Last week I was terribly unproductive. (This week has been much better: next week best be better still.)
Having my father here was just amazing. Per usual (sparing my annoyance at the television constantly being on, especially since I’m barely used to it being in my house, period), we got into a routine almost right away, shifted right into our usual comfortable dynamic, talked a lot, walked a lot, watched movies… and I tried not to cry too much.
It’s very rare when I wish I’d made different choices in my life. I generally feel very good about the ones I have made, and the sacrifices that entails — primarily financial — are ones I can live with.
But when it comes to my Dad, I find myself wishing I had found some way to have a livelihood that involved me having money. I HATE that I had to send my Dad back to the SRO in the ghetto-hell he lives in. I hate that while he was here, it was a luxury for him to be able to walk around feeling some measure of safety; to be able to sit on a porch outside at night feeling confident he wouldn’t be shot in the head. I hate that I can’t just fix that: it should be so easy.
Sending him back home last Wednesday night was just so hard. Both because I’ll just really miss him, and because I want him to have a better life than he has, and I feel like a rotten daughter to be able to help so little. (This is about the only reason I have any investment and hope in the book selling millions of copies from a monetary perspective: wishes to the universe it does if for no other reason than it giving me the ability to move my Dad here and into someplace safe. That, and I really, really need a part-time assistant: I just get further and further behind with everything with every passing month.)
It’s reruns for anyone who has read me for a long time, but my father and I have an incredibly unique relationship. He brought a copy of “The Ballad of Jack and Rose” with him for me to watch, because, while in many respects it is a highly bizarre movie, and not representative of us, he felt the dynamic and tone of the relationship between father and daughter in that film was us to a T (and was so excited about it, he wouldn’t be quiet through the film), and he was spot-on. Strange mirror to look in, really.
I was trying to explain to Mark that in many respects, our relationship is both more sibling-like, and more spousal than parent-child. Before you get the creeps (Mark was all, “Yuck!” until I explained what I meant by that), understand that what I mean by the latter is that we’ve always shared responsibilities; it’s always been presumed I was an equal partner in our relationship and the shared aspects of our lives. In some ways, that wasn’t so great, but for an exceptionally independent child, I’m not sure what else would have really worked, and I’d say that for the most part, that approach was and has always been ideal for me.
(Save that as a small child, at one point my father insisted he’d prefer I call him Dave, rather than Dad. I became quite confused, and asked if he wasn’t my Dad. He assured me he was, but would prefer I didn’t call him that because he didn’t want to be my capital-F Father. It’s cool to give your child credit for being a smartypants, but this concept was a bit evolved for a four-year-old, especially one who once tried calling her mother by her first name in front of friends and getting a VERY negative reaction to this, which she was NOT about to risk again. Suffice it to say, after seeing me terribly tangled in his sticky web of grownup logic, he accepted that he was getting called Dad.)
Unfortunately, in the middle of my Dad’s trip, my mother also sent an email that was pretty clearly an attempt at sabotaging or sullying my Dad’s visit. I’m 36 years old, and given all the other issues my mother and I have to resolve and ever grapple with, I really, really wish that she’d find a way to let go of the negativity about my Dad. They haven’t been together for 30 years now, after all, and while it was her first relationship, and sure wasn’t easy, she’s more negative about my Dad than she was about the abusive bastard she married afterwards who nearly turned her eldest child into a total vegetable.
The time before this that I saw my Dad in Chicago — when he was doing TERRIBLY, he’s been doing much better now, he looks in far better health, he’s not as close to being on-street again — I went back to my mother’s afterward, and we ended up getting in a terrible row about him. She’d asked if I was tempted to try and care for him, and I’d explained that of COURSE I was. I explained that even given the terribleness I’d weathered with her (which I have not with him) I’d feel the same way about wanting to care for her were she in the same position. I took the time to try and talk a bit even about how hard it was to have my two parents in such radically different positions financially and per their quality of life. And she started in with the sort of thing she’d say to me when I was a child, about how she knew him so much better than I did, blah blah blah. I was angry enough that I found the chutzpah to explain that at that point, I had spent DECADES close to my father… and she had not, so it was really ludicrous at that point to tell me she knew someone better she’d been with for a handful of years who I had spent far, far more time with in my life.
That, for whatever reason, seemed to sink in that time, to my amazement. So, I expressed that henceforth, I just could NOT listen to any more strife about my father, whom she hasn’t had to deal with at all, in any respect, since I left home in my teens, and that I really expected her to respect that, especially since I felt it was just really out of order to keep putting me in the middle of a one-sided battle (my father has never talked shit about my mother to me, ever, not even when it would have been totally valid) for the whole of my life, over someone I cared very deeply for.
I thought we had an understanding on that, but the passive-aggressive email I got belied that. It’s a tough spot to be in, because pretty much since birth, my father and I have had this Heather-and-Dad-against-the-world relationship that didn’t leave room for anyone else. Even before the awfulness in my mother’s house started, our relationship was very exclusive, and I think for my mother, it meant that she didn’t get the love she wanted or expected from EITHER of us. I can imagine that all dysfunction aside, and the fact that she very much really screwed me in ways she shouldn’t have back when, we made her feel very lonely. I can imagine that it probably hurts to see how much closer I am to him than I have ever been to her, but in the same vein, the opposite is true for my sister, so it isn’t as if she doesn’t have a close relationship with a child. And lord knows, if I had NOT had the relationship I had with my father I would have been a complete basket case, and someone unable to have any kind of relationship with anyone at all, let alone my mother. Of course, too, it’s not as if as children we choose which family we connect with and who connects best with us: that I’m more like my father than I am my mother, and always have been, is in large part, hardly something I could have controlled.
Barghblehgah. Family crap. Never easy to navigate, especially in any kind of public forum, but it’s not that much easier in my head, either. I still, two weeks later, haven’t figured out how to even respond to that letter. “For the love of Pete, knock it the fuck OFF already,” is about all I’ve come up with, and I don’t see that exactly netting the best results.
In any event, the visit was wonderful. I’m so, so grateful my father was finally able to get disability, because being able to see him having gained a little bit of weight, in clean clothes, knowing that however shitty the roof, he’s got one over his head makes all the difference. It was a real treat being able to make him beautiful dinners, share some good wine, take walks, watch him play with the dog, have us both smoke too much, talk too much, and watch Mark’s amusement at our doppleganger-like mannerisms and behaviors. That I got to also have Briana and The Baby Liam here in the middle of his visit just made it all the better, especially since my Dad has always had that awesome baby and kid magnetism that just makes kids happy to be near him. It was cool to watch him with a wee one: it’s been a while since I’ve seen it. All in all, the whole works was cool: even when it’s tough, even when we’re at some kind of odds, my Dad is someone I just never get tired of being around.
Thus, though, my lack of productivity in the days immediately following. It’s hard to have the people you care for so close to you and then so far away again.
I have to get started on some backlogged photo editing today. Among what needs to be edited, I was really pleased that my father let me take some portraits of him. He doesn’t really like having his photo taken, never really has, and he wasn’t the most cooperative subject, but it seemed like such a tragedy to do so much portrait work, yet have nothing (save one of the first photo portraits I ever did, actually) of the person who is likely the most important person I’ve had with me throughout my life. I didn’t get many, but the few I did just make me really happy.
* * *
I’ll likely be stating the obvious, and sharing the feelings of many, when I say that I was only marginally excited with the FDA finally passing EC for over-the-counter use for adult women.
Yes, it IS a good thing. And yes: there are adult women (heck, including myself nowadays) for whom not needing a prescription can be pretty vital, whether it is because they are uninsured, or because in their area, there is bias afoot from their doctors per prescribing it. Of course, since the same bias generally exists with pharmacists, I’m not sure how helpful this will be in that regard for an awful lot of women.
I guess I just feel like the only reason this passed was because the FDA was tired of feeling the heat, and those politically influencing the FDA were becoming concerned about their influences becoming more and more known. I feel like this decision was made to get us to shut the hell up already and take the heat off, in a word. I want a bigger win than we got. I want the win that says, outrightly, “Shit, what a bunch of assholes we are for trying to lawfully own women’s bodies! We gotta stop this shite NOW!”
Obviously, given what I do with my time and who I advocate for, my real interest in getting EC OTC has not yet been served, because it still is NOT so for the young women who need it the most. I don’t believe it’s an issue of concern for their health, because if it was, every doctor and his uncle wouldn’t be throwing young women on the pill with the slightest menstrual complaint. After all, if there is a real concern about what is effectively a one-time dose of four birth control pills, the same concern would exist with taking those pills daily, ongoing, and in some cases, in back-to-=back use for menstrual suppression. I have not heard any such concerns.
I don’t believe it’s about concern for young women’s ability to follow the instructions for EC, as I said in a comment here to one of the AGA bloggers posts about EC:
Two years earlier in age, young women have, and are given, the ability to follow the directions for driving a CAR, on the road, with other cars. It’s also an easy okay that married women under 18 have the ability to REAR A CHILD. Our culture has ZERO problem with putting young teens on antidepressants or Ritalin, and no trouble entertaining the idea they can use those ably. Our culture has women under the age of 18 graduating high school, passing the SAT, readying to begin military service, college, job training. And yet, we’re supposed to believe that all of these young women could not possibly handle the complexity of the following instructions on the package of levonorgestrel: Take 1 white pill within 120 hours after unprotected sex and 1 more white pill 12 hours later.
And I can’t fathom that anyone in charge believes any of us are so stupid not to see the conflict in that.
I’m glad, though it seems ludicrous this is even up for debate, that our federal government has made a decision which supports the outrageous, revolutionary notion that grown women are not children and should have access to birth control and be legally entitled to the ownership and management of our own bodies. But that should be the case for women of reproductive age, not women of legal age. Our bodies don’t wait to reproduce until we’re of voting age, after all, and many of us never even got the choice as to when to become sexually active; many women still won’t, daily.
There are greater risks to a young woman not using condoms correctly — which she can get over the counter — than to not using EC correctly. There are greater risks to a young woman not using tampons correctly, greater risks to a young women not using Advil correctly, greater risks to a young woman not using sleep aids correctly: all of which she can obtain over the counter.
This isn’t about concern, it’s about control. I recognize I am stating the obvious. Hell, my administration likely wouldn’t even deny that: for them it’s not a matter of whether or not it’s sage TO control women’s bodies, but a matter of understanding why it is not their PLACE to do so.
I’m very interested to see, when this all comes to pass, what the laws will be per adults obtaining EC for minors on their behalf. Because if it’s not expressly unlawful, that’s the first thing I’ll work on organizing, pronto.
But yes: yay to all and any of us who worked to get this passed at ALL, and yay for the very first step finally having been taken. Here’s hoping things are more optimistic per getting to the real victory than I think they are.
* * *
On a lighter note, Mark got home from a week and a half in Cincy Sunday night. Boy gives seriously amazing I-missed-you, let me tell you. Sparing a two-day business trip a little while back, and my visit to Minneapolis in May, we haven’t spent time apart since I moved. I certainly didn’t forget how good he is at that, but boy howdy, was it sweet to be reminded.
I still really don’t understand why neither of us are bored yet, or why we still act like teenagers much of the time. Not knocking it, mind you, it’s bloody amazing, but I don’t GET it.
I can have the lousiest day imaginable, but if it starts with us waking up together and ends with us snuggling in to sleep, it’s all okay, always. That shit is just WACKY.
* * *
I haven’t taken photos in a while, or updated a set to the subscription area, I know. In part, this is because I don’t have new subjects to work with here in Seattle yet. In part, this is because I just don’t feel particularly inspired with self-portraiture right now. Obviously, using oneself as subject sometimes has limited mileage. I don’t feel there are a finite number of ways to look at oneself, but I do feel that sometimes it’s just not particularly inspiring or interesting, and if it’s neither, I can’t do good work. If anyone knows of (or is!) Seattleites who want to do some portrait work — nude or not, erotic or not — point them my way? per usual, I don’t come to a sitting with any preconceived notions or particular needs in a subject. Interesting people of any shape, size or conceivable hue who are open to sitting for me and letting me explore what I see are really all I need to fit the bill.
On a similar note, it really distresses me when women email me asking about sitting for me (unfortunately, often from places I have no plans to travel to) and include photos of themselves, rather than words. I need to update the portfolio site, I think, to make clear that that just isn’t necessary. To some degree, it even hinders my work: one of the benefits of working off the net is that I usually find out about someone’s life and personality BEFORE I see them, which I’ve felt adds a special flavor to the portraiture I do, and helps me be able to try and bring to the surface what lurks underneath (which is generally a helluva lot more interesting than the surface).
I suppose I’d hoped that the sort of work I do would make it clear that I don’t decide to work with someone or not based on any physical criteria whatsoever (save that for various reasons, including my own safety, I rarely shoot men). Perhaps I’m being naive in that, or heck, perhaps my work doesn’t come off looking as accepting or authentic as I think it does in that regard. Always room for improvement, and of course, it’s extra-tricky when we’re talking about the female nude, which is nearly always presumed to be about sex appeal or someone else’s entertainment: creating and honing alternate ways to work within that milieu is challenging as hell. But I’d just really hope, especially the longer that I do this, that a day comes when I don’t have a woman essentially asking me to physically evaluate her. I’d like to think we all can have SOME escape from the assumption that we must be physically evaluated, and I’d at least like to think that’d be something people could understand is really counter to the aims of someone like myself.
So, a question: what could I say to make clear that it’s actually pretty vital women do NOT send me photos of themselves, rather than just merely unnecessary?
P.S. Is there anyone out there with an old laptop they want to ditch? I actually am looking for two anyones. We have two girls at the AGA without working computer access (one due to money the other due to a custody battle over her which leaves her away from the house with a ‘puter a lot), and this would help a lot. All they need to be is able to have ‘net access and to run browsers and basic WP. Nothing schnazzy is needed.
P.P.S. Found a helper (thanks, William!) to help me shift the journal over to Wordpress, so hopefully, sometime soon, that’ll come together and make updating a fuck of a lot easier. This once-a-month stuff is just ridiculous.
