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Tuesday on the Soapbox

The Long-Standing Feud Between Math and Me

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For much of my school life, I have hated math. It was the one subject I didn’t always do very well in. The studies of literature, social studies, and science came easily to me, as did the studies of foreign language, music, and drama; they were like favorite cats, purring in my lap and winding lazily around my ankles. Math was a different beast entirely–learning math was like trying to catch an eel with Vaseline-slicked hands.

And yet, strangely, I remember a time when I didn’t hate math. I would ask my father to come up with adding and subtracting problems with big numbers when I was first going to school, just to show how I could do it. But that was within the safety of my home, where I knew I wasn’t going to be teased within an inch of my life for being wrong.

First Problem with Math: I’m Either Right or I’m Wrong (and Usually, I’m Wrong)

At school, I didn’t feel I could afford to be wrong in front of everyone else. If I called out a wrong answer to a math problem, I heard about it for the rest of the week in vicious taunts and insults (more than normal ribbing)–the other kids couldn’t get enough of me failing, because usually I did so well in classes.

And, unluckily for me, wrong answers just became more and more common on my math tests and homework as I grew up. Soon, math wasn’t just adding and subtracting anymore, but “multiplying” (something I barely wrapped my brain around before the end of third grade), not to speak of the devilish art of “dividing”. (I believe long division is practiced most often in one of the circles of Hell described in Dante’s Inferno.)

Multiplying and dividing were longer, more involved processes, which were harder for me to concentrate on anyway because they were a pain to learn and a pain to remember. And because they took longer to do and I didn’t like focusing on them, they were harder to get right. Moreover, I didn’t understand WHY I had to do them. Adding and subtracting were easy because they were quick to do and I could easily see where they were used in the “real world.” Pardon the Southernism, but I thought, “When in tarnation am I going to have to know how to divide 256 by 8, or know the result of 12 x 17?”

As I got into these somewhat higher realms of math in upper elementary school, I was at the same time studying more advanced literature, social studies, and science, since I was in the Academically Gifted program. No one, not my teachers or the other students, could understand why I was so good at everything but math, and I could not tell them why either, but I could tell them exactly how frustrated it made me.

Second Problem with Math: It Makes Me Look Stupid

Much later, I was able to understand what it was about math that drove me nuts. Math proved to me how imperfect I was. The subject of math showed me that no matter how hard I tried, I was always going to be stupid and wrong at SOMETHING, and that other people would likely focus on the one thing I did WRONG rather than the 99 things I did RIGHT. We, as a society, focus on errors in someone else’s performance much more than we focus on their successes. (Can I get an AMEN?)

As a perfectionist, math and its nearly-inherent difficulty infuriated me beyond reason; I, too, focused on the one thing I did poorly on versus the many things I could do well. How could I spend literally HOURS working and working at a problem and get it WRONG? Was there not credit for effort, for the number of times I had to erase and start over? (I hate erasing almost as much as math–you never quite get the paper clean again!)

Not to mention that there was no way to “skip a step” to make the process of each problem faster; if I tried to make it go faster, I ended up getting horribly wrong results. To do it right, I had to do it slow, and I hated going slow. I wanted the answers yesterday, and I wanted them to be right, too, but my brain just wouldn’t do them. The processes I was asked to use were always so long and drawn-out and boring to my mind, and you had to do them JUST SO or everything would tumble down like a house of cards you breathed on too hard.

Third Problem with Math: It Became the Largest Source of Anxiety in My Academic Life

By fourth and fifth grade, math became a seat of anxiety in my mind, and anxiety, as I now know, “locks up” my thought process. All I could think about while trying to work on math problems was how much of a pain the problem was, not how to do it, and I ruminated around and around in circles till I couldn’t focus anymore. Even multiple-choice tests were no help; I often came up with answers that weren’t even LISTED. I could work myself into a nice big crying fit just trying to do five math problems, because each of them made me look stupid and helpless with every fruitless minute I spent on them. The other students’ teasing voices and laughter only served to heighten my anxieties even further–not only was I having trouble with math, but my troubles were public knowledge. The shame of it!

The Math Hatred Flowchart

The only thing this flowchart doesn’t show is that my math hatred was cyclical–once I got to the “math hatred of epic proportions,” problem-solving got longer, and longer, and longer. This, as you might imagine, led to more anxiety, more teasing, even more anxiety, and even more of a sense of futility. Why even keep TRYING to do well at this subject, when it was obviously in God’s will that I keep failing?

Fourth Problem with Math: It Was the Only Way to Be Respected Academically

By “failing”, I mean getting less than 90% on tests and homework. I was supposed to be one of the “smart kids,” but math threw me into emotional tailspins and locked me on a straight downward course with the ground. I was supposed to be a “smart kid,” but I was hamstrung when it came to math. It dragged down my GPA and made others doubt my gifts in other areas.

And of course, in the mid-to-late ’90s, being hyper-good at math meant you were considered a genius, while being hyper-good at everything else BUT math meant there was something wrong with you. All the “math and technology” special schools and the math competitions that sprung up everywhere told me that. Math was how you “got ahead” academically, how you got respect from other kids (and teachers!), and I just COULDN’T DO IT.

The frustration I experienced! I coveted that respect more than anything–I sure as heck wasn’t getting any friendship at school, after all. If I was disrespected and generally repudiated by most of the kids I went to school with, where did I belong in the academic society? Nowhere, and I wanted to belong, very badly.

Fifth Problem with Math: It Threatened to Ruin My Fragile Social Status

Other than my academics, I really didn’t have much going for me during much of my public schooling. I had no friends, no social life; for much of it, I had nothing else I did that was just mine, like a special gift of any sort. I was just “smart”, but I didn’t feel I deserved the label of “smart” because I stunk at math. My social status in school, for much of my public school life, rode on my grades, and those darned low B’s in math made me feel worse than average–again, like there was something wrong with me because I wasn’t good in a subject full of absolutes and just numbers.

Up until 7th grade and the discovery of my musical and written gifts, math kicked me in the shins over and over again, making me feel that no matter how old I got, I’d never get any respect for my intellect. I’d always be judged as lacking, by both my peers and my authority figures. To the boys, I was just another “stupid girl” who wasn’t good at math. To the girls, I was some unpopular whining thing who cried over her math books all the time. And the teachers just couldn’t get a handle on WHY math made me so angry. At the time, I could not tell them all of this, because I couldn’t self-analyze. All I knew was that the sight of numbers on a page with the instructions “Do 30 of these problems” locked my brain into obsession with my imminent failure.

The Math Feud, From Middle School to Present-Day

All of the above problems and fears popped up at irregular intervals throughout middle school, high school, and even up into college. I began to see myself as a complete failure when it came to math, so I didn’t expect hardly anything of myself when working with the subject matter. Though I hated seeing those B’s in math appear next to my perfect record of A’s in all the other subjects, I knew it was no better than I could do. I was stupid in math, and the sooner I realized it, I reasoned, the sooner I could perhaps get over this crippling anxiety and fear of failure.

But it rankled in my gut that I couldn’t do any better, and occasionally anxiety still gripped my mind again when faced with problems I just didn’t know how to do. (Example: my College Algebra midterm, in which I stared at the paper for about 10 minutes before bursting into tears. I think I hate solving for x, y, and z just a wee bit more than scrubbing tile grout with a baby-sized toothbrush.) I struggled with math as long as I had to, and as soon as my college credits for math were satisfied, I avoided it as much as possible.

These days, math and I are not on speaking terms. I imagine if I saw math coming down the street on the same sidewalk as me, I’d switch over to the other side of the road, much as I avoid the real-life bullies I went to school with. I do as little with it as I possibly can, to keep from the feelings of futility and fear that ruled me in public school and college.

(I’ve also found that other highly-technical, absolute right-or-wrong subject matters, such as dynamic website coding, sentence diagramming/explicit grammar rules, and music theory are also difficult for me. An overly-long, involved process with lots of itty-bitty, easily-mistaken steps, leading to a result that might or might not be right, seems to be the perfect recipe for a Robin meltdown. PHP, MySQL, I’m lookin’ at you. :P)

Will There Ever Be a Solution to the Math Problem?

Math still means failure, anxiety, and tears to me, and I think it always will, just as literature and music will always mean success, comfort, and smiles. Even now, I kid that my brain is just “not wired” for math, and I willingly leave mathematical operations to those who wish to do them.

However, I do not believe that there is absolutely no hope for me when it comes to math. Perhaps, if I had a very understanding teacher who could help me gain more positive psychological associations with math, I could potentially break down the centrifugal anxiety ride long enough to actually do stuff with it. The curiosity about math that I once had as a child is still there, because it’s a mental frontier I have yet to conquer; it’s, however, a frontier whose native animals have bitten and stung me more times than I care to admit. 😛

Tuesday on the Soapbox

Driving like a Ninja

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In my little Ford Focus ZX3, I usually tool around town driving as defensively and carefully as possible. Of course, there is the odd moment where I am not focused on the road (phone ringing or preventing things from taking a tumble into the floorboard), but for the most part, I do my best to stay alert. This is very difficult in an age where we are all supposed to be hyper-accessible to other people no matter what we’re doing, and we’re all supposed to stay updated on absolutely EVERYTHING that happens every day.

Not only that, I use my car’s small size to maneuver in and out of traffic a lot more easily. Even though I have been in a couple of minor accidents (very, VERY minor–no injury and only a bit of damage), through God’s grace I’ve been able to avoid thousands more accidents. Sometimes I wasn’t sure whether I was going to be able to stop in time–and sometimes, I’ve thanked God that I looked up or noticed something when I did.

This is what I call “ninja-driving”–scooting away from danger and getting where I need to be as safely as possible. It involves quite a bit of alertness, a large helping of creative driving skills, and lastly (and most importantly), a lot of divine blessings. 😀

An Old-School Example of Ninja-Driving from My Family

I suppose ninja-driving runs in the family. A funny family anecdote goes something like this:

My grandfather was driving my grandmother, mom, and dad to a backyard barbecue in the community. They arrived, and he was trying to park in the hosts’ car-crowded front yard. The only way to get to the last piece of usable yard space (it was a BIG barbecue!) was to drive straight between two other cars, which at first looked too close together to get through.

Without a pause, Granddaddy slowly advanced toward the cars, and the narrow space between them. Gran and Mom were in the backseat of the car and saw what he was intending to do–they both gasped.

He laughed. “I’m not gonna worry till I hear my son-in-law holler.” And the car slid straight through without a scratch or bump on either side. 🙂

I don’t know if I’ve inherited much of Granddaddy’s abilities, but I do like to call my little car the “ninja car,” because its small size and decent pickup speed has helped it escape much danger (and thus, I stay safer, too).

How Do You Define “Ninja Driving?”

I like to think driving like a ninja includes the following:

  • Aggressive use of brakes (i.e., not being afraid to brake if it will avoid an accident). If the person behind you is too distracted to stop or too busy tailgating you to pay attention to your brakes, that’s not your problem. What would be your problem is if you let yourself be intimidated and ran into the back of someone else.
  • Tapping brakes to alert drivers behind you–flashing red lights usually attract attention, and it’s easier to hit than your hazards. I use this when I’m coming up on a traffic situation I’m unsure of, just in case the guy/gal behind me isn’t paying much attention.
  • Using the side of the road (carefully) as a way to avoid an accident–just don’t hit the brakes when your tire goes off-road, and don’t rush to get back on the road. Let off gas, glide onto side of road, then glide back on when it’s safe. Easy does it. Don’t get too nervous when you hear and feel the noise of your tire being off-road–trust me, your car will survive it much better if you don’t get nervous.
  • Watching your mirrors, all the time. I watch my rearview mirror (out of peripheral vision) almost as much as I watch what’s coming up ahead of me. Keeps tabs on tailgaters, rapidly accelerating people, people who don’t know what “STOP” means, etc.

    (This saved my life at a stoplight late one night–a transfer truck blew through a red light that I had been stopped at, until I looked in my rearview mirror and thought, “That guy doesn’t look like he’s going to stop.” I inched over into the left-turn lane instead, and a few seconds later, the truck barreled straight through the intersection. He would have totaled me and my little car both had I not seen him and moved.)

  • Taking back roads if it would mean avoiding a very difficult intersection or difficult turn.
  • Avoiding driving at night unless I have to–people seem to “forget” how to drive at night.
  • In very heavy rain, using hazard lights. Sometimes, that’s the only way people can see you in their rearview mirror when the world around their cars is veiled with a gray curtain of rain!

Summary

Driving is not just a skill, it’s an art…and like any art, it takes practice. Though I know I’ll never be as awesomely ninja as a stunt driver, a girl can dream–while avoiding accidents!

Sunday in the Wild

Wisdom Teeth and Headaches Gone

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I had my wisdom teeth extracted on November 3rd…as in, 10 days ago.

I bet you’re wondering why you’ve seen so much more of me on the Internet since then, instead of seeing me drop off the face of the Internet. One reason: the headaches I have had for EIGHT MONTHS are finally gone.

Symptom: The Burning-Sensation Headache

I started having burning-sensation, throbbing headaches in my temples around April of 2011, and I thought it was just another one of my body’s quirks. Since I’ve suffered migraines, blood-pressure headaches, menstrual headaches, and tension headaches throughout much of my life, I figured this was just another headache to add to the mix.

But this type of headache was odd. It behaved somewhat like a migraine, except misplaced–it didn’t occur in my eye or in the veins in my forehead like all my other migraines, but it made me feel nauseous and sensitive to light, and left me with no energy. And yet, it behaved something like a tension or cluster headache, too; my neck and shoulders stayed tense all the time, and it felt as though the headache rocketed back and forth along the trigeminal nerve. But that wasn’t all: if I pressed a fingertip to the source of pain at my temple, I could feel what felt like a corded blood vessel, pulsing and pounding just like a blood-pressure headache. It seemed that this headache had multiple personality disorder.

I suffered these headaches, often up to 10 times a month for 2 or 3 days at a time, for seven months; they were untreatable by most medicines, so I had to suffer through them. By the time October rolled around, I had had inexplicable trouble sleeping (going to bed at 5 AM and waking up at 1 PM, anyone?) combined with the headaches, and all throughout the month of October I felt as if I was too tired to live my life anymore. Pain was constantly with me, in the burning of my temples, and my life had shrunk to what I could manage versus what I wanted to do.

The Health (and Dental) Epiphany

To add insult to injury, at the end of October, my bottom right wisdom tooth began to act up–it and its three brethren had been playing hide-and-seek with me since I was 20, painfully bursting through the gums over a period of weeks, staying out for a few months, and then partially covering themselves back over with gum tissue. I figured this was another episode of the same stuff, so I did nothing about it, just switched over to eating softer food for a few days until the gum quit complaining.

But that was the odd thing: it didn’t stop complaining. In fact, it got worse, so much so that my jaw ached and it caused another one of those burning-sensation, normal-life-ceasing headaches. In desperation, I called my dentist, and they scheduled me for an appointment later in the week.

When they saw me, they first did an X-ray to see what might be the trouble; the X-ray results came back a few minutes later, and the dentist (an old pharmacy-school friend of my parents’) said, “Looks like your wisdoms are infected.”

Come again? INFECTED? How the heck could TEETH become infected?

But infected they indeed were–he showed me on the X-ray where the infection in each wisdom tooth had eaten into the jawbone, showing up as a small black spot behind each wisdom tooth. Ugghhh. I was sick at hearing that, but even sicker was the thought that the infection might have been going on much longer than I thought.

Out, Out, Darned Teeth!

An appointment was quickly made with an oral surgeon in the same building to extract all four wisdom teeth as soon as humanly possible, after a 10-day course of antibiotics had been run through me to dispel the grave infection. And so, on November 3rd, after 13 days of worrying and lots of praying, my dad drove me to the oral surgeon’s office to have my wisdom teeth removed.

I was so nervous about the surgery that my blood pressure and pulse were well above normal–the attending nurse noticed that the blood pressure reading was 133/90-something, though I didn’t catch the pulse reading. In fact, I was so scared that my nervous quivering was literally vibrating the dental chair underneath me. It wasn’t until the oral surgeon himself came in that I began to calm down, and that was mainly because he explained everything that was going to happen, including the effects of the general anesthesia I had opted for (I wasn’t about to be conscious during this stuff).

A peace I still don’t understand descended over me, just before the oral surgeon numbed my arm to put the anesthesia in. A minute or so after the anesthesia had been administered, I began to experience my vision fluttering, like the vertical hold on an old television gone slightly off-kilter, and then…blessed nothingness.

Well, I shouldn’t say exactly “nothingness.” I did have a dream under anesthesia, about my uncle (my mom’s late older brother) talking to me. As I recall, the dream felt about 2 minutes long, and felt absolutely real…and then I awoke to the nurse asking me if I felt like walking to the wheelchair they had waiting for me. I was clumsy as ever getting up out of the dental chair, so I figured I was back to normal (LOL). My jaw and mouth were all over numb, and I felt like I had Jay Leno’s chin extending out from my face, even though I was not swollen externally much at all. (“Phantom sensations,” I think they call that.)

I recovered quickly in the office’s recovery area–the guy in the curtained-off area beside me wasn’t doing very well, bless his heart. Not sure what was going on with him, but it sounded like he was in a lot of pain. In comparison with him, my experience was a cakewalk. Dad drove me to Cook-Out, where I got a lovely vanilla milkshake (doctor’s orders)–it quickly became a vanilla-and-blood-flavored milkshake, but I was able to eat soft foods and able to talk within hours of the procedure.

The Unexpected Blessing

2 hours after the surgery, I realized something. The blinding, face-ripping headache I had experienced the night before the surgery, which had tempted me to consider tearing the trigeminal nerve out of my head to spare myself any more agony, was GONE.

Not only that, but it has stayed gone, even 10 days after the surgery. Sure, I’ve had a little bit of burny pain in my temples here and there as the wisdom tooth sockets heal and the other teeth get used to not having their pushy neighbors around, but it is NOTHING like what had dragged me down for eight months. I am left to conclude that my wisdom teeth and their infection were to blame for my headaches and inexplicable fatigue…and now that they are gone, my energy and my old personality are back. I finally have mental energy enough to play Clix with my boyfriend again, to design and update my websites again, and I feel like hanging out with people again…it’s like I got 75% of my life back by removing 100% of my wisdom teeth.

My only regret in this process? That I didn’t get my teeth seen about months ago. If I had, maybe I could have actually LIVED more of 2011 outside my house instead of lying in my bed, clutching my head and crying. Moral of the story: if you have burning-sensation headaches that you just can’t explain, your wisdom teeth (if you still have them) might be the hidden cause!

Thursday in the Zone

Support for Single- and Serial-Task Gamers

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There are people who manage multiple tasks, in life and in games, quite efficiently…and then there’s me. :/ I am not a multi-tasker. In fact, I’m the opposite–a single-tasker, or a serial-tasker, whether I’m living my life or playing a game.

Are You a Gamer Like Me?

I’m perfectly fine when there’s one thing to manage on-screen. Two things is a little like juggling–it’s okay, but not ideal for my concentration. Then you add a third thing, and that gets a little excessive. With four or more things to manage onscreen, I have to quit playing because my head is spinning. Diner Dash, for instance, is a really cool game, and I wish I could master it–but once I get more than two tables to manage, I’m no good. (I wouldn’t last a minute as a real waitress!)

Perfectionist Purgatory: Multi-Task Games

Time management and multiple-task management games are very difficult for me mentally; there are just too many places to look at on the screen, and too many timers to keep up with. Couple that with a touchpad mouse cursor which I have to keep finding onscreen, and the sense that I’m trying to do all this RIGHT and FAST, and I get very bothered. It’s simply too much to focus on, and I end up working very hard instead of relaxing.

A Perfectionist’s Paradise: Single-Task and Serial-Task Games

I focus better on single tasks at which I can excel, rather than doing multiple tasks, which forces me to settle for being “adequate” rather than “perfect.” Games that allow me to master one task or to completely own one skill are much more fun than trying to wrap my head around 12 or 13 at a time.

If I have to do multiple things, chaining them into a single-file line of serial tasks (do this, THEN this, THEN this) works a whole lot better for me, which is why I do better at games like SimCity–first, I build the power plant, THEN the residential areas, THEN the roads, and so on.

I also do better with turn-based games like Magic: the Gathering and HeroClix, though oddly enough, I usually have many small parts of a combo put together rather than fewer big pieces. Not sure why I can manage a battlefield full of Clix…though even then, I sometimes “forget” certain of my pieces exist! I think it’s because I can use one figure to attack, another figure to enhance damage, yet another to reroll a bad roll, etc–there are different single tasks all over the field that activate at different times.

Other Examples of Multi-Task Games and Mechanics

The new Resident Evil box, Outbreak, introduces a mechanic called infection counters, which work like Poison Counters in Magic–if you get 10 infection counters, the game changes drastically for you. You become an Infected creature yourself and spend the rest of the game attacking the other players.

Infection counters in Resident Evil are just as annoying as Magic’s poison counters. It’s another timer to keep up with–every turn you don’t explore the Mansion, you get a counter. If someone Explores and hits a certain couple of creatures, you get a counter even though you didn’t even do anything. Someone else can also give you a counter just by playing one of the other cards from the Outbreak box.

This is a good example of something extraneous I don’t like focusing on as part of a larger game. It’s another task to keep up with, and it makes the game feel like work instead of relaxation. For me and gamers like me who like to focus on one thing at a time, time-management and multi-task games are much more difficult. (One reason I quit Farmville–too much stuff to build, too much stuff to keep up with!)

The Possible Brain Reason Why

I mentioned perfectionism before, but I think my particular aversion to multi-tasking comes from how intensely I pay attention to the tasks I’m on. Once I’m on a task, I zone in very tightly on it. I’ve been known not to hear someone calling me or speaking to me because I’m reading or playing a video game; I’ve also been known not to notice one person who’s trying to talk to me if I’m really listening to someone else. It’s like I’m deaf and blind to everything else–I literally DON’T hear or see other stimuli while I’m working on something; it’s not me being rude or ignorant, but simply very, very focused. (This is why I didn’t make a good teacher. 30 kids to try to help at one time? Not going to happen with my brain set-up. XD)

When you take this mindset into gaming, you can understand why I get overwhelmed by too many rules, too many things to remember, etc., in a game. Too many things to focus on means that nothing gets any attention because I’m getting flustered. A game that allows me to focus on one task or one task at a time is a much more relaxing (and fun) game for me, while it might be too easy for those who multi-task well.

More Online Games for Other Single- and Serial-Task Gamers

Personally tested by yours truly for amount of fun and relaxation. I’ve enjoyed all these games, and I think you will too, if you like your games with a generous dash of intense focus rather than scattered attention everywhere.
Dice Wars
The Sand Game
Loops of Zen
Chain Reaction
Sloyd^3
Flowerseed

Tuesday on the Soapbox

“Woot!”

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I say this often and about the most random things. Someone just got through a terrible traffic jam without getting hit? WOOT! I just found out one of my Sunday School class is out of the hospital and resting well at home? WOOT!

Some might think it’s weird for me to holler “Woot!” about small things like this. After all, the saying “WOOT” supposedly came from gamers saying “We Own the Other Team” (which I highly doubt because “Woot” is clearly a celebratory noise). But I use it like I think it means–a sound of joy, celebration, happiness restored. And I’m not shy about using it, even though I’ve had people tell me I need to be quiet or I need to stop using it because it sounds stupid or childish.

My opinion is, if we don’t celebrate the small things, praise God about all the little things He’s done for us, then we won’t be used to praising Him when the big miracles come our way. “Woot” is simply my way of praising with joy and abandon. If we forget how to be happy and instead practice complaining, soon there won’t be much for us to “woot” about in our whole lives. Being more childlike, being willing to shout for joy rather than clamming up just because it’s “not proper” to hoot and holler, is how I’d prefer to live.

I’m willing to look a little stupid in front of others, if it means I praise God, Who has done the wonderful thing I’m shouting “woot!” about. Sure, in that moment I don’t sound like a woman in her late twenties who “oughta know better.” But maybe I don’t have to “know better.” Maybe I’m perfectly okay allowing myself to celebrate even small victories. …And maybe we’d all feel a little better if we let out a “woot” or two about our own small wins.

Tuesday on the Soapbox

Poem: Not From This (Social) Planet

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This was a dribble of content I couldn’t do anything with, until I turned it into a poem…and then it bloomed, suddenly and unexpectedly. I hope you enjoy this very different Tuesday on the Soapbox entry…

Sometimes I wonder if
I just landed here some years ago
Look out the back window
Wondering where my spaceship is

Been here long enough to acclimate
And yet the society I live in is baffling
I’m supposed to be a human
But human nuances perplex me

I don’t understand why “friends” trash-talk each other
I don’t understand why humans
Like to see each other in pain
I don’t understand why it’s funny to watch someone else fail
I don’t understand why people
Like to yell at those they love

Cloaking this misunderstanding
Is easy most of the time
But I can’t hide my grimaces from everyone
Someone’s bound to notice

Too sympathetic to not react,
Too chicken to speak up
I am caught in a trap of silence
And it’s easier to stay in it

I don’t understand why wars have to be fought
I don’t understand why humans
Defend things and ideas more than each other
I don’t understand why it’s funny to provoke another to tears
I don’t understand why people
Hate someone else’s ideas enough to kill

Was I really born as a human,
Or do I have shape-changing alien skin?
Am I really part of this society,
Or will I one day be called back to space?

It really makes me wonder,
Because there’s so much I don’t get
About how we all relate to each other–
And why I’m beginning to mimic it

I don’t understand why distant death is worth a shrug
I don’t understand why it’s weird
To cry for someone you never knew
I don’t understand why it’s okay to ignore someone else’s need
I don’t understand why humans
Have to need and be hurt before they understand

Thursday in the Zone

When Gaming Has Become Un-fun

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It’s slowly been happening, over the course of the last year and a half. Gradually, my weekend trips to the gaming shop my boyfriend and I frequent have become more work and less play. At first, I thought I was just being annoyed by some of the people who go there, but it’s not that. Disturbingly, it seems I’ve lost interest in playing many of the games I used to enjoy.

When I had my laptop with me at the shop, I could use it as a “shield” from all the bothersome conversations; I didn’t have to sit there thinking, “Do we REALLY have to spend 5 hours doing nothing but discussing new Magic cards? Do we REALLY need a long and involved discussion over dinner about the new HeroClix set?” I could surf the Internet in relative peace, doing what I really wanted to do (blogging, Facebook, surfing sites I never get to see over dialup), instead of being immersed in this gaming culture that I increasingly felt outclassed in. Now that my laptop baby is in the shop (and has been for almost two months), the situation’s scabbed top layer has peeled back, revealing a deep resentment and no small amount of anger about it.

My frustration with gaming (and my apparent loss of interest in it) is frightening and strange to me. This is an activity I used to enjoy greatly with friends and my boyfriend–in fact, my boyfriend and I bonded over HeroClix and Magic. Now, I find it useless to even play anymore; I know what’s going to happen as soon as I choose one of my Magic decks and he chooses one of his. It seems pointless to play. Same with HeroClix…I feel like I don’t have enough mental energy for the strategy required anymore, and even if I did, everyone would be using all the new “hot” figures and I’d be swept off the board before 5 rounds had passed.

It’s like I’ve lost my gaming mojo. Pardon the Austin-Powers-ism, but there it is. This activity, which I used to take such pride in and such pleasure in, is now almost worthless to me. I’ve suffered depression enough times in my life to know that “loss of interest in favorite activities” is a hallmark, but I don’t feel depressed in any other aspect of my life. Just gaming.

Since I at least have a passing knowledge of psychology, I sought to delve into this problem, and I came up with a few possible explanations for this:

  • I am female and the rest of the gaming crew is male
  • The current gaming crew is more cutthroat and competitive than my old gaming crew
  • Every weekend, I have to “share” my boyfriend with these competitive guys and I get almost no quality time with him
  • The old gaming crew has splintered apart, with most of them becoming competitive jerks like the current crew
  • With all the new expansion sets coming out in both games, I feel beaten before I even begin a game
  • I don’t feel like I’m friends with anybody in the current gaming crew
  • I can’t be my whole self with any of the current gaming crew because no one there cares about my writing, my music, my church activities, etc.

Let’s delve into each of these reasons, just a bit.

I am female and the rest of the gaming crew is male

I am bewildered at how much this bugs me. It never used to–I always got along better with guys than girls when I was growing up, and I never was particularly “girly” in terms of fashion and gossip. But I am an adult woman now, an adult woman with very few female friends left in my home state, and I find myself suddenly more isolated from “girl talk” than I realized. Most of my female friends have already “grown up”; gotten married, had babies, gotten jobs, etc. And here I am, still playing in the sandbox with the boys. The boys might be okay with a girl in their midst, but I increasingly feel that it’s not “my place” anymore, as bad as I want it to be. What began as a great way to spend my Saturdays is now the worst day of the week because I don’t feel like I fit in.

The current gaming crew is more cutthroat and competitive than my old gaming crew

When our old gaming shop closed, it seems, the old casual gaming crew went with it–we all went our separate ways for a few years. In the interim, we began attending a shop in another county, another city, with all new players. All was well and good for my boyfriend, who has a great love for games and blends in well with the other players because he knows rules better than anyone else. I, however, did not feel as though I had a place, because my casual style of play was simply outclassed by the competitive styles preferred by the “new” crew. I don’t like 5-turn defeats and alpha strikes, but I’m forced to play against these types of strategies just to ward off the painful boredom of sitting and watching.

Every weekend, I have to “share” my boyfriend with the new competitive crew and I get almost no quality time with him

This is a pretty big beef I have. We’ve been going out 3 1/2 years, and some Saturdays I feel more like a glorified taxi driving him up to the shop rather than an active participant once I get there. He tries to engage me in games, but more often than not he’s called away from our game to answer a rules question in another game, or he ends up talking strategy or new expansion sets with some of the other guys and it leaves me completely out. I feel like I have to “share” my boyfriend with everyone else on Saturdays, when I barely get any real quality time with him during his crazy-busy work week or on Sundays, and it leaves me feeling cheated. It’s hard to even bring this up with him because I feel like if I complain, then I’m being a typical whiny girlfriend and yanking him away from time with his friends, which I know he needs. But if I don’t complain, then it looks like I’m perfectly happy with the arrangement, which is not the case at all.

The old gaming crew has splintered apart, with most of them becoming competitive jerks like the current crew

I used to love playing with the old crew because we just HAD FUN–we weren’t trying to one-up each other all the time, or win money, or gain any kind of prestige. Now, at least 2 of our former number are always talking “best strategies to win tournaments” and playing like they’re in competitions all the time instead of playing against friends. There’s only one of the old crew I still even talk to like a friend anymore, because the others have become strangers to me. We all grew apart, I guess, and I find myself more nostalgic and wistful for what has been lost rather than trying to build anything new, because it just won’t compare.

With all the new expansion sets coming out in both games, I feel beaten before I even begin a game

I don’t play Standard format in Magic, and I don’t play Modern Age in HeroClix. Most of my cards and figures come from Vintage format and Golden Age…which singles me out among the players at the new shop. My strategies, therefore, don’t match up to a lot of the “new hotness” that is being produced by both game companies. I’m not drooling over the latest 13-attack Clix figure, nor do I care about the latest monstrous Infect creature that’s starring in all the Poison Counter Magic decks. I just want to play MY strategies, the ones I made up MYSELF, not something I got off the internet. But my strategies are not good enough to beat Tier 1 strategies, and like I said, I feel beaten before I even begin a game these days.

I don’t feel like I’m friends with anybody in the current gaming crew

Because I have withdrawn from the current crew’s gaming scene, I feel like I can’t get close to anyone. I desperately would like to make friends with them, even just to chat about random stuff, but no one seems to bother with talking about anything that doesn’t have to do with competitive Magic or HeroClix, etc. I feel hamstrung; I don’t always WANT to talk about gaming stuff because it’s become a smaller and smaller portion of my life, but what do I have in common with these guys otherwise?

I can’t be my whole self with any of the current gaming crew because no one there cares about my writing, my music, my church activities, etc.

I am much more than the sum of my games. But you’d never know that if you saw me at the gaming shop. I feel unable to talk about anything but games (see previous subheading), even though I have tentatively tried to broach other topics a few times. I have tried to share my poetry, my music, my church activities, the fact that I’m writing a novel, and tons more stuff about me, but no one seems interested. My forum threads are stillborn; no one is interested in me, and thus, I find myself less and less interested in them. How can I enjoy myself if I’m limited to talking about (or more often, listening to) stuff I don’t find interesting anymore?

A Kind of Summary

One thing’s for sure, this loss of interest in gaming goes much deeper than just hatred of a particular shop, a particular player, or how the games have evolved. It seems as if my very identity is shaken by this. I used to identify myself as a “gamer girl.” Now, I find myself wondering if I even want that label anymore. According to this very blog article, many things have changed in this situation, including myself, and…I am now at a crossroads. I’m sure I’m not the only female to find herself in this situation, but I am powerless to do much about it except write.

Perhaps, by writing this and getting some of these poisonous feelings out, I can find a way to either renew my interest in gaming or withdraw from it completely. After all, gaming is not life…at least, not for me anymore.

Tuesday on the Soapbox

How Can I (or Anybody) Forgive All the Time?

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I talk about forgiveness a good bit, but it’s much more difficult than I make it out to be. Sometimes, I pretend to forgive, but I really don’t. When someone hurts me on purpose, I remember it, whether I want to or not, for a long time. Years later, when I meet people who have previously been mean to me, I remember what they did, and it still negatively colors my perception of them. I might be able to carry on a polite conversation, but the horrible memories of their hateful words and actions hang between us like dirty laundry, silent but still fluttering in the breeze.

And I have a feeling I’m not the only one who carries these kinds of feelings.

Silently Unforgiven

When people deliberately hurt me and don’t care that they hurt me, I find it almost impossible to let go of the hurt.

Take the gang of girls in 6th grade who routinely stood on each other’s shoulders in the bathroom to see down into my stall so that they could make fun of my privates and my pooched-out belly, and dumped bathroom trash down on my head while they were at it. And their teasing did not just confine itself to the bathroom–oh, no, they poked me in the back with the sharp ends of pencils in class, slapped my open locker door so that it would hit me in the head, and mocked me so hard about my partially-clad body in the girls’ locker room that I took to changing in the tiny bathroom stall. (Not to say that these girls DIDN’T try to wedge their heads underneath the door so they could see me doing that, too. Ended up having to stuff my gym bag under the door so they couldn’t get under it easily.)

Their daily humiliation tactics are still effective years later–I’m still hunching in shame writing this. And it seemed that most of my teachers were blissfully unaware of this, or they chose to ignore it because I was the “problem kid,” the one who always cried about everything. I never stopped bringing this to their attention, but it took my parents talking to my teachers to get them to see that I wasn’t making this stuff up just to get attention. And even then, the teachers’ solution was to “make me some friends,” allying me with one of my worst enemies in an attempt to keep me from being lonely. They made such halfhearted attempts to understand or rectify the situation that it was laughable, if I could have laughed by then.

If I was commanded to instantly forgive these girls (as God commands us all to forgive), I don’t know if I could, not even 14 years later. I still want to punch every one of them in the face and stomp on their necks for the senseless cruelty they dealt out to a naive 12-year-old who didn’t know how to fight back. I have had vivid, triumphant dreams in which I did just that, letting the weight of my body, which they mercilessly teased me about, crush their throats so that they strangled to death under my feet. That’s how much I still hate all of those girls…

…and I hate myself, for being so evil as to think such things about another human being.

Silently Strangling Myself with Memories

Those mean girls aren’t the only ones I have trouble forgiving, either. Especially in middle school, I had a profound hatred for most of the people I went to school with, because I was verbally and physically abused by many different kids (shoved against lockers, held against the wall and pinched/slapped, picked on for everything from my “high-water” pants to my developing chest and hips). And I got repeatedly told by school authorities to “be more mature” and stop disrupting class with my complaints about being treated this way. All I know is, if this had been done to me in the “real world” and the offenders had been 18 years old, they would have been put on trial and sent to jail. I have a hard time forgiving the students who did this to me, the other kids who just stood around and watched, and the school authorities who refused to believe me and took the word of my tormentors over mine.

I’m probably the only one who still remembers what these people said and did; it lives with me every day. But how can I forget what they did, when it harmed me so much, when it happened at a time that I was very vulnerable?

I forgive the new hurts in my life a little more easily, because any harm I receive these days is usually due to accident rather than malice–we’ve all grown up and become a little nicer to each other, at least most of the time. But the old, malicious hurts, the ones I received while still developing, are almost too scarred to ever return to normal. How can I let go of the bitterness and hurt, when that bitterness and hurt has been incorporated into me, has become part of my story and part of the way I react to certain people?

Speaking, Finally

Acknowledging this gap between false forgiveness (paying it lip service while still feeling bitter) and real forgiveness (truly accepting the other person’s error as just that, an error) is important. Forgiveness, eventually, comes through realizing that people are not just the sum of their errors. One reason I’m so guilt-ridden about the mistakes I’ve made in my own life is because I keep looking at my life as a whole and only seeing the places I messed up–I focus too hard on all my errors, and it makes me have a negative self-image overall. I am not just the sum of my errors, and neither is anybody else.

But just realizing that is not enough to be able to forgive. This hatred, this bitterness and resentment, is old and dried and caked on my spirit. I have lived with it so long that it has become part of me, and excising it will take time. Yes, that gang of 5 or 6 girls made a lot of mistakes when they treated me like that, but I doubt they would have cared if someone had told them it was a mistake. Malice against another person for no good reason is something I don’t understand. Vengeance, angry justice, is something I understand all too well, and it’s something I still hunger for. Forgiveness cannot come if you are still seeking vengeance…believe me, I’ve tried.

Like many people who have trouble forgiving senseless, malicious acts, I don’t understand why I was treated the way I was by so many people, and I will likely have trouble forgiving until I understand. I have tried to reason out why so many of my classmates might have struck out at me this way–possibly jealousy because of my academic record? Possibly personal insecurity just like mine? Possibly trying to climb the social ladder by doing what everybody else was doing–picking on me? But nothing seems to match with the particular brand of outright gleeful cruelty that was dealt out to me by the gang of girls I spoke of. I fear I will never understand why they felt the need to hurt another person who was clearly no threat to them, physically, mentally, or spiritually. By the end of 6th grade I was so bent and broken inside that I often wished I would die in my sleep…and it was largely due to them. I was more of a threat to myself than they were, strictly because I knew hurting or killing someone else was wrong. (Didn’t stop me from thinking about it, a LOT, but I never did it.)

Forgiveness, the Christian Way

I know that to follow God’s will and Jesus’ teachings, I must be able to forgive, not just partially, not just saying the words, but actually doing it. And so, I am praying the following prayer, starting tonight and every night until I can finally forgive:

Lord, you know my feelings about these girls. You know how much I hate them, how much I resent them and regard them with bitterness. Help me lift these terrible feelings away from myself and trust them to You. Help me realize that these girls are humans too, that they might have been suffering too, even though right now I cannot believe that. Work in my heart and help me heal.

Forgiveness, the Christian way, is a daily process, full of backsliding and regaining balance; it’s not a one-time deal at all. If it was, I’d have been done years ago. This may seem silly to pray about something 14 years in the past, but if I’m ever going to feel free of bitterness, I have to do this. It may be the only way to stop feeling strangled with bad memories.

Sunday in the Wild

Little Fixes and Big Fixes

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I finally added the “Welcome” and “Home” links to the top-right navigation…I’d had the Welcome page ready for months, but just forgot to link to it, and the “Home” link was an oversight. At least it’s fixed now!

For the future of my blog, I’m considering just making one post visible on the opening page, and then allowing visitors to scroll somehow through the past week of posts. Also, I’d like a little About Me blurb on the side. But, until I figure out how to do all that, I’m going to let the sidebar alone. No need in poking the sleeping dragon just yet.

Also, in life news, I’m facing having my wisdom teeth removed…not looking forward to that. But it’s a “big fix” that needs to happen, otherwise I’ll be having trouble eating and talking without pain for the rest of my life. :/

Tuesday on the Soapbox

You Can Get Fat With Friends, But You Have to Get Healthy On Your Own

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As a “fat girl” for the last 14 years of my life, I have struggled with my weight and my shape, trying all different types of lifestyle changes, eating plans, and even exercise programs. I have alternately hated my body and tried to love it, tried to use exercise equipment and then eschewed it, etc. I’ve tried walking alone on a track; I’ve tried doing various diets (even low-carb, for about 5 minutes); I’ve tried exercising with music on headphones. Nothing worked for a very long time–I got bored, I got out of the habit, and then it was back to living like I was, relatively sedentary because of my lower body’s arthritic injuries, and avoiding anything green and leafy like it’s got mold.

Does “Healthy Living” Always Have to Equal “Lonely Living?”

During these years of struggle, I’ve noticed something: “living healthy” is a lonely process, like I referenced in the title of this article. It’s very difficult to get people to eat healthier with you, or to exercise regularly with you, due to scheduling, different food needs and likes, and just plain being too busy or too disconnected. And since I’m such a social creature, liking to do things with other people than by myself, it makes it doubly hard to stick to any plan. Not only are the plans difficult to follow because they’re SO different from the way I live my life and they often cause me lots of physical pain, but I have to do everything alone. Doing things alone is a great way to unmotivate oneself.

Perhaps I sound like a crybaby. No matter; I’ve been called a crybaby many times during my life, and I’d say that my sensitivity makes me a much more impassioned writer and a better artist than it makes me a well-adjusted human being. It’s just that if I have to go through something as life-altering, painful, and tough as “getting healthy,” then I’d like a little support. After all, there are support groups for everything else in life.

“Anti-Health” Support Groups, Ahoy!

In fact, I’m comfortable making the assertion that we currently have unintended “anti-health support groups” in America and around the world. There are plenty of people to help you eat all the wrong things, but if you’re on a super-healthy diet, you eat alone. There are plenty of people to help you laze around and watch TV all day, but if you’re going to exercise, you have to do it by yourself. We all help each other sink farther and farther into unhealthy activities because those unhealthy activities feel so darned good and the healthy activities feel like punishment.

In light of this, why are fat people like me subjected to teasing, ridicule, and blame, when we ALL are to blame for being rather hedonistic in our choices of lifestyle? Somehow, it’s still completely “our fault” for being fat, even when the culture immediately around us rewards bad choices and punishes good choices.

When Good Health is Associated with Bad Emotions

I’m tired of being lonely during exercise, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Apart from my Zumba experience, which has been amazingly awesome despite not being able to do quite all the moves yet, my exercise repertoire in the past mostly consisted of boring workouts that somehow manage to leave me unbearably sore and bedridden the next day.

Walking, for instance, BORES ME TO TEARS. Just walking and walking around in a circle not doing anything else productive is not relaxing for me–it makes me anxious about the time I’m wasting doing this useless junk when I could be at home working on a project I’ve got coming up. Walking and other “10-reps-of-this, 20-reps-of-this” exercises drive me insane. There’s nothing to THINK about except how much pain I’m in, and how much pain I’m going to be in tomorrow, and how airless my lungs feel. There’s an incredible isolation that descends upon you when you’re in pain–no one else can feel what you’re feeling at this moment, and quite possibly, no one even cares how much it hurts. When exercise is associated with humiliation and pain, it’s no wonder people don’t want to do it.

I’m also tired of being lonely at the dinner table, and I know I ain’t the only one. When everyone else is indulging in wonderful treats of all types and you’re stuck with a “Rabbit’s Delight” salad, you begin to feel like the odd one out. If you’re the only person counting calories, watching carbs or fat, etc., you feel like you’re in “Food Time-Out.” Starving oneself while everyone else eats heartily, eating something that tastes absolutely disgusting just because it’s “healthier” than what you like, is not my idea of culinary fun. As a very picky eater, hating almost all vegetables and fruits because of the nasty pulpy/crunchy textures and brackish dirt/water tastes, it’s hard for me to find healthy things that I can eat, though even I draw the line at Taco Bell’s ground beef these days (it’s more grease than meat, or is it just me?). I try to choose the least of the food evils and eat smaller portions of whatever I get, but I still feel like I’m depriving myself–and I end up hungry 45 minutes later, without fail.

Do We Deserve “Body Punishment?” I Don’t THINK So!

When “getting healthy” is lonely, boring, and horrible, it doesn’t exactly help anybody join the program. And yet, it seems there’s an idea of “body punishment” for those who have to get healthy to live longer lives–somehow, it’s perceived that we “did this to ourselves,” so we “deserve” all the pain and hardship we go through to get healthy. Not everyone who is fat and/or unhealthy got that way by life choices; sometimes, as in my case, our genetics chose for us.

A Side Note about How My Genetics Chose for Me
As a young child, up to about age 10, I was actually fairly slim, and tall for my age. In fact, my grandmother once got mad at my parents after seeing a photo of me at age 8 on a recent beach trip–she saw the dark circles under my eyes (hereditary) and the slenderness of my whole body and thought that they weren’t feeding me enough. But I went from being that tall and almost-too-skinny 3rd grader to being a rounded, textbook endomorph model in 5th grade. I was 90 pounds and 5’3″ at the beginning of 5th grade, and by the end of 5th grade, I was 145 pounds and 5’5″. I had just turned 11 years old, and went from skinny girl to fat girl almost overnight, gaining butt, breasts, and hips, and a wonderful little muffin top belly which has helped me look pregnant ever since. It was like a switch flipped off, and my metabolism crashed, with absolutely no change in exercise level or food intake. My mother, my aunt, both female cousins, and my maternal grandmother all went through this same body change at onset of puberty as well, so I know it’s not just peculiar to me.

I wish all the skinny Minnies who run diet and exercise plans understood this, how my own body betrayed me and made me a target for all the school bullies, both male and female. Because of how I was treated, especially in middle-school gym classes, exercise became strongly associated with feelings of unpreparedness, humiliation, and sub-humanity. It has taken over a decade to even begin to break down those psychological associations of punishment and pain, and I’m fairly confident my experience is all too typical.

How Can We Start Helping One Another?

Yes, I will say if somebody’s just sitting in bed day after day stuffing themselves until they’re almost sick, they’re doing themselves a disservice. But even so, they deserve support too. Otherwise, there will be no motivation to leave their comfort zone, and they will sink further into their painful and insidiously dangerous lifestyle. While I’ve never turned to food as an emotional void-filler, I do know the hopeless feelings associated with diet and exercise, and it’s no place for any human being.

If you truly want to help someone become healthy again, you don’t treat them like dirt–you offer them support in the form of being an “exercise buddy,” a “going-out-to-eat buddy,” whatever kind of buddy you need to be in order to keep them accountable (and keep yourself accountable, too). Knowing that someone else actually gives a rat’s rear end about what you’re doing is a wonderful motivator; I’ve seen it work with me and with other people, too. When other people reach out and care, when others connect with you, want to know week by week how you’re coming along, you start thinking “maybe I’m worth being cared about.” That healthy attitude change is the first real step to becoming healthy in body again.