the recesses of my brain it went.

I happened upon another project, the steampunk one I have mentioned several times before. I considered, built it up, and then stopped it. Why? Well, the city was too big and too integral to the story to not be fully realized. I fell out of it. This was an excuse. It felt too big and I chickened out.

I thought about doing something not too deep, fairly small. Something to get the engines running again. Had an old idea. Didn’t do much for me then. Blah, blah, blah. Do you see where I’m going with this?

I’m scared. And rather than confront this fear, rather than try and be and do all that I can, I back off. I let the fear and laziness take hold. And, because of the way my brain works, I can easily entertain the next idea. And the next. And the next. A lifetime of pretty decent ideas to cycle through, every last detail remembered, every fond snippet recalled, every happy moment I spent imagining them within my easy grasp.

So, cyclical and cowardly, my brain limped on. I felt something in the back of my head. Something brewing there. Something old and new at the same time. Then, like Athena from the swelled noggin of Zeus, it was born. Fully formed, realized, and resonating. I’m letting it stew. It’s a short story, yes. But it leads to the next. And the next. I think it’s the beginning of a road.

A road paved with a lifetime of unforgotten stories. Wish me luck, courage, and the will to do it.

(Yes, this entry is a day late, but yesterday was Thanksgiving and I was otherwise occupied. Christmas also falls on a Thursday this year, so I will likely be a day early or late with that entry, depending on my schedule. Just FYI.)

A Gay Gene?

https://www.yahoo.com/health/study-suggests-genetic-link-for-male-homosexuality-102874784592.html

Yes, I know this article and study do not prove anything. But what if there IS a gay gene? Should we identify it? Look for it? I’m not sure that we should, but I can see the positives and negatives to finding it.

On the positive side, it will eventually silence those who say that homosexuality is a choice – all but the most science-denying religious Creationists, I assume. However, they are too busy mating with their cousins or preaching that gay marriage will doom society somehow…as if we are a legion of mutant ninjas who can only truly power up when paired in state and federally recognized unions. It will give much ground to the theory that to discriminate against gays is like discriminating against another race or ethnicity. It may also therefore scientifically support not just tolerance (who wants to be simply tolerated?) but acceptance.

But that’s when the scenario turns sour to me. I’m trying not to be a glass-half-empty kind of guy, but I think society could split here. Either homosexuality becomes no more of an issue than having dark hair, or light eyes, or dark skin (because that’s never an issue, right? *rolls eyes*), or it becomes something that sets one apart. Something that makes an entire group of people intrinsically, genetically different.

History has never been kind to those who cannot help but be different. In fact, history shows us that society tends to treat them worse, see them as others, outsiders, even sub human. How many wars can be boiled down to, “You are different from me, therefore I hate you and must rid the world of your brazen intrusion”?

This does sound like a histrionic, far-fetched, right-wing nutjob theory, especially with all the advancements we have made just this year in equality, but following that line, how long is it before we end up in special gay schools or gay workplaces? Or gay camps? Yes, I can hear thousands of jokes ringing out about that one, and I can make a few myself, but “different” usually translates to “inferior” (the alternative is to see oneself as inferior, and that just isn’t going to happen. Considering someone different as an equal rarely occurs). And being seen as inferior, historically speaking, has ended up in much pain and suffering. Gays were once put into camps by people who saw them as both different and inferior, you see. Along with gypsies, political prisoners, and Jews. And we know how that turned out.

Coming back to the subject of segregation, whether enforced or voluntary, exposure to gay people makes it commonplace, makes it accepted, erases that divide between us and them a little more every day. It lessens that impact, that feeling of alienation, and heightens compassion. My father was a straight-laced, religious, bigoted jock douchebag…until I came out. It didn’t quite crumble his bigotry. That didn’t happen until my sister came out, too.

Here was a man whose concept of his religion caused him to be disgusted by and hate homosexuality. Suddenly, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that two people he knows and loves are gay. They are that vicious Other that so terrifies the masses. He still struggles with reconciling his religion and his gay kids, but that’s his fight. All I can do is expose him to just enough to allow him to see that I don’t have some xenomorph living inside of me which causes me to be different. It’s just how I am. And maybe, just maybe, when he sees another gay person, he will think about his kids and how he would want someone to treat them, and maybe he will be a little nicer, a little kinder, a little more understanding.

And if this gene is discovered, other issues could some up. I don’t even have time to go into the more likely scenario of gene suppression. If they can find it, they can potentially “cure” or suppress it, right? During the coming out process, just about every last gay person wishes for this. If we find a gay gene, a parent’s response could range from “Don’t worry. You were just born different” to “Fix him! Find the gene and fix it!” to “Our baby is going to be born gay? Should we keep it?” Religious sorts would first deny, then see it as a test from God – “To deny these impulses is divine; He made you like this to be one of His disciples!” I believe most people would just shrug and move on with their lives. Unfortunately, it’s those fringe types that make the most noise and get the corresponding media coverage.

Honestly, I’m torn. I know a great deal of this is over exaggerated conjecture, a logical fallacy, a slippery slope based only on an admittedly suffocating view of human society. Sometimes we evolve, we grow, and we come together. But usually it is this concept of us and them, of separation that allows atrocities to happen. And discoveries like this will solidify those differences for some. Gays will become not people, but afflicted. Sick. Others. Outsiders. And from there, anything can happen.

Sailor Moon Crystal ep 01-10 — Moon

Okay, this episode turned out to be pretty awesome, and possibly my favorite so far. The first half was a little slow, but we got a very Ami-like moment where she was teaching the others about the moon. Then the scouts traveled there, which was fun. Whatever.

This episode really impressed on me the differences between the anime and the manga (now this Crystal series). Having just received my Sailor Moon season one part one Blu-Rays (which I will talk about briefly), I am reminded of some of the stuff we were cheated out of. My perfect world would be where they were mixed. A world where Jadite, Nephlite, Zoicite, and Kunzite/Malachite were all Endymion’s generals, where they were all possessed and warped by Beryl and Metallia, and where Zoicite and Kunzite were lovers.

I just think that added a dynamic to them that making them the half-mirrors of the Sailor Scouts took away. And having the Scouts once in love with Endymion’s generals just feels…meh to me. I know that’s how it was originally, but it feels like all their memories coming back would age them, and memories of a past love would rob them of the human girlhood which even Queen Serenity thought was so important.

Then there is the whole issue of the sword pulled out of the anvil and its significance (as yet undisclosed). That’s cool stuff that was missing from the original anime. Whatever. It’s not meant to be, so there is no point discussing it.

However, the generals discovering what they were before was poignant, and made the re-brainwashing of them all the sadder. The fight with them and the Sailor Scouts was awesome. Again, Venus is way more adult than she was in the Sailor V manga and I’d like to see her be a girl. Right now she’s the Hermione of the group — the one who knows everything, the mature one, the prophet, the silent repository of information.

But the standout here was Sailor Moon. She Sailor Teleported her ass into space to do the Giga Moon Healing Escalation. She healed all of Tokyo, but sadly not the generals. I suppose there were priorities, what with people dying from hypothermia, though those encased in ice might not have a chance unless that spinning attack was also Moon Resuscitation Revival. Casualties of anime war.

This is definitely the building arc of this series and it gets much darker, much sadder, and much more dramatic from here on out.

As for the aforementioned Sailor Moon Blu-Rays, there is a lot of controversy about the picture. I personally haven’t noticed the ghosting yet, but there are some moments where the picture looks almost blurred, as though instead of sharpening the image, they decided to go for the look of cell shading, like this was the video game Okami rather than Sailor Moon. That being said, it’s an upgrade over my old DiC DVDs as far as picture and sound. Not only that, but this is uncut. I love the DiC dub, hacked and horrible as it is, but its good to have English versions uncut. And the voice actors are amazing. Molly/Naru…well, I’m used to her very distinct accent, so she’s weird to me. After four seasons of the original English dub, which I have watched countless times, her voice was so distinct and so consistent that anything else sounds wrong to me. I’m sure I will adjust, though.

Moving on, for our future here with the Crystal reviews, I have decided that I will finish up this season, to the end of Beryl/Metallia, what would have been the original series, and stop thereafter. First, it’s starting to feel like a chore. Second, nobody seems to like them, either through likes or views, and though I’m not one to usually bow in to public opinion, I just don’t think there is much here. Third, it feels like I’m padding out my entries instead of saying anything significant. Fourth, I’m writing more now, and I have stuff to say about all that. Fifth, I may make some Sailor Moon commentary after season one, but most likely not episode by episode. It in no way diminishes my love for all things Sailor Moon, but since I’m alone here, I will celebrate alone.

If anyone protests, I will reconsider…but I don’t think anyone is reading. Hahaha. Until Monday, folks.

Paused Momentum

They say that a body in motion tends to stay in motion. That’s true in most cases, but I am apparently a freak of nature. I was building up momentum in all areas of life, chugging toward my ultimate goal of getting out of my job and state and of writing more. I was taking everything on my shoulders, ready to go, to get up, to do what I needed to. I was shutting down at work while working up my résumé and looking for places of employment in my desired place—knowing that I have a considerable savings I could live off of if necessary. I was getting out boxes to start packing the stuff I don’t use every day and pricing out movers. I was looking at starting the new year in a new place, or getting there shortly thereafter.

And then I just stopped. Sort of.

I was getting all sorts of warning signs in my life that I was taking on too much and that I needed to back down or burn out. I started having mild panic attacks. My physical aches and pains got to the point where I had to break down and go to the doctor. I was not so much in the process of shutting down at work as totally not caring. My writing was forced and the quality was terrible – flat, boring, and atonal.

I was finally forced to take a weekend off. The pain was too bad to go anywhere, the medication I was taking for it dulled my mind, my friends were doing other stuff after our Halloween blowout, my laptop crapped out on me temporarily, and the internet was going in and out. I put on an old movie I’ve seen hundreds of times (Misery – and I still love it every single time), and was left with my iPod and my imagination.

It felt amazing. I took that time to really relax. There was nothing I could do and so I was forced to calm the hell down.

I started thinking about some random hottie at work (mentioned previously as Prince Charming, or Prince Scientist due to his education, profession, and intelligence). I realized that when he was around or I was talking about him, I wouldn’t think about all the other overwhelming crap in my life. And he was fortuitously training in a classroom literally one cubicle away from me for three weeks, so we were seeing each other not once every two months, but several times a day. So, I let myself get caught up in it. I let myself hope and experience a real, hard crush like I haven’t had in years. But I never lost sight of reality. He works late, I work very early. At the end of training, he would be banished to his floor in his corner, I would be in mine, and we would rarely (if ever) see each other if nothing significant was established.  It wasn’t, just like I knew it wouldn’t.

People around me seem to think otherwise. Two friends are convinced that he will “happen to wander” into the break room when he knows I’ll be there (almost impossible because of his late schedule), or that he will find reasons to be on my floor and in my corner more often. Another friend was threatening to decorate my desk in pearls and lace with a sign that read, “I’s married, now!” My ex (who used to read my blog) has decided he can’t be my friend because of it (even while knowing another reason why it couldn’t work). Everyone seems to be taking it seriously but me.

I did let myself be swept up in the crush, which is something I never do. I usually clamp down on it and don’t experience it because I know nothing will ever come of it. I know nothing will come from this, yet I let myself look forward to every time I would get to see him, every time he would see me in the hall and his face would like up like he just saw an old friend, every smile, every little hello, every little conversation, every assurance that he was looking at me when I was looking elsewhere. I no longer doubt that he at least thinks I’m cute (some compliment, all things considered. The man is strikingly beautiful.) I’m not saying that I would refuse if he asked me out, but it’s just not going to happen. It’s a crush and we may never see each other again, because I won’t be here much longer.

The important thing is that through this I took a break from writing, from résumé fixing, from vacation planning, from moving plans, from everything. And I feel so refreshed that I could sing. I’m ready to take that mantle back on my shoulders and work toward getting out, away, to a place where I can be happier all the time instead just of when I’m distracted by a gorgeous face and sharp mind. Prince Scientist was probably arriving as I left, not caring, not thinking about me, and never aware that his smiles gave me a break I desperately needed to reach my ultimate goals. And for that — and a few other reasons — I could kiss him.

But I never will.

Sailor Moon Crystal ep1-09 — Serenity – Princess

I’m behind on these episodes and nobody seems to read or like these reviews…but I do, so here we go. This one will be brief, at least, then a new episode comes out on Saturday and so I will be caught up. Then I can get to something more broad spectrum. Maybe even talk about writing. *shrug*

So, in this episode, we find out what we already knew — Sailor Moon is actually the reincarnation of Princess Serenity and Tuxedo Mask is really the reincarnation of Earth’s Prince Endymion. They were in love, but they all died (we don’t know how). However, Endymion was killed by someone looking suspiciously like Queen Beryl with a make-under as he was trying to protect Princess Serenity. Sad endings for everyone.

Before the flashback, we get a triple attack from Jupiter, Mercury, and Mars, which was awesome, as well as Mercury and Venus using some mysterious power to block Kunzite/Malachite and Beryl’s attacks. Malachite does a ninja steal or somehow conjures Tuxedo Mask out from under Sailor Moon’s magic crystal-squirting eyes and they teleport him away. Mental note: don’t let Sailor Moon house sit. The whole freekin’ house will be gone when you get back, and she may not even realize.

We then see Beryl’s servants, Jadite, Nephlyte, Zoicite, and Kunzite watching Tuxedo Mask sleep, talking about how they know him from somewhere. Creepy, yes. Apparently, Beryl’s servants are sex offenders who like to watch. They remember him because they were once his generals, but we don’t know that yet. Uh, spoiler alert for the imaginary people reading?

Serena/Usagi goes into a depression and doesn’t come out of her room. The girls (and cats) go to see her and her mother says she hasn’t come out of her room for days. First, it must stink in there. Second, how hungry is this girl, who seems to have a tapeworm on the best of days? Third, where did she go to the bathroom?

We never find the answers to these questions, and I am probably the only one who thinks of these things in relation to a cartoon. Don’t judge me. They cut Serena’s hair, which is growing at an alarming pace because she remembered her past. If only that worked in real life, right? The girls share a heart warming group hug and decide to go to the Moon in the next episode.

This was an important episode, yes. But the next few will be even more so, I suspect. Until next time!

 

There’s Always Somebody Worse Off

I am currently falling apart. I had an emergency surgery a few years ago that left me in pain and afraid to stretch or bend. My body became rigid and inflexible. Since last April my shoulder blade has been popping. I then fell on the railroad tracks like an idiot, hurt my right ankle, and began overcompensating on my left leg. All of this worked together to make me a mess, but I was a functioning one. I kept putting off going to the doctor, stubbornly refusing to admit that I needed it.

After the pain of walking became excruciating I finally broke down and went to the doctor, who said that my leg and shoulder are having spasms. He prescribed a pain killer (because I was taking too much Advil), a muscle relaxer, and physical therapy. The pills work, but I was putting off the physical therapy thinking that the pills would be enough.

I had an appointment this morning, so I took half of a pain pill and went there on the bus. Getting off the bus my leg seized up on me, nearly collapsed, and I came very close to wiping out and eating shit on the side of the road. Embarrassed, lamenting that I’m too goddamned young for this, I hobbled in to do my errand, came out, and went to the bus stop.

As I was crossing the street, I noticed a young guy already at the bus stop. Cute kid, probably about 18 or 19…and he was using a four-legged cane. His legs were twisted and bent at odd angles, his hip was slanting to the side, and every step seemed both ungainly and painful. He very politely asked me if I knew when the bus was coming. I checked and said that it would be there in about 5-10 minutes. He thanked me and let go of his cane — scaring the shit out of me — to reach in a pocket and get out his phone. I swear, he was on the verge of falling like three times, and one time he made a grab for his cane, but it was several inches behind where he was grabbing. I made ready to grab him, though my leg can barely support my little ass.

He pulled out a hopelessly knotted set of headphones and struggled with them, all while trying to balance on his cane. He asked me if I would untangle them for him. I said of course, and we chatted a bit. Very nice, very polite, very grateful. I managed to untangle them, he said thank you, and the bus came. We got on and sat across from each other.

An older, dirty-looking white man got on, kicked the cane from its resting place next to the kid, and kept going. He didn’t say excuse me, he didn’t say sorry, he didn’t even look back to make sure the cane was still there. Later, the cane toppled over entirely with a stop, and another man picked it up and handed it back to the kid. I saw several young, pretty girls get on the bus, and I saw the kid checking them out, and then his face just got sort of sad and he looked away. His stop was before mine, and he had to fight his way to the front of the bus through teenagers who grudgingly moved for him.

My heart broke for him. It’s still broken. That kid should be standing tall, he should have a girlfriend, he should be running or driving or…anything but needing to rely on a stranger for the simple task of untangling some headphones or needing to fight his way to the front of the bus.

I can get better. My body will heal with the proper care. Yet, here I was putting it off, not wanting to bother, hoping just the muscle relaxers would work…but there is light at the end of my tunnel. Where is the light for him? When does he get better? When can he have a girlfriend, or run, or just be able to untangle his own goddamned headphones?

It made me feel like a selfish beast and an ungrateful monster, squandering what I had, just because I was stubborn or because I had the luxury of doing so. I wish that kid love and happiness and functional legs. I hope with all my heart that he is or becomes deliriously happy.

As for me, I made my first physical therapy appointment for next Monday. And I’ll be thinking about him.

Sailor Moon Crystal ep 1-08 — Minako – Sailor Venus

This episode explains how, in the original anime, people acted shocked when it was revealed that Sailor Moon was, in fact, the Moon Princess (as if the name wasn’t a hint) — they had been duped by Artemis the Delusional Cat. Venus remembers the Silver Millennium when everyone lived on the Moon, but left out the fact that she wasn’t as important as she is pretending to be, probably because she is waiting for their memories to awaken. Then it will be a, “Just kidding!” moment and we will all laugh at the fact that Venus was impersonating royalty. (Who isn’t thinking of the time in the S anime when Venus stole the Transformation Pen and did that terrible/hilarious impersonation of Sailor Moon in front of Kaorinite?)

Malachite/Kunzite finally slithers out of the shadows (regrettably without the romantic attachment to Zoicite from the anime) and threatens to kill everyone in Tokyo if the “Moon Princess” Sailor Venus doesn’t come out of hiding and gives him the Silver Crystal. Venus, in complete contrast to her happy-go-lucky self from the Sailor V manga and the anime, takes on some dramatic “I have to fight this battle alone” bullshit stance like she’s channeling Uranus and Neptune’s irritating aloofness.

I love Sailor Venus and I loved Sailor V in the manga, but she comes off as surprisingly dull and dry and duty driven in this episode. I can only assume that this will change, because this series has been so close to the original manga. I hope so, because I LOVE Sailor Venus. She’s probably my favorite of the inner scouts.

But let’s get to the good stuff. Unfortunately, I was underwhelmed by Venus’ transformation, but I’m hoping it will grow on me, just as I’m hoping Mina/Minako herself will do the same. I don’t know what I was expecting. Venus doesn’t really have an element in this series (Light, maybe?), and her transformation is essentially a digitized version of her anime transformation.

However, she does her Crescent Boomerang attack (awesome!) and almost tells Malachite that he needs to stop acting like a brat and go back to being Endymion/Tuxedo Mask’s servant as he used to be. (Am I the only sicko wondering if Darien got it on with his *ahem* servants? There was always a strong/blatant bisexual vibe about him.)

But then the other four Sailor Scouts use a flying version of Sailor Teleport in a moment that, for some reason, gave me chills. They all give a friendship speech (where Serena/Usagi reveals Sailor V’s identity) and then do a five-way attack. I nearly shit myself. Why has it taken me so long to watch this episode?! Mercury Aqua Mist, Fire Soul (essentially), Supreme Thunder, Crescent Boomerang, and then Moon Healing Escalation? Somehow Malachite shrugs it off and Sailor Jupiter flies (!) away in a bubble, like Glinda the Good Goddamned Witch. Sailor Moon kisses Tuxedo Mask,  jumps away, and kicks ass. Then, for the first freekin’ time, Tuxedo Mask does something, even if it’s only to offer himself up as a meat shield. And the end.

All in all, a very good episode.