Why I Want To Be Famous

 I don't think I'd actually want to be famous.

It seems like a lot of work, really, and I don't like talking much to people as it is, let alone being swarmed by them, all of them armed with cellphones and microphones asking me my thoughts on which type of peas I like or which Pitch Perfect cast member defines me as a person (answers: mushy and any of the ones whose only claim to fame is standing next to Anna Kendrick. I might also answer "Any of them who isn't Rebel Wilson"). That movie was on the TV in the lobby of the new job last night. The sound wasn't on, but it made me confused and irritable.

I spent my morning going through a series of humiliations regarding new hire stuff. On boarding online for the new nursing home job was mostly just tedious, becoming annoying only when I needed to take pictures on my phone of my ID, SS card, and a selfie and had to convert them all individually to make them a supported file type for the website. Which is already way too much work for a job that barely pays above minimum wage, but this is the choice I made for peace of mind, so whatever. Sometimes it really tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune then take arms against the sea. 

The trouble began when I needed to sign into a payroll company site for the hotel side gig. 

Now, it's important to note that I had an account with this company before, from years ago. I have absolutely no idea what any of the login credentials are, I don't know what security questions I created, I'm not even certain what email is attached, this was literally years ago. So when I tried to log in, I suddenly knew what Indiana Jones felt like as he tried to reach the holy grail, except instead of big spinning blades, it's Kafkaesque bureaucracy. I eventually caved and went to their support chat, giving them every piece of information I had, explained a number of times that all I really wanted was to create a new account and forget trying to recover a previous one (because, again, almost all the information would be defunct by now anyway) but it was still Brazil style insanity, being asked questions I really don't have answers to. 

After twenty minutes or so, after multiple assurances that we were making progress, the agent says "Nope, can't help you" and then terminates the chat before I can say "The fuck you mean you can't help me?"

The least you could do is put a baby mask on and torture me. Nothing is worse than summary dismissal. I can tolerate a lot of nonsense, but to be marginalized...that is a severe irritation. And I do not do well with irritation. When it comes to big problems, I tend to just bounce back, but irritation? Suddenly I have a particular set of skills, and you best sleep with one eye open, because I'm coming for you and everything you hold dear. 

Eventually this will get solved, my boss will call someone, whatever. But try telling that to David Banner when he's Lou Ferrigno. So I tagged them on twitter to let them know I am dissatisfied with their customer care, especially customers who don't actually want to use their service, but are being forced to. It was a pointless, futile gesture, one made entirely of pointless spite, and an AI account did say "Sorry about that, chief, what's say you and a totally human and not-at-all chatbot have a very human conversation about human matters. Like, Number 5 is alive, am I right? Ha ha, what is kiss?"

Y'know, back in my day, you just went and got a job. You did that job, you got paid, the end. Now there's a dozen payroll companies all providing what is essentially the same "service," which is to make Human Resources an administrative redundancy (and, let's be honest, it always was. Name one useful HR rep you've ever met.) and essentially farm more personal data. Over the years, I have used many of them (I still have apps on my phone for three separate payroll companies, none of them this one, and the new nursing home job wants me to download yet another) and have yet to have a good experience with any of them. All are the opposite of user friendly, a strange other world of tabs, forms, a veritable appendix of appendixes in that it serves no purpose, but if it blows up it can kill you.

Anyway, why was I here again?

Oh, yes, why I want to be famous.

Long walk.

The only reason I could think of would be for revenge.

Like, I want to be the anti-influencer. Anti-Marketing. Become a famous author and then say:

"Ahem, here is a list of every employer, company, business, and individual who has ever mistreated, marginalized, or otherwise cheated or inconvenienced me in any way. I, your beloved hero, am telling you, adoring public, not to use their services, buy their wares, or break when you see them crossing the street."

Not enough famous people utilize their fame to fight again capitalism, which has made us all helpless automatons, unable to navigate an increasingly difficult world in which we have no money, power, or free will, victims of the rough beast that slouches toward bethlehem.

It is literally the only reason I can think of for being famous, because wealth does not interest me in any way (not that a decent amount of money would make me unhappy, I just don't want mansions and car collections and any of the other misappropriations of resources the wealth elite use to violate the world and other people: they're all villains, even the ones you like, never forget that), would be to bring the very system of fame down to ruin. 

I should probably get on that.

Yes, All Men

 I am severely sleep deprived at the moment, but I wanted to sit down and throw some thoughts together on an issue that is deeply concerning and fills me with insane rage and incredible sorrow, and that is the news this week that there is apparently a website in which Men shared tips on how to drug their female counterparts so that they could rape them. 

A "Rape Academy," if you will.

Not only that, but also stories were shared in which men drugged said women and invited other men to rape them as well.

And this site that tens of millions of views.

...

I wish I could say this surprised me. 

It doesn't.

This is a difficult thing to discuss, for a number of reasons, but I feel it's important to do more than share social media posts and memes decrying it, because that requires no self reflection, no conversation, no real thought. To share a post isn't even technically acknowledgement or agreement, it simply is boosting someone else's thought, and men are far too silent on this issue.

It's a difficult subject because you worry you'll say the wrong thing, you'll make things worse, you'll overstep bounds...sometimes the best thing a straight, white, cishet male can do is recognize they have no lines in the play and should just keep their mouth shut. Normally, I tend to lean in that direction more often than not (which is the definition of a poor sentence, but this is a stream of consciousness blog, so deal with it) because I want others to have that space for their voices.

The subject is also difficult because, when a man discusses it, they have to confront unpleasant truths about themselves, but considering I've made a career out of confronting unpleasant truths about myself (makes up probably 90% of my depressing and anxious thoughts, after all), that shouldn't be too hard.

So it's difficult to talk about. But sometimes...well, that means you have to talk about it. 

I was originally going to say "I'm against it" and let others do the talking, until I saw the call to action from many women directly asking us men to talk about it, and the only thing more important than shutting up is listening.

So I listened.

For a couple days now, I've been seeing the posts, the anger, the sadness, the hopelessness. The memes, the frustration, the outcry at the silence...also the pushback. The "not all men" comments, the resurgence of the "Man or Bear" meme...just now, prompting me to begin writing, was a meme in which a woman shared a photo of herself in a hospital bed after she was body slammed in the parking lot of a gas station by a man whom she refused to give her phone number to, along with a comment from a man stating (I'm paraphrasing) that "men need to respected" and I nearly threw up.

I'm finding it difficult to pontificate on the point that "rape academy is bad." Back in high school, my debate coach told me I had a tendency to accept certain points as self evident, and that it would hurt my cases, and I don't think I ever had the ability to really correct that, so I lack the ability to explain why "rape academy is bad" because that shouldn't need to be explained. Feels pretty fucking self-explanatory.

And yet.

But I do want to talk mainly about the "Not All Men" nonsense.

Because FUCKING YES ALL MEN. 

Even you, bro, and even me.

Every woman has a story about a man, and EVERY man has a story about him. 

I'm sure I'm the subject of more than a few, in fact, and that keeps me awake at night, as it should every man.

I know that I have never intended to harm anyone in my life. This is not an excuse, it simply is a truth of myself, but it is also true that I absolutely have created spaces that were unsafe for women. I have done is a partner, as a friend, as a coworker, as an employer. I never once intended to do so, I always believed myself a feminist, a promoter of equality, and someone who seeks to actively buck the patriarchal systems that dominate this shitty world in hopes of being a "safe" man. I think maybe sometimes I have succeeded, hopefully more so than I failed, but that's the thing, right? Just a couple weeks ago, I patted my female coworker on the shoulder, and then thought for a second and apologized to her for touching her without consent. I mean, I hate being touched and yet I felt like that was okay. She accepted the apology, even though she thought nothing of it, but I still felt guilty. And yes, even something that simple is relevant. 

I acknowledge that I have failed on many an occasion, and I try to keep that in mind, take responsibility and accountability, and be better today than I was yesterday. I feel sick when I think of some things I've done and said in the past, the way my words and deeds have been interpreted, and I cringe when I think about the man I've been. I acknowledge that, even in my forties, I have a lot to learn, a lot of growing to do, and I spend a considerable amount of time thinking about it.

There have been times when I am walking behind a woman and realize she's getting nervous, and at first that feels like an insult, and then I remember the simple fact that she has to get nervous for her survival and it breaks my heart. I want to say "You don't have to worry about me, I'd die before I harmed you" but I realize that likely would only make things worse. I try not to be behind women if I can avoid it, I try not to get too close, give wide space...because if there is something I can do to make her feel even a tiny bit safer, why wouldn't I?

But apparently that's too much for many a man. Still there is a persistent "Not all men" conversation, the idea that "men are protectors" and PROTECTORS FROM WHAT?! Fucking YOU?!

And to the women out there...I'd choose the damned bear, too. If for no other reason than the bear isn't going to mention Andrew Tate or Joe Rogan when it's trying to kill me. Bear is probably smarter, too, really. 

I wish this was more eloquent. I really feel strongly about this and I don't feel like I'm getting it right. I'm getting emotional, it hurts my head, and I really wanted to make something polished and proper but it's turned into a mess, but that is what stream of consciousness gets you sometimes, and Nathaniel don't do two takes. 

In the end, the purpose is to say that I hear the women out there, I see what they're going through, and I am urging other men to do the same. Do not be silent, do not be blind, do not condone. Call your friends out, your bosses and coworkers, and do better in recognizing the space you create for those around you (hell, not even just women: the world would be a far better place if we used some basic awareness of other people around us). Because you are creating that space, guys, feminism is not "taking over," there is no "girlboss" agenda affecting your agency. Men still have all the power, you see it daily on the news as our country continues to become the most pathetically evil force this world has ever seen and, while you may not to be able to do much about the macro power structure, you have way more influence over the micro structure than you realize. You absolutely do create the space around you, and you can always do more to make that space safer. Acknowledge that privilege and use it be better. You want to be protector? Create a space where no one needs protection. You want to be the man she chooses over the bear? Be better than the fucking bear. 

And, seriously, if you happen to be one of the 62 Million (?!) men who attended this rape academy bullshit? Eat shit and die. Because while I strive to make my spaces safer for others? You sure as shit ain't included. But there is always time to rethink, atone, and act right. Acknowledge you've done bad, and try to be better tomorrow than you were today. It's not about apologies, it's about correcting the course. 

And to those affected, triggered, and frightened by this, trust me when I say that I am genuinely sorry for that, and I make the very solemn pledge to practice what I preach. I will never say that I am genuinely safe, because I acknowledge I am a product of a system I abhor, but I can say that I will always listen and believe women, that I will always try to be as safe as I possibly can be. 

And please continue to be safe. Whatever it is you have to do to feel as safe as you can be. Cover those drinks, walk to the car in groups, carry that pepper spray, whatever you need to do. 

Because Yes, All Men. And that fucking sucks.

Trapped

 Feeling particularly trapped tonight. I have this interview in the morning, which is for a job I likely will find more tolerable, but it pays nothing and is likely part time, and I simply don't know if I can manage it (even though my overhead is the lowest it's been since the early 2000's). I could be wrong, and it could be full time or at least roughly 32 hours, which is potentially doable, but I doubt it. 

Every single week, two nights a week, I am asked to work the desk alone at the hotel I work at, and it's way too much for my anxiety. I have panic attacks before these shifts even occur, and then usually have at least one while on the job itself. I am the only non-manager (and the only individual besides my direct boss) to be asked to handle the job alone, and it's more responsibility than I feel comfortable with, the environment is always hostile (loud noises, lots of check-ins and guest requests, angry guests, not to mention the multiple times a night people can't seem to figure out how to pull open a door and get mad at me about it), and it leaves me feeling very tired, stressed, and deeply anxious. 

I have made it clear how I feel about it. To anyone and everyone. Every time, I'm told "well, there are times you have to work alone," instead of even the barest amount of sympathy (even a platitude of "we're working on hiring someone" would be sufficient in at least making me feel like anyone gives a shit) or effort, which essentially means I feel taken advantage of and undervalued. 

This isn't really new, really, that is generally what happens with capitalism, but considering that I didn't originally work alone here, it really sucks to go through on a weekly basis. It makes me feel very angry and exhausted and generally exacerbates my mental health issues (which I also have made clear many times: I told them I have an actual diagnosed anxiety disorder in my fucking interview) and yet, I am at best dismissed, at worst mocked. 

So I spend my whole week dreading these two shifts, find it difficult to relax and rest, and even when not alone, I feel increasingly angry and insulted and hurt that no one considers my feelings even worth discussing, let alone making a concession for. And it's not like there aren't people who could work overnight with me. Shit, they could sleep for half of it and I'd be fine, as long as I know there just is someone else. 

And I come back to the same problems. Can I afford to take a different job? If I do, will I ever get out of the one room I rent in a city I largely can't stand? Is this all in my head? I keep working on the assumption that it is in my head, and it has kept me working through for a month now, but nothing has changed, and I'm feeling more and more disgruntled. And that's assuming they'll even hire me somewhere else. I find the easier jobs, the ones where I have less responsibility, they never seem to want to hire me...I assume I'm overqualified (and I am, let's be clear on that) and therefore not taken seriously as an applicant. I went into that movie theater last week, told the manager (who was, y'know, twelve years old) that I genuinely wanted to work there, regardless of salary limitations, because I liked the work and the environment, and he told me he might call me in for an interview but hasn't. 

I'd love to work two low paying, low responsibility jobs. Nursing home dishwasher by day, movie theater by night, low pay but peaceful mind, close to home, generally rushing around...it sounds quite nice. But these places aren't calling, aren't hiring, aren't interested. Job hunting used to be simple and easy. But then, so did getting an apartment. So did commuting to work. As capitalism tightens it's evil, republican stranglehold on America, the harder simply living becomes. So, even though a simple, quiet life seems immanently possible, it keeps being yanked out for needless reasons. 

Therefore, trapped.

It's possible I'm sliding into a depression stage of the cycle again, but I don't necessarily feel that way outside of situational forces. I don't really hate myself right now. There is also the intrusive thought or memory, that still happens on a good day, but nothing that drags me into things. I've even been sleeping a little better lately, my sleep cycle has remained largely consistent (even though I find myself wishing more and more that I could go to bed at night when normal people do more than usual the past few weeks), and social interactions with friends online (the only method in which I actually socialize with friends these days) don't feel as negative. So is this just sliding into the dark side? I dunno. It doesn't feel that way. But I can't trust my own thoughts and feelings most days, and that is a deeply frustrating thing to feel. 

I know some people know what that's like, the fundamental lack of trust in ones own mental and emotional state, but if you don't? It sucks a lot. Never being sure if a feeling is your actual intuition or just you being crazy, that gut feeling could be your instincts trying to help you, or it could just be your brain lying to you. 

So, no idea what to do, really. I know I'll go to the interview and see what's happening. At least we start there. But even if that goes well...I have to face another night alone at this place? And I know it's going to be a lousy night...it will be frustrating and filled with anxiety (and I know, because I already am anxious about it: I took a walk around the building in the warmer weather just to stave off a panic attack), and I will leave feeling worse than when I went in, and nothing will change. 

As Buffy once said: the hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. I know living in it is the one thing that makes me not want to anymore. 

Can't get no (satisfaction)

 It's been almost a month since I wrote anything, but I've been meaning to get back to it, but haven't really had the time at work (and never did get into the habit of working on it at home), nor did I really feel particularly compelled to do so...just haven't had as much on my mind, I guess? 

The upswing of depression has mostly held, anxiety has remained high, but I have been sleeping better. Most of my general frustration has been work related, but I do keep coming back to a familiar problem, which is my own strange dissatisfaction with my own lot in life.

I often find myself wishing I could just, y'know, be okay. With my life, in general. I have housing (while not great, it exists and is relatively affordable), a job that pays okay (even if it is often frustrating and fills me with considerable anxiety and irritation), relative health (?) and at least a few good friends, even if they aren't necessarily close by and/or available for regular hangouts...I mostly spend my time watching movies and television and taking edibles, and that really ain't so bad, since it's pretty much all I really want to do. Media makes me happy. All I really want out of life is to watch movies and television and talk about them with my friends.

So, why aren't I happy? 

I mean, sure, I'm lonely and would like to experience love. There is that. With spring beginning, I suppose that sensation begins to become more prevalent: the wanting of a partner and everything that comes with it. 

And, sure, I share a bathroom? That is an issue, too. 

I feel ashamed of my living situation? I'm in my forties and live in a single room in a bad neighborhood, it's not exactly spanish fly with the ladies...or so I assume, since I haven't spoken to any women I might be interested in (sans awkward maybe-kinda-sorta flirting with a coworker I have a little crush on), so I have no idea. I know I always believed that the kind of woman I'd be interested in being with wouldn't care about such shallow things like living situations, income, body hair, height, weight, and amount of hair on my head (I mean...she'd have to be) but it's one thing to believe in that, and another to actually experience it. Not to mention a ton of rejection sensitivity that had always been there, but hasn't gotten any better in my advancing age. 

Often, I find myself thinking that I should be doing better, most people my age have families and houses and long term jobs and all sort so things that I probably should have. I can't tell if I don't have those things due to my tendency to self-sabotage, my mental health issues, or simply bad luck (it's probably a combination of all of those things), but here I sit without them. And I know that at least part of it is my own poor decisions and a general sense of never being satisfied with things I do have. 

I don't know how to fix half the shit that's wrong. I don't really know how to fix my housing situation (money is easy enough to put together, really, I just haven't been bothering, spending money on things that momentarily make me happy instead of planning for any long term goals) without dealing with frustrating things like credit scores, accounts in collection (pretty sure the roach haven I lived in briefly in St.Louis renewed my lease and then evicted me, so applications for housing keep coming back with less than stellar results), and other fun things. Unfortunately, the current state of our country doesn't help much of anything, as housing becomes even harder to manage. But I can't blame it all on that.

The point I'm getting at is that I always had this thing where I look at what else I could have instead of looking at what I did have. There was always a better job, a better place, a better life...but never any sense of satisfaction with my current position. Like Luke Skywalker: always looking to the horizon, never focused on where he was, hm? What he was doing. 

And now I fear it's too late, and this is where I am, and what I am doing, and I'm worse off than ever. I made a decision when I moved into the room, that I would take my time and stand still instead of chasing the next decision, the next hurdle, the next goal. But I find that to be very difficult and stressful, to not be planning, or just to not even have a plan. I always had a plan, folks, always, and now I don't. Just podcasting, working, and trying to sleep enough to manage those things. Which is going well enough, at the moment, I suppose, even if I sometimes worry that I'm losing my voice (not literally) in a lot of ways. 

Partially, that was what this was for. To regain that voice. I probably should try to write some fiction, put together some kind of art. This situation does feel like a starving artist kind of scenario, and maybe that'll give me some confidence to figure out what's next, or at least, y'know, talk to a girl. Because, while maybe I can't change my circumstances much at the moment, I can probably do something about my confidence. 

Perhaps productivity can be the first step towards a new horizon. 

There's probably more to say (or at least a more coherent point to make), but things are beginning to get busier at work, so I should probably stop writing.