Penultimate day of the month

I’ve been saying for a few weeks here that I hope to finish by April 1st. That means I have two days to get this done. I took two days off and rested my arms. I don’t feel all rested up or “better” but I feel like maybe I won’t spend the entire day shrieking and crying because I’m in pain and angry about it.

Almost done.

I definitely don’t feel better yet. I think this is going to take months. I’m sleeping a little better: nine hours again last night.

Yesterday someone I’ve known in a distant way for a very long time suggested that I “might want to document my symptoms”. They also said that I might want to consider shopping around and being picky about the doctors I see.

I contained my irritation, but barely.

Oh do keep explaining things to me like I’m stupid, please.

Oh wait. This is why we’ve never been friends. I remember now.

I don’t hate them. They seem like a fine person. But they’ve had the opportunity to know me and they continue to underestimate me with every encounter. Well, that’s fine.

Talk about entitled. My friends come to me with questions about complicated topics. That makes me feel good. People who talk to me as if they know so much more than me so I should pay attention… I’m not in a place in life where I like that dynamic anymore. I did better with it when I was younger. But when you are complaining about “those weird terms” and I can start explaining them in detail because I have worked with them professionally… maybe you shouldn’t be talking down to me. I feel entitled to not having to be talked to like that anymore. I’m spoiled as a motherfucker. Too many people respect me for me to take that step backwards to people who think I haven’t learned shit since I was nineteen years old.

This is part of why I can’t move to Portland. I know waaaaaaay too many people there where I met when I was eighteen or nineteen. I can’t handle dealing with them because they don’t act like I’ve changed.

I am entitled in this area like whoa. I’ve spent the last fifteen years reading and reading and reading and having professional experiences and reading some more. Don’t talk down to me about my subjects. Just don’t.

I like my neighbors. They come and knock on my door to have me explain things because they don’t understand. They know I’m smart. If I don’t understand something entirely, I’ve had neighbors show up with instructions for something that they shove at me so I can read the instructions and explain it. Because I don’t have to start out being an expert at something before I can teach you how to do it. I just need some instructions and five minutes to make a few mistakes.

I’m very very very accustomed to being treated like I’m wicked smart. I’m spoiled as fuck by the people in my life.

Thanks, y’all. Sometimes I can stop and recognize just how much it is true. There are people in my life who have a lot of respect for my intelligence. In fact, most people in my life show respect for my ability to know and figure things out. I understand how true this is when I periodically deal with someone who doesn’t walk in respecting my intelligence.

To be fair, they know shit too. I’m not trying to say I’m smarter than everyone. I’m totally not.

The older I get the more I feel like a feral cat. Treat me exactly how I want or I’m gone.

Life’s too short to spend time pretending to listen to someone who is lecturing me on basic terminology in my field.

I contrast it with the random new-to-me parent who arrived in my house the day before. They spent a few minutes asking questions then figured out that I can answer a lot of fucking questions then we really got into the question asking. That’s more how I like my days to go.

Sometimes I feel like I’m a walking encyclopedia just waiting until you put a nickel in my slot so I have a reason to spurt out information. I spend so much time educating myself for the sole reason that I want to be able to share information. I read so fast and I’m able to cross reference information in my brain to a degree that overwhelms a lot of people. I really love being able to help people understand complex topics. It feels like a purpose. When someone clearly doesn’t want me for that purpose that means I’m around for a different purpose.

I don’t like most other purpose’s. I don’t expect or want people to think I’m “so great” I just want people to think I know a lot of shit. Some of the folks in my extended web don’t necessarily know a lot (I’m thinking in this second of someone I haven’t interacted with much in the last year so don’t think you know who I’m referencing) but they have a desperate need to be Respected For Being So Great. It’s a common dynamic I encounter. I am never going to be popular, but I have intensely loyal friends.

So that leads me to wonder how I’m defining popular. I will never be liked by more than 50% of the population on average. I will always have niche appeal. In okcupid terms, I’m a 5 or a 1. I think in my head “popular” means the vast majority of people think of you as a 3 or a 4 with rare outliers who think you are the best or the worst. Lots of people think I’m the worst. It is a defining characteristic of me that lots of people hate my guts.

Would I like it if everyone loved me? Maybe. But I’m not willing to compromise or change in any way to make that happen. So I accept that lots of people would shoot me on sight. There are religions that believe I should be killed. *shrug* Ok. Usually only the most extreme of sects, so hopefully I’m not actually that far from mainstream ability to ignore my freakiness.

I spend a lot of time being grateful I was born when and where I was. Thank you California, your weirdness embraces me.

I was born in the right time.

I was born in a time of access to information absolutely undreamed about by my foremothers. They could not have imagined the access to learning I have at my finger tips. The access my children will have blows my mind. We are so lucky.

To be fair, I spend a lot of time being surprised that other people are not gorging themselves on this buffet of learning. I get why it isn’t just expected that everyone will spend their time just sitting around inhaling information the way I do.

God I’m so lucky to have time.

I go through periods where I scarcely read: like the remodel. I didn’t plow through books in the last year. But I’m starting to again.

Recently someone said to me that they “can’t” control their children and they are amazed at my control over my kids. You know what? I don’t think I would be able to force my kids to go to school and do homework and then still have the home relationship we have. I don’t think I’m so much better. I think I just have fewer flaming hoops I’m trying to get over with my kids. I’m not better. I made sure I was playing at an easier level. That doesn’t indicate superiority of skill… And there are lots of days you don’t see where I completely lose on the control front. That happens.

I’m not better. I just work a lot harder to make sure I’m held to fewer expectations. That’s kinda the opposite of better.

I blocked Twitter and Facebook on my browser. Let’s see if this helps my emotional ups and downs. I worry about the fact that I won’t have a source of news with this blockage. Maybe that’s ok for a little while, but not forever. I can’t not know what is happening in the world. But maybe I don’t need to know everything either.