I've got a couple, actually. I'll probably examine each of them in turn along the way, but I was having a conversation with someone today and this particular bugbear of mine popped up: aggression disguised as humour. The poor girl had really suffered from it at some point in the past, and I think we've all seen it in action. Some twat who thinks it's cool and edgy to roundly abuse someone for the benefit of a crowd of sniggering fuckwits and his (in my experience, we are normally talking about men) own pathetic lack of self worth. It can be that they're generalising wildly about something, or laying into someone in particular. You might even have been on the receiving end of it, but each time the feeling is the same: is he being serious? It sounds like a joke, but there's a bit of needle in there... what should I do?
You've got a couple of choices, and none of them are particularly appetising. You can't just slink away, it's wrong on every level. If you try and brush it off and laugh along, you'll end up hating yourself, and if you object to what's going on you inevitably hear a variation on, "Jesus mate, I was only kidding. You need to lighten up."
Except they're not kidding. You know it, he knows, everyone else knows it but somehow you end up being the bad guy because you're doing the right thing. Communication is more than 90% non-verbal, and while I'm aware that the majority of humour happens at the expense of something or someone everyone knows when they are laughing along with someone or when they are being laughed at - and in turn, people know when being laughed at becomes a form of bullying from some arse who wants to see what he can get away before going and hiding behind the 'just a joke' excuse.
It's cowardly at best and often downright infuriating. It provokes exactly the same feelings in me as seeing a gang of kids terrorise some unsuspecting victim just because they can.
What's all of this got to do with anything that I'm meant to be using this blog for? I'm not sure. Normally the sort of conversation that triggered this entry would have been mentally filed away and forgotten almost immediately, but this had been turning over and over in my mind all day. I've been feeling increasingly annoyed by this sort of behaviour as well.
Is it just that I'd found out that somebody I liked and even respected - professionally - had been known to stoop to this sort of behaviour? Dunno. Is this sort of bullying connected to the issues I want to work through here? Eh... I can't be sure. Just felt I had to put it out there.
On a positive note: coffee and doughnuts is much better than tea and scones. It just is.
Peterson.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Am I Doing Everything I Could Be?
Hello Grandad,
It's been a while since we've been in touch, what with you being dead and everything. I'm not great at keeping up a correspondence, and ordinarily I'd just call if I felt that I'd been neglecting you - but obviously that's out of the question now.
The reason I'm writing to you is... well, it started as a bit of whimsy. Since I decided to write this blog I've been mindful of a CD called 'The Juliet Letters'. (You'd like it, I think - although I suspect you'd find Elvis' vocal delivery a little jarring for your tastes.) One of the tracks begins like this:
"I thought I'd write to Juliet,
For she would understand,
And when somebody's already dead,
They can no longer let you down,"
... and I begin to think about which dead person I'd write to. Anybody at all, fact or fiction, and the only person I could think of was you. Why? I think it might, perversely, have something to do with the lines just quoted... but you never let me down once. I'm blessed that I have a strong and supportive family who all love me unconditionally, but I'm mindful of the fact that every single one of them (who's opinions I respect the most) still look to you as an inspiration. I understand why, of course - though you'd protest if we were to list your virtues. Let's just say that I'd have been honoured to know you in life, and I think I'm truly privileged to have been related to you and to have learned what I have from your example.
Then I started to think about myself, and inevitably started to compare myself to you. I know, I know... this would be the last thing that you'd want and you'd be tremendously proud of me anyway but I can't help it. As I grew older (and especially after your death) I came to understand more about you, your attitude to life, and the trying circumstances in which you lived. This, I think, is why you continue to be an inspiration to my family; and me as well (and it saddens me that I've never been able to properly thank you for this).
I just wanted to let you know that I've begin to notice some parallels between our lives. Not the obvious stuff, but it occurs to me that in our personal lives I've been through some stuff that I know you'd understand from experience, even though our eventual outcomes were wildly different. I just wondered how you managed it all so well? I know that you were a very proud man (uncharitable sorts might even mistake this for vanity), but you seemed to draw your sense of pride from those around you. It's different for me. I'm not saying that I'm ashamed of those around me, but sometimes I feel the need to be a little over-protective of them and I'm not sure that this comes from a good place. Like, I'm defending them because I'm aware of some flaws. Does this make me a bad person? It's not like these are big flaws; I'm not complicit in some huge lie or covering up some awful family secret. Everyone seems very happy in their own skin and would be horrified if they thought that I occasionally felt I needed to defend them, or explain why things are done in certain ways.
I've made some big mistakes in my life, Grandad. I think that you probably knew I was making them at the time, but told everyone to let me make them. Strangely, I do want to thank you for this - I think that I actually am older and wiser now - but I'm still suffering from the fallout of my mistakes.
I feel so utterly isolated. I know that I could pick up the phone right now and call my parents, or my Aunt and Uncle and I could talk to them until I dropped if I wanted to. I'm scared of my emotions, though. I know that I'd feel happy, and relieved, and sad, and angry all at the same time and I know it isn't healthy to keep all of this bottled up but right now everyone thinks that I'm fine and I don't want to change that. Instead, I'll stay in with the cat I've adopted (or is it inherited?) and use the wonders of modern technology to have a few chats with some friends, then go to sleep and repeat the endless cycle of work over again.
I feel that I need to make a big change. I've got a plan and it all seems workable - so what's stopping me?
I wish you were around. If I could speak to anyone, right now, it'd be you. Partly for the pearls of wisdom you'd doubtless dispense, but mostly because it would just be nice to speak to you again.
I still miss you. I think about you every day. I'm so sorry I never got to say goodbye properly, both before your death and at your funeral. However, I know what you'd tell me about regret so I'll just try to keep that in mind.
Lots of love,
P.
It's been a while since we've been in touch, what with you being dead and everything. I'm not great at keeping up a correspondence, and ordinarily I'd just call if I felt that I'd been neglecting you - but obviously that's out of the question now.
The reason I'm writing to you is... well, it started as a bit of whimsy. Since I decided to write this blog I've been mindful of a CD called 'The Juliet Letters'. (You'd like it, I think - although I suspect you'd find Elvis' vocal delivery a little jarring for your tastes.) One of the tracks begins like this:
"I thought I'd write to Juliet,
For she would understand,
And when somebody's already dead,
They can no longer let you down,"
... and I begin to think about which dead person I'd write to. Anybody at all, fact or fiction, and the only person I could think of was you. Why? I think it might, perversely, have something to do with the lines just quoted... but you never let me down once. I'm blessed that I have a strong and supportive family who all love me unconditionally, but I'm mindful of the fact that every single one of them (who's opinions I respect the most) still look to you as an inspiration. I understand why, of course - though you'd protest if we were to list your virtues. Let's just say that I'd have been honoured to know you in life, and I think I'm truly privileged to have been related to you and to have learned what I have from your example.
Then I started to think about myself, and inevitably started to compare myself to you. I know, I know... this would be the last thing that you'd want and you'd be tremendously proud of me anyway but I can't help it. As I grew older (and especially after your death) I came to understand more about you, your attitude to life, and the trying circumstances in which you lived. This, I think, is why you continue to be an inspiration to my family; and me as well (and it saddens me that I've never been able to properly thank you for this).
I just wanted to let you know that I've begin to notice some parallels between our lives. Not the obvious stuff, but it occurs to me that in our personal lives I've been through some stuff that I know you'd understand from experience, even though our eventual outcomes were wildly different. I just wondered how you managed it all so well? I know that you were a very proud man (uncharitable sorts might even mistake this for vanity), but you seemed to draw your sense of pride from those around you. It's different for me. I'm not saying that I'm ashamed of those around me, but sometimes I feel the need to be a little over-protective of them and I'm not sure that this comes from a good place. Like, I'm defending them because I'm aware of some flaws. Does this make me a bad person? It's not like these are big flaws; I'm not complicit in some huge lie or covering up some awful family secret. Everyone seems very happy in their own skin and would be horrified if they thought that I occasionally felt I needed to defend them, or explain why things are done in certain ways.
I've made some big mistakes in my life, Grandad. I think that you probably knew I was making them at the time, but told everyone to let me make them. Strangely, I do want to thank you for this - I think that I actually am older and wiser now - but I'm still suffering from the fallout of my mistakes.
I feel so utterly isolated. I know that I could pick up the phone right now and call my parents, or my Aunt and Uncle and I could talk to them until I dropped if I wanted to. I'm scared of my emotions, though. I know that I'd feel happy, and relieved, and sad, and angry all at the same time and I know it isn't healthy to keep all of this bottled up but right now everyone thinks that I'm fine and I don't want to change that. Instead, I'll stay in with the cat I've adopted (or is it inherited?) and use the wonders of modern technology to have a few chats with some friends, then go to sleep and repeat the endless cycle of work over again.
I feel that I need to make a big change. I've got a plan and it all seems workable - so what's stopping me?
I wish you were around. If I could speak to anyone, right now, it'd be you. Partly for the pearls of wisdom you'd doubtless dispense, but mostly because it would just be nice to speak to you again.
I still miss you. I think about you every day. I'm so sorry I never got to say goodbye properly, both before your death and at your funeral. However, I know what you'd tell me about regret so I'll just try to keep that in mind.
Lots of love,
P.
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
First letter: to no-one
Should I introduce myself, or spend the first part of my first blog entry agonising over what must be pretty standard stuff? (Like: I don't know why I'm doing this, or some rumination on how I'm adding to all of the logical junk that must make up the vast majority of the internet now.)
Hm. Anyway, someone said to me today that a good way to get stuff off your chest - if you don't feel that you can just talk about that stuff to friends or family - is to write a letter. Either to yourself, or the thing that is the focus of your thoughts, or to no-one in particular... and I thought that this maybe isn't such a bad idea. I did toy with the idea of just writing 'proper' letters - on nice cartridge paper with proper pens and everything - then just addressing them to random places or people. However, my penmanship is messy* so I've decided to do the blog thingy instead. I may write letters, I may not. I might write a report, or review. Sometimes I might just post one or two words.
A lot of this is going to deal with, well, me. My emotional life particularly. I'd like to say that there are going to be some dark and harrowing entries ahead, but I doubt that it'll be like that at all. Other times I might just rant on about people or things generally, and on occasion I may write about some shiny bauble that has had me transfixed for whatever reason... mostly though it's going to be issues surrounding a Major Life Event (tm) and my reactions to them.
Beyond baring my soul or saying why I don't like my phone, I intend to reveal absolutely nothing else about myself. Not even for the sake of context (although is very probably a bad idea).
So, that's #1 out of the way. To no-one. I hope it hits its target.
Peterson.
*I'm actually a bit worried now that the reason I didn't write actual letters is really to do with my bad handwriting, and not how receiving one may just freak someone out. It's all me me me... but this is blogland, so whaddya expect?
Hm. Anyway, someone said to me today that a good way to get stuff off your chest - if you don't feel that you can just talk about that stuff to friends or family - is to write a letter. Either to yourself, or the thing that is the focus of your thoughts, or to no-one in particular... and I thought that this maybe isn't such a bad idea. I did toy with the idea of just writing 'proper' letters - on nice cartridge paper with proper pens and everything - then just addressing them to random places or people. However, my penmanship is messy* so I've decided to do the blog thingy instead. I may write letters, I may not. I might write a report, or review. Sometimes I might just post one or two words.
A lot of this is going to deal with, well, me. My emotional life particularly. I'd like to say that there are going to be some dark and harrowing entries ahead, but I doubt that it'll be like that at all. Other times I might just rant on about people or things generally, and on occasion I may write about some shiny bauble that has had me transfixed for whatever reason... mostly though it's going to be issues surrounding a Major Life Event (tm) and my reactions to them.
Beyond baring my soul or saying why I don't like my phone, I intend to reveal absolutely nothing else about myself. Not even for the sake of context (although is very probably a bad idea).
So, that's #1 out of the way. To no-one. I hope it hits its target.
Peterson.
*I'm actually a bit worried now that the reason I didn't write actual letters is really to do with my bad handwriting, and not how receiving one may just freak someone out. It's all me me me... but this is blogland, so whaddya expect?
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