More of my being peculiar, really
Jul. 15th, 2006 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI'm feeling better. Sort of like I've been crying a long time and just had a pause and a deep breath. It's an odd feeling. Um, it's not physical, because to my litany of weird and wacky symptoms I've added persistent dizziness and a distinct sensation that I was going to pass out in the shower - I didn't, but a shifting world and lukewarm water is a disconcerting combination - but in the absence of blood test results, I think it's probably psychosomatic.
I'm feeling better, though, because the family situation is also a bit better. My cousin is still here, and this morning I woke up feeling the same if not worse about her presence. But I got through the day, and in the evening my parents went skipping off to the annual medical ball. They actually looked quite striking - I don't think I've ever seen Pedar in a tux before, and my mother was wearing a dress that belongs to me, with jewellery that also belongs to me, and she griped but she looked rather lovely. And in the meantime my cousin and I got a pizza, and sat and ate it and talked about nice, neutral things like music, and travel, and it was actually okay. And at some point, she confided in me something I didn't know. She told me that before she came across from America, her aunt - my aunt too, but the relationship is so convoluted that I can't be bothered to untangle it - took her aside and warned her about us. (Us being my parents and me.) When you go up to Liverpool, my aunt advised, be warned that they're very nice and they'll treat you well, but they're not a loud, traditional extended Indian family - they're very quiet, they like books and politics, they don't really keep up with popular culture, they're heavily focused on their professions.
Much later, when my parents got back from the ball, I related this to Pedar. He looked sort of thoughtful, and then said that it's much too late to worry about the validation of your entire way of life. And he asked me to tell him what Claire Curtis-Thomas said, and suggested I dig out some of the online media about her current top-shelf magazines crusade, and then said he was pleased I'd got the job. If I'm anything, it's like him; he's an introvert with a few assorted passions, (if mine are writing, PPE and geekery, his are film noir, in vitro fertilisation and teaching), and, well, fuck it. My life, as it stands, weird and wonderful, without a clear cultural basis, works for me. It works for my family. On the ordinary days when it's just the three of us, without people visiting us from halfway across the globe, it works.
And there's something else, too. I might be the black sheep of the family, but according to American cousin, there's someone else. It turns out my small, irritating thirteen-year-old cousin Shivani is irritating for a reason: she takes after me. I can't say I'd ever noticed, as she doesn't look like me, but it's been a few years since I've seen her. She's apparently not very nice, finds being a good Indian girl boring, and won't clean her room without a prior contract to that effect. (I was never this bad, believe me.) She gets excellent grades and has decided her stated ambition in life is to run for president. The family have somehow concluded from all this that she's going to turn out like me. I hope so. I really do. Can't be a black sheep if there's two of us.
Anyway, after all that babble, I am feeling better and now I want to sleep or be fannish or do other things that are associated with feeling better. I am watching a lot of The X-Files, so hell, let's talk about that. I'm actually really enjoying it. I've seen a lot of episodes before, I think, from when I was twelve or so; I've seen the pilot and the first few episodes, I've seen the infamous liver-eating episode - ohgod, ohgod, I couldn't sleep for weeks after that one - and various randoms throughout the rest of the seasons, but not systematically. I'm pretty sure there are whole seasons I haven't seen any episodes of, and whole arcs I've missed. I've sen Requiem (the one where Mulder is abducted) and DeadAlive (the one where they bring him back) but none of the ones in between, which sort of lessens the effect.
But this time round, seven years later, I'm seeing more of them. The one that got me fannish last time was Sein Und Zeit, because it managed to be not so much scary or gory but ethereal and creepy and really rather haunting. (Case in point: I can remember it after seven years!) I remember that for some reason BBC2 decided to leave two weeks between it and the continuing episode, Closure, and I nearly died of anticipation in the meantime. And it was pretty heavy stuff - the suicide, the suggestion of child abuse - but it all happened offscreen and was all the more effective for it.
I haven't finished with season four yet - four more episodes to go, including Gethsemane, which I've carefully avoided spoilers for - but so far I've been pretty damn creeped out. Which is the sign of a good show. And I got slipped fifty Australian dollars today, which is enough for the next boxset.
In the meantime, I'm trying to write fic again. It's going slowly, but fairly well; the only catch is, it has actual sex in it. I've never written a sex scene in my life, and suddenly this story actually requires one for the plot and I keep trying to write it and failing miserably. Dear god. And why, why, why do I ship Mulder and Scully? I hate Sam/Jack. I hate Sheppard/Weir. I hate Hawkeye/Margaret and Ron/Hermione and Ten/Rose and just about every single other popular het couple. I have given up wondering why when I write het, it's always something silly like Remus/Hermione or Sam/Daniel or Four/Romana. But Mulder and Scully, they defined het shipping. They gave us the word "shipper". And yet, and yet. I like them. I really do.
I will think about it. Being mentally fannish will keep me sane through tomorrow. Next week, I am working five half-days, going to the gym a lot, writing fic, writing about feminism, watching more X-Files DVDs. I hope things will be better. I think they will be.
Also, my blood test results should be back on Monday. I highly doubt they'll find anything abnormal at all, but we shall see.
I'm feeling better, though, because the family situation is also a bit better. My cousin is still here, and this morning I woke up feeling the same if not worse about her presence. But I got through the day, and in the evening my parents went skipping off to the annual medical ball. They actually looked quite striking - I don't think I've ever seen Pedar in a tux before, and my mother was wearing a dress that belongs to me, with jewellery that also belongs to me, and she griped but she looked rather lovely. And in the meantime my cousin and I got a pizza, and sat and ate it and talked about nice, neutral things like music, and travel, and it was actually okay. And at some point, she confided in me something I didn't know. She told me that before she came across from America, her aunt - my aunt too, but the relationship is so convoluted that I can't be bothered to untangle it - took her aside and warned her about us. (Us being my parents and me.) When you go up to Liverpool, my aunt advised, be warned that they're very nice and they'll treat you well, but they're not a loud, traditional extended Indian family - they're very quiet, they like books and politics, they don't really keep up with popular culture, they're heavily focused on their professions.
Much later, when my parents got back from the ball, I related this to Pedar. He looked sort of thoughtful, and then said that it's much too late to worry about the validation of your entire way of life. And he asked me to tell him what Claire Curtis-Thomas said, and suggested I dig out some of the online media about her current top-shelf magazines crusade, and then said he was pleased I'd got the job. If I'm anything, it's like him; he's an introvert with a few assorted passions, (if mine are writing, PPE and geekery, his are film noir, in vitro fertilisation and teaching), and, well, fuck it. My life, as it stands, weird and wonderful, without a clear cultural basis, works for me. It works for my family. On the ordinary days when it's just the three of us, without people visiting us from halfway across the globe, it works.
And there's something else, too. I might be the black sheep of the family, but according to American cousin, there's someone else. It turns out my small, irritating thirteen-year-old cousin Shivani is irritating for a reason: she takes after me. I can't say I'd ever noticed, as she doesn't look like me, but it's been a few years since I've seen her. She's apparently not very nice, finds being a good Indian girl boring, and won't clean her room without a prior contract to that effect. (I was never this bad, believe me.) She gets excellent grades and has decided her stated ambition in life is to run for president. The family have somehow concluded from all this that she's going to turn out like me. I hope so. I really do. Can't be a black sheep if there's two of us.
Anyway, after all that babble, I am feeling better and now I want to sleep or be fannish or do other things that are associated with feeling better. I am watching a lot of The X-Files, so hell, let's talk about that. I'm actually really enjoying it. I've seen a lot of episodes before, I think, from when I was twelve or so; I've seen the pilot and the first few episodes, I've seen the infamous liver-eating episode - ohgod, ohgod, I couldn't sleep for weeks after that one - and various randoms throughout the rest of the seasons, but not systematically. I'm pretty sure there are whole seasons I haven't seen any episodes of, and whole arcs I've missed. I've sen Requiem (the one where Mulder is abducted) and DeadAlive (the one where they bring him back) but none of the ones in between, which sort of lessens the effect.
But this time round, seven years later, I'm seeing more of them. The one that got me fannish last time was Sein Und Zeit, because it managed to be not so much scary or gory but ethereal and creepy and really rather haunting. (Case in point: I can remember it after seven years!) I remember that for some reason BBC2 decided to leave two weeks between it and the continuing episode, Closure, and I nearly died of anticipation in the meantime. And it was pretty heavy stuff - the suicide, the suggestion of child abuse - but it all happened offscreen and was all the more effective for it.
I haven't finished with season four yet - four more episodes to go, including Gethsemane, which I've carefully avoided spoilers for - but so far I've been pretty damn creeped out. Which is the sign of a good show. And I got slipped fifty Australian dollars today, which is enough for the next boxset.
In the meantime, I'm trying to write fic again. It's going slowly, but fairly well; the only catch is, it has actual sex in it. I've never written a sex scene in my life, and suddenly this story actually requires one for the plot and I keep trying to write it and failing miserably. Dear god. And why, why, why do I ship Mulder and Scully? I hate Sam/Jack. I hate Sheppard/Weir. I hate Hawkeye/Margaret and Ron/Hermione and Ten/Rose and just about every single other popular het couple. I have given up wondering why when I write het, it's always something silly like Remus/Hermione or Sam/Daniel or Four/Romana. But Mulder and Scully, they defined het shipping. They gave us the word "shipper". And yet, and yet. I like them. I really do.
I will think about it. Being mentally fannish will keep me sane through tomorrow. Next week, I am working five half-days, going to the gym a lot, writing fic, writing about feminism, watching more X-Files DVDs. I hope things will be better. I think they will be.
Also, my blood test results should be back on Monday. I highly doubt they'll find anything abnormal at all, but we shall see.
