Desperation is the Mother of Change

This week has been a long and painful reminder of days past, when I had all the coping skills of a dead hamster. The long fight I've been having with the superintendents of the apartment I rent came to a head and I got an illegal eviction notice. After that, I discovered they've been stealing my mail. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be such a big deal in the age of electronic billing. Why it matters to me is because I participate in a lot of mail-based craft swaps and they swiped a package of items that someone took the time and care to hand craft for me. The thought of all their hard work ending up unopened in a garbage dump breaks my heart.

Then the transmission on my truck went and died. It's going to cost me $600 to find out what's wrong with it, and that's before they actually fix anything.

How the heck am I supposed to move without a vehicle? On top of which, if I have to put that kind of money into diagnosing it, where in hell am I going to come up with first and last from?

Yeah, I know. Everyone is supposed to have 3 months of emergency money saved. Well, I live in an expensive city and make just over minimum wage. That's not going to happen.

It's not all bad. A friend volunteered to let me stay in her spare room til I find my feet, so I'm not homeless. I'm grateful for that.

The tricky people at the credit card company recently increased my limit, so I can maybe get the truck fixed. That's a plus.

The friendly representative at Canada Post told me they have delivery confirmation on the swap package I never received, meaning that the friend who sent the item can request that they open an investigation which will likely result in charges being laid against my supers. Almost puts a smile on my face.

I can file a complaint with the Landlord and Tenant Board, which won't mean I don't have to move, but will ensure that my absentee landlord will find out exactly what his idiotic supers are doing. Hurrah?

In summary, it could turn out to be positive all around. Sadly, I don't have the mental wiring to accommodate a long term outlook. Mentally I'm in hell. It's stress on top of stress. The thought of going home on transit after work makes me physically sick to my stomach. I don't want to deal with the supers or even see them.

There's a saying that life never gives you more than you can handle. I must be one tough bitch because I get kicked in the teeth on a regular basis. There must be something essential to the working of the world that I'm missing. Maybe I'm too trusting, or I don't look before I leap or some other such crap. All I know is that there's got to be a better way to live than having everything come crashing down around my ears once a year.

I'm making new plans. Big plans that involve being able to escape from ever having a landlord or a super ever again. Making things happen is something I can do. It's time.

Could be that the universe needed to give me a giant kick in the pants to get past my fears. Desperation is the mother of change.

Mary Sue: Bad Writing or Template for a Great life?

There's a term in the fan fiction writing community, a dirty phrase no one ever wants to hear about their work. It's Mary Sue. What it means is that the writer has transparently inserted themselves into the story, usually disguised as an OC (original character). Commonly, the Mary Sue is a love interest for one of the main characters. Mary Sue-ing is bad form.

I'm not entirely certain why that's the way it is. Perhaps it prevents readers from putting themselves in the Mary Sue's proverbial shoes, which is really why we read romances in the first place. Or it might be because Mary Sues are often "perfect" versions of the writer, beautiful people with no flaws (read: really annoying!).

Publishing a story with a Mary Sue might not be the best idea ever. Writing one, on the other hand, could be good for you. Taking the time to imagine what the ideal you would be like, what you could be, or do, and how that version of yourself might interact with other people and the world could yield surprising results. Who would you be in a world with no limits?

Once upon a time I participated in NaNoWriMo, national novel writing month. The goal of NaNo is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. That's less than 2000 words a day. I tend to be wordy when I write; it didn't sound hard. I had a vague idea for a story. With no outline or plan, I plunged in. I wrote 25,000 words the first two weeks. My story was about a person in difficult personal circumstances who had an amazing and vibrant alternate life in another reality that they could access through dreaming. The version of themselves they could see in the dreams had everything they could ever want. My character grew jealous of the dream-life them and set out to kill their other self.

Yeah, it was twisted. As a concept it's not bad. The story itself stunk. Really, really stunk. Like three day old beer vomit on a bar floor stunk. Why? The whole thing was one long Mary Sue from start to finish. A horrible, self-serving Mary Sue.

I could have rewritten the story, being very stringent about ensuring that no Mary Sue-ing happened. I didn't do that. Instead, I looked at that embarrassing piece of writing and tried to figure out how I could use to learn about what I really wanted in my own life. The idealized me had a clothing company, PhDs in several subjects, and was a competitive MMA fighter, among other things. She also had a beautiful home full of handmade furniture and many friends.

Looking at that list of accomplishments, I broke them out into actionable items. If I really wanted to have a clothing design business, I'd have to learn professional pattern drafting. That's do-able. I went to my local college and signed up for fashion courses.

Getting multiple PhDs is not something most people do. It's extremely expensive and labour-intensive. I pondered what the real motivation behind that fantasy was and came up with the simplest answer: I wanted my deep knowledge on many subjects to be acknowledged. I get obsessed with 4 or 5 subjects every year and take in everything I can on them. They tend to rotate on a three or four year cycle. Looking back in my computer files and old notebooks I can track my immersive fascinations with topics ranging from genetic engineering to political science. Does that mean I should invest the time and money in going back to school for those subjects?

Maybe it does. Maybe someday I will. I decided that was the least important thing on the fantasy life list and set it aside.

I signed up for boxing lessons and learned really quickly that I dislike being punched in the head. I took a closer look at the MMA fighter fantasy and found what I really liked about that was the physicality of it. I admire both the discipline and the physique of athletes. Therefore I started working out and running. Washboard abs, here I come!

Having a beautiful ocean front home is beyond my means. I can certainly create beautiful furniture for myself. Goal set: now I have a list of home improvement projects to whittle away at. Watching the incremental changes in my surroundings helps me feel more connected to my home. Seeing things I made on a daily basis reminds me of what I'm capable of on those days when my self esteem dips.

The last item was by the hardest. I don't so much have many friends as I have many acquaintances. I'm not bad at meeting people, I have a lot of trouble keeping up with connections. Randomly call someone and ask if they'd like to have coffee? That's beyond my comfort zone. Presumably everyone gets nervous extending invitations to new people and I shouldn't be scared. It terrifies me. For no reason; I'm generally of the attitude that if you don't like me, you can go fly a kite. That's not to say I want to know someone doesn't like me! Reading up on the subject, I found a lot of information about how to make friends seemed sketchy. Things like mirroring body language and feigning approval of misguided opinions is fake and wrong. It's manipulative and I want no part of it. Guess there's more research to do.

What can your Mary Sue teach you? Go ahead and write up a wild life! See where those daydreams will take you.

My Cure for Depression

Yesterday sucked.

My co-worker who refuses to wear headphones because "they hurt my head" and thus subjects me to her dubious taste in music listened to classical dirges all day. She also decided that the overhead lights in our office were bothering her eyes because they suddenly give off a glare, meaning that I was stuck working by the glow of an underpowered desk lamp. It made me somnolent to say the least. I was bored. To top it off, my boss handed off what could have been an interesting project that I'm more than qualified for to my annoying co-worker. I felt insulted and rejected. And useless. I dragged myself through the rest of the work day propped up with more coffee than is healthy.

By the time I got home, I was thoroughly depressed. I didn't want to do anything other than lay around and sulk.

I didn't have that luxury. Tuesday night is sheet metal fabrication class. I paid good money for that! Cranky and muttering random curses under my breath I gathered up my notes and my tools, put on my steel toes and went to class.

Twenty minutes later:

I was covered in saw dust and schwarf. Grinning from ear to ear. I felt like I was accomplishing something. It wasn't a complicated project, nor did I execute it particularly well. No matter. I had a tool in my hand and everything I did had an immediate effect that I could see. I understood how the techniques could be used for something practical. Something way more useful than a friggin' spreadsheet.

Today I'm back at my desk. The spreadsheets are still there. I'm still bored. That's okay. Last night proved something long suspected- working with my hands is the quickest route to happiness. Some people drink, some people shop. I just have to get dirty, have to make something. Now I'm prepared for a long day of corporate drudgery.

I've got a book on fabrication techniques in my bag to read on my lunch hour, and a notebook full of sketches and plans. I've got a class tonight.

Tomorrow I'm teaching someone how to sew.

Office manager is what it says on my business card. I say I'm a maker.

When your circumstances take you to a dark place, reach for who you really are. Take a minute and be your real self, even if all you're actually doing is daydreaming about being somewhere else. Daydreams are the roots of goals, and goals will take you anywhere you want.

[Depressed employee image by Strategy Magazine]

500 car shows on TV. Where are the lady mechanics?

Not so long ago, my friend Phyllis had a birthday. She has a broad friendship network, and as a result the group that gathered for her celebration didn't know one another. We did a round of "hi, nice to meet you," and then the conversation lagged. Phyllis' partner Len scanned the table, his eyes dancing as he glanced at each of us. Mischievously, he announced, "I have a surprise for you."

What's that, Len?

"Raise your hand if you have a welding ticket," he said.

We looked at each other. There were five women at the table. Four of us had our hands up. We all started laughing. This never happens. A discussion ensued about our pursuits and professions- automotive, manufacturing, and so on.

Someone made a comment that we ought to get together and have a reality show: Girls Garage or something similar. It sounded like a good idea to us. After all, those programs focus on oddball characters with big personalities, and women in the trades tend to be those types. Hey, if we could get a network like the Discovery Channel to fund a shop for us, we'd be more than capable of making it go.

My travels through the blogosphere happened to land me on a podcast hosted by a married couple who produce reality TV. I remembered the birthday dinner and the Girls Garage concept; doing a bit of "research" about how to do a sizzle reel and pitch a show couldn't hurt. Listening to the professionals talk certainly did. In more than one episode, they emphasized that a show concept must fall into either "women's world," or "men's world." Which is to say that shows starring women have to be about fashion or decorating or living a ridiculous lifestyle centred around having 400 kids or getting your nails done every five minutes. Men's shows are about doing things: sports, construction, business.

I thought about the reality shows I watch. Fast N Loud- all guys, except for the poor beleaguered "beer assistant," Cristy. Vegas Rat Rods has one woman in the cast, and frankly the only reason she's there is because she's a former pin-up model. (Sorry, Twiggy. I'm sure you're growing into a great mechanic, but that's not why you got your job.) Top Chef comes out a lot better in the gender parity stakes; then again, cooking is mostly perceived as women's work.

What passes for industry wisdom says that men won't watch a show centred around activities they're interested in if it stars a woman. I'd like to see the evidence of that, to the best of my knowledge, it's never been tried! By the same token, they also say women won't watch a show about "manly" activities at all. If that's really the case, then why did Discovery's newsletter, Globe, celebrate the fact that female viewership of Fast N Loud was up by 31% way back in February of 2013?

Clearly, women are watching those shows. And maybe we'd like to see women actively doing things for a change! Because women do build houses and fix cars and make things other than cupcakes. Shouldn't the media reflect that?

"Women are watching those shows, okay," you say. "Why do those shows need to have female cast members?"

It's simple: women do those things, and a lot of them do a great job of it! Treating them as an anomaly is disrespectful and dishonest. One of the functions those shows serve is as fodder for daydreams. The viewer gets to play with the idea of living that life, doing that job. Unfortunately, we live in a highly gendered world, which makes it a fair bit harder for a female viewer to look at someone like Aaron Kaufman, the Bearded Wonder, and identify with him. Society has spent our whole lives telling us we're NOT like him and never will be, and if we want to be like him, there's something wrong with us. We could marry him, but we can't be him. That's a problem which won't go away any time soon.

Sidestepping that daydream barrier is easy: show a competent woman doing that job! Let girls see someone like them succeeding in those careers. Show enough of them, and the gendered categorization of work will fall away. Then we'll all be able to do the job we're best suited for.