Paige is out sick so no usual Monday post this week, instead you get me being mildly grouchy. It occurs to me that Peter and I spend a lot of time apologizing for being grouchy, when dad made an entire career of it (according to him, anyway).
Where's Bay been?
I've been here, just, quieter. Trying to write here was putting a big drain on me I couldn't put my finger on. The short answer is I'm a thin-skinned weenie. The long answer is, well, longer.
Dad used this place to break down media in a thoughtful way, 'Why is this annoying?', 'Why is this the way it is?', 'This is stupid and broken and we could do better!'. Well, usually thoughtful. The point is, he looked at the creation of other people, and critiqued it. Sometimes he created his own media, but those were rare circumstances because my dad was also a thin-skinned weenie. He hated people critiquing his own work, and usually a snide comment would send him spiraling for weeks, especially early days. Later on he did get better, but mostly at knowing what was best to put out there for his own sake.
Luckily, though, he spent most of his energy on complaining about various forms of media, which was a lot easier for him to take feedback on, since it was more conversational and less like, say, getting a grade.
I know pretty firmly now I don't have the stomach for writing in front of a panel, not unlike my dad. But, I also can't critique other media I...don't have the heart. At this point in my life, any expression of humans making art, I'm just glad to see an attempt. I don't care if someone made a stupid gameplay loop, or a story with plot holes, they made something, presumably without AI, hurting their fellow man too badly, or cruel intent. I'm exhausted, and no one wants political commentary in their escapism pocket of the internet. If you agree with me, you're just as burnt out, and if you don't I'm not going to change your mind.
As for work; I'm working on my second poetry book. I'm tinkering with the idea of a sort of follow-up to DM of the Rings behind the scenes. And, I'm full-time grappling with Social Security to get them to revisit my disability case. I managed to work a part-time job for nearly a month before I physically couldn't function anymore and had to quit and go back to physical therapy and rehabilitation. I just turned 27, which feels strange. Between COVID and losing Dad I feel like I just lost the last five years to some sort of grief void.
I help the people around me when and if I can. I parent my two younger siblings, drive people to and from work six times a day, sleep six hours, miss my dad, and hope things get better. That's what I can do right now.
Because I can't talk to my dad about it: I spent my birthday having every member of my friend group drop off everything I ever left at their houses off at my doorstep without warning (Including like, months old chips for some reason, thanks guys I was really gonna miss those), followed by blocking me. The only thing I got from the strange, passive aggressive notes was the request to not reach out to find out what I did. These people were older than me! What in the fourth grade was that shit? Whatever, I had a whole get together planned for my birthday including like, an allergy safe cake I made keeping one of them in mind, games they all like, cooking, the works. Now I can have all the dairy I want in my cake, and I apparently dodged a bullet.
Fascinating behavior; anyway, I'm gonna go cry into some ice-cream like a heartbroken teenager. Hopefully this isn't indicative of the year to come.