Sorry

Okay! So I drank some alcohol, and now I'm able to get up and move around, but honestly, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I'm having a Very Bad Day, let me tell you. I'm nothing but a burden, and everyone hates me. They do; don't try to tell me different. I'm the absolute worst. And I don't have anything to look forward to, just teaching, which I can't avoid, and then a night with my family. Who all hate me, by the way. Everyone hates me. Which I understand, because I hate me too. I want to get out of here, I want to be anywhere but here, but I also don't want to be anywhere. If I were somewhere else, I would have to deal with other people and their hatred and all the stares and I'm scared of that too. So I don't want to be anywhere, but I also want to be everywhere, if that makes sense (it probably doesn't). I'm scratching up my skin with my nails, because physical pain is better than what's inside my head, but it's not working, and now I'm even uglier than I was before. I think I need another drink. Maybe then I can sleep. And if I can sleep, I can get away from everything for a little while. That's the goal. And I know I'll feel even worse when I wake up, but that's what alcohol is for, isn't it? I'm not an alcoholic. I'm just very sad. I wish someone would come over and beat the crap out of me, and then maybe I'd feel better. Or not. But I wish they would do it anyway. 

How do people die? How does that happen? How am I still alive, when so many wonderful, beautiful people have been killed because of their race, or their sexual orientation, or their gender, or anything else? I'm the one who deserves that, not them, yet here I still am, taking up all the resources and causing nothing but trouble to everyone around me. I'm trash and they're not and I'm still alive, and I don't know why. What is my life worth? It can't be much. I wish I could die saving the world, or at least making a difference somewhere. I'll never make a difference. I just have to teach until everything's over, and everything will be like it is now, forever. I feel so trapped, but that's how I'm supposed to be, isn't it? Maybe if I do exactly what everyone wants me to, I'll be better, and then everything will be okay. But I can't! I can't be perfect. My mom hates me for trying to be a parent to her, even though that's what she wants me to do, and my dad is the same. My siblings hate me for who I am, and I hate me, and everything is so shitty. I can't do it! I can't do anything! I'm useless, and I'm undeserving of anything good, but I'm so privileged, and I still have the temerity to act so self-obsessed and whiny, and it's absolutely hateful. The world would be a better place if I weren't here. What good do I do? I teach shitty violin lessons to shitty brats who hate my guts, and I edit shitty textbooks, and I provide shitty counseling to everyone who asks for it. Oh yes, and I drink shitty alcohol, because nothing is worse than being sober. My life has no meaning, not really. I want to hurt myself, and I want to do something destructive (to me), and I want to go somewhere far away, and I want to explode. And I don't want to be here. I don't want to exist for a little while. Why am I so pathetic? What's wrong with me? I'm so over-privileged in every way. I'm disgusting. If anyone deserved to be killed, it would be me. But I don't believe that anyone does, so that's silly, but then again, there's an exception to everything, isn't there? And maybe I'm wrong. Dad told me that my values were weak and stupid. They probably are. Maybe people do deserve to die, ad if so, I have to be the first in line.

Nothing's going to change, not ever, and life's not going to get better, so what do I have to look forward to? Maybe I'll fail my classes next quarter! Or maybe I'll get rejected from every graduate school I apply to! Who knows? I know. I know that nothing will turn out right, not ever. I'm the exception, the outlier, and I always will be, and nothing will ever change. I'm going to be this way forever. And I'm so afraid and so miserable and I deserve all of this, but I hate it so much. I'm useless and pathetic. I don't know what to do. Well, yes. I do. I'm going to keep on going as I do, because there's nothing else I can do, and forever is going to be the same as today. Into the night go one and all. 

We had a hilarious performance this morning. Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did. Here's a nice bulleted list of some of the travesties:
•Talia's not here (she's on choir retreat), so we're short-handed
•Xander didn't finalize the performance with his contact, so we didn't even know we were doing it until yesterday
•As such, our name in the bulletin was "Xander's Family"
•We got stuck in traffic and missed the prelude
•When we got there, it turned out we were doing the postlude too, and we hadn't prepared anything
•We had to do children's offertory on the spur of the moment, and Mom picked Jesus Loves all the Little Children, and it has totally problematic lyrics that everyone was probably thinking to themselves as we played
•Xander's violin got really out of tune, so our entire offertory (the regular one) was all funky
•In our special music, Xander started with the wrong song, so I had to sing the lyrics of Beach Spring to the tune of Come Thou Fount (it actually fits though???)
•Then we all panicked and switched back to our original arrangement (mashup of Gift of Love and Beach Spring/There's a Wideness)
•It was in the wrong key, and I wasn't expecting it, so my voice cracked :(
•Also, since it was in the wrong key, the harmony went all weird
•Anselm's cello popped a string, and he had to spend the entire time trying to fix it
•I switched around the verses and sang them in the wrong order (which no one except me noticed, but still)
•Xander messed up the bridge and the outro, and we didn't know when to pause and when to end
•Because of this, the last verse didn't sound like the last verse
•Not very many people listened to our postlude :( (it's not that kind of church)
•We had to eat haystacks
All in all, it was Quite a Time. I think we did decently, though, and so many people complimented me on my "beautiful voice," so I mean, that's good for me (not for the others, though). Xander's friend Michael is such a sweetheart, and he managed to get a special lunch for us (which unfortunately was haystacks, but beggars can't be choosers), and we got to talk to him. He's like a family friend at this point, and we all like him. So it all ended happily, I suppose.

You know what's not happy, though? Me. I'm not happy. Okay, well, that's nothing new, but I will never tire of complaining about it, because I'm a loathsome and hideous chaos monster who feeds on narcissistic rants about the minutiae of her privileged life. To that end, let me again put forth my catalogue of grievances (just call me Abbé Seiyes; I could start a revolution with my indignation).
I'm never happy, we know this, but it always gets exponentially worse on weekends. Or actually, does it? Maybe not. But weekends are hellish enough, so there's that. For one thing, I know Sunday's coming, and on Sunday, I have to teach, and teaching sucks the soul from my very body, so that's something which I look forward to with the deepest dread all week. But no one likes it when I complain, so I can't, and besides, I can't burden my poor family with my petty dislike of children. But I'm telling you bro, it's the worst. Who hates teaching more than I do? Probably Hercules's teacher, when he got smacked on the head with a lyre. And maybe those people who have to teach like seven grades all at once in one-room schoolhouses (which I didn't know still existed until recently). But I feel like I'm definitely up there.
Also! Dad, being the passive-agressive snake-in-the-grass that he is, has started to wander about town, telling everyone within earshot about his marital problems. Now, they're all descending on Mom to yell at her, and it's very trying. Why must he be this way? I really don't understand. Well, okay, I do, but only in an abstract sort of way. Like, if someone were writing a Dark and Gritty neo-realist novel, this would make perfect sense, and would be something that the thoroughly unpleasant paramour of the title character would do. But in real life, it's much less acceptable. And honestly, it's so terribly trite. At least the townspeople haven't conspired to make Mom a scarlet A to wear around (or maybe an S, for "separation"). Or at least, not yet.
You know what hurts children more than separation? Abuse. Just putting that out there.
My family is honestly such a dysfunctional one. Like, every single one of us could be the subject of a Next to Normal-styled rock musical about the degeneration of happiness in the modern era, and the pain of living with mental illness. It could be a cycle, ya know, like The Ring or something. Each musical would be like three hours long, and they would all come together in the end for some kind of surrealist finale decrying the establishment and all that it stands for. It would be glorious. (I want Samantha Barks to play me)
And like, I understand how lucky I am, and how incredibly bratty I sound all the time, and believe me, that wears on me too, but it's hard to stop complaining (in here, not in real life). And also, it's hard to stop drinking. I'm going to become an alcoholic before my 21st birthday. What ever am I to do?

This is totally changing the subject (sort of; it's still complain-y), but I'm super ugly right now. Or, well, all the time, but right now I feel the crushing weight of my own unattractiveness more than I usually do. I mean, I have nice silky hair, and that's something, and also my boobs are pretty darn boobalicious (and okay, I have an amazing ass, let's be real here), but I have so many other unfortunate features that if someone were writing a Deep and Meaningful retelling of Pygmalion and Galatea where Galatea was the Frankenstein's monster of her dystopian society (because obviously it would be a dystopia), I would be an excellent choice to play her. I wouldn't even have to put on makeup or anything; I could just wander out onstage and everyone would scream in horror and try to cover their children's eyes. Actually, I'm very interested in this premise now. I hope someone writes this one day so that I don't have to, because I would probably not do it justice, and it deserves to have justice done to it. It could be called Galatea of the Fears (as an allusion to Dali's Galatea of the Spheres and also because Galatea would be so ugly that it would be fearful) and it would be very minimalist and cool. It would probably win many awards.
Can people stop staring at me for like five seconds? Like, that would be dandy. Or if they have to, can't they be, ya know, cool about it? Like, they could be staring at me because I remind them of their long-lost child, and they want to leave a fortune to me and pay off all my debt. Or something. That would be perf. But nah tho, all I got is plenty o' nothing (and it's not plenty for me).
Okay, I think the cafe is closing, so I have to leave. I'm afraid this is terribly abrupt, and trust me, I feel deeply Heathcliffian, but really, it fits my image of a Brooding Postmodern Antihero, so it's okay. I should go smoke a special type of cigarette now or something. Anyway, bye now!

In which everything is Terrible

Guess who's back and better than ever!!

Not me

I'm worse than ever

Everything has gone to shit (which isn't a new development), and it's wearing me down, man. I'm about to shuffle off this poor mortal coil and ascend to the stars in a phantasm of complete and utter indignation (and possibly inebriation). I mean, I was drinking whiskey by 8 AM, and that should give you an idea of how my day is progressing so far.

Since the kiddies had school today, and it was their first day and all, I decided to get up and go with them, partially to make sure that Dad didn't do anything weird, and partially to lend a supporting and helpful presence in their hour of need. So I got up, and even though I got about three or four hours of sleep last night, it all was okay. We had breakfast, and I brushed their hair and made sure they had their homework and all that (and I took So Many Pictures, like the proud mother duck that I am), and then we drove off. Dad, true to form, almost made them late, but it's the first day, so maybe their teachers cut them some slack? One can only hope. So we dropped them off, and then the metaphorical shit hit the figurative fan. Dad began to wail and groan and gnash his teeth, and he became so upset that I made him pull the car over, and I drove the rest of the way back. He was so disconsolate that I made the mistake of engaging him in conversation, and then he wouldn't stop, so when we got home, I spent a completely uncomfortable half-hour trying to counsel him through all his issues (actually, no, not all of his issues, he has way too many for that). Finally, he wandered off, and I hightailed it upstairs to pour out my heart to my best man, Jack Daniels. Jack is a good listener, and soon, the world looked just a bit brighter. May the cup of friendship never run dry, truly. 

I slept all day, trying to avoid Dad, and it worked, so by the time I woke up, he was gone, and Xander (bless his soul) had made me a big mug of coffee. Let me tell you, that was the highlight of my day. No matter what happens, coffee has never failed to make me a bit happier (why do I drink alcohol again?). So I cleaned up a bit (with Xander's help), and we talked about our fee~eelings, and then he went upstairs to practice, so I turned on some good ole Broadway show tunes and made lunch for the kiddies. And then they came home! It's so exciting! They're both real school children now! Anselm made some friends, and Talia did a good job on her lit essay, and overall, it was very successful, and none of the things they were worried about came to pass. So that was quite a relief. But then we had to deal with Dad, which wasn't as fun. Fortunately, he went off to his psych appointment soon after that, and we all got to enjoy a pleasant hour or so by ourselves. The thing about psych appointments, though, is that they don't last forever. So now Dad is back, and he's (of course) himself. He cornered me and asked me for a hug, and at least he asked?? Like, he usually doesn't do that much. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I said no, and he got all pissy, so now I'm hiding out in the library. I don't think I can deal with another emotional discussion right now. Maybe after a few shots of whiskey. 

Okay, so I realize how bad this all sounds, like what the hell Maria, you're not even going to hug your poor old dad? What kind of monster are you? And trust me, I feel tremendously guilty about that. I hate myself if I don't, but I also hate myself if I do, and this way, I don't have to feel dirty and violated afterwards. See, Dad isn't one to touch people normally. He's extremely possessive and entitled, and frankly, creepy about it, and Xander and I think this has something to do with our social awkwardness today. All our lives, Dad has been unwantedly touchy, and we never really knew it was a problem until we grew up, and by then, it was already weird. Now, he tells us delightful things like, "this is helping you! It's good for you!" and "even if it feels bad to you doesn't mean it is!" and "I know better than you do. This is good for you!" and "come on, don't be mean. I need this!" (All direct quotes). Which is very creepy. I suppose touching us helps him fulfill some kind of physical need or desire or something, but. Like. It's not our job to do that? And frankly, feeling entitled to touch us however and whenever just because we're his kids is Really Frickin Gross. Fortunately, it's mostly just me whom he touches, although poor Anselm does get his share when I'm not watching, but it's bad enough that I honestly dread when he comes over, because I know what's coming. I've started having nightmares about it, like really bad as traumatic ones, which is annoying, because I have enough nightmares already, thank you very much. And maybe it's my duty to provide this sort of vehicle for physical satisfaction, but I'm really uncomfortable with it, and I can't make myself relax and enjoy it, no matter what anyone says. Nor can I just "sit back and let it happen for my own good," as my dad so eloquently puts it. This goes against every fiber of my being, and honestly, I have a right to bodily autonomy just like everyone else, a right that protects me from all people, even blood relations. As I write this now (I haven't really thought about it before because it's so uncomfortable), I realize that it's symptomatic of my dad's general attitude towards me. He regards me as property, and feels so entitled to me and everything that I am, that he sees no problem with using me as a personal therapist or emotional punching bag or whatever he wants, anytime. Not that he's the only one, honestly, I mean my mom has also woken me up to vent her feelings on me, and stuff like that. But my dad is so much worse, and he does it partially knowingly, I think. Why does this happen? Heaven knows I'm the last person to victim-blame, but I'm not really a victim, am I, and I can't help but feel it's all my fault. If I were different, maybe I would be treated better, and I would feel more comfortable being around my home. 

Dad is now having a very loud conversation with his therapist on the phone, and I'm sure this will end badly. Which is to say, it will end with him seeking me out, and because I feel so much guilt over not hugging him earlier, I'm probably (definitely) going to go with it. And then I'll go drink. My life is so predictable lately. During the day, Dad will use me, and when Mom comes home, it will be her turn. I have prescience now- Apollo himself would be jealous. I can see how everything will turn out, forever! It's amazing, really, but who knew that future vision would turn out to be such a curse? (Literally everyone, yes I know, I'm as steeped in classic mythology as the next person) I need a change. Or maybe I don't, but I want one, and in this society, isn't that almost the same thing? 

I've already slept more than I should have today, and honestly I feel like I'll have weird dreams if I sleep again, so I'm awake now, for better or for worse. And it's definitely worse. What am I supposed to do right now? I don't know. I gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing I ever do~ I gotta get out of this place- girl, there's a better life for me and you! (Well, there's not, but hope springs eternal and all that) If only there was a revolution that I could wholeheartedly throw myself into. I could die on the barricades and all that. It would be very poetic, and maybe people would draw attractive art of me for years to come, and art historians would analyze my luscious curves and flowing tresses and talk about the symbolism of my jewelry. Which, as we all know, is the dream. Maybe they would even make a musical. (Maybe my part would even be an alto role.) Who knows! All I know is that I would dearly love to punch a National Guardsman in the face. 

Aww crap Dad is bothering Talia. Better go intervene. Why must things be this way? Maybe I was a terrible sinner in my childhood (even more so than I am now). Nothing like uncomfortable situations to bring out the best in problematic retribution theology, am I right? Okay, better go. Bye now!

Eventful!

I got my permit! (Again) you see, the first time, no one really bothered with it much, and it expired, but this time, I'm completely determined to see this thing through and get my real drivers' license at long last! It's going to happen. I'm going to make it happen. Having even such a small measure of independence would be unimaginably wonderful, even if I didn't have a car of my own or anything (I'm still working on that bit). It might seem ridiculous that I, a fully grown 20-year-old emotional caretaker of an entire family, would still be unable to drive, but stranger things have happened (like my 23-year-old brother not being able to drive). So it will all be okay. I have confidence!

Another momentous event is happening. Talia and Anselm are starting school tomorrow! Talia is going to be a senior, so it's not really such a stressful time for her, but Anselm is going to be a freshman, and it's his first day of school ever. Actually, it's not, because he did summer school health, but that hardly counts, does it? This is his first real actual day of school, and it's really frickin weird. When Talia started school, it was weird too, but sort of less so? Like, I was only 3 when she was born, so I didn't really raise her, and we've always seemed closer in age anyway. But with Anselm, I actually did raise him, like I fed him and dressed him and taught him while we were still homeschooled (and I still tutor him now), and so on, and even now, he comes to me for stuff. So it's weird to think of him going off to school now; I think I know what a mom would feel like. I'm not sure I like it! But you know, I think he'll be fine. He's a smart kid, and unlike the rest of us, he's good with people, so hopefully he can make some friends easily. He didn't have that much trouble with his assignments, so academically, I think he'll be okay too, although it will take a bit of adjustment, I'm sure. I just hope that he's happy! I wouldn't want him to be miserable or anything. Oh, this is so stressful! Kids will be the death of me yet.

Mom and I went to the homeless shelter to serve breakfast this morning (as we do every Tuesday), and as always, all the men tried to hit on me. But no one proposed marriage, or asked Mom for permission to know me better, or have me a (possibly handmade) gift this time, so I'm counting it as a success. Still, I truly wish this wouldn't happen all the time. I like doing soup kitchen stuff though. It's chaotic and spur-of-the-moment, and no one is too uptight about it. Hopefully, I can do this sort of thing in LA this year (and maybe even do a partnership with NAMI?). After that, we went to play at the VA hospital, since Xander has contacts there, and it turned out pretty well. Talia didn't go, because she's been boycotting all our performances lately, but the rest of us went, and we sounded decent. It's really pretty fun performing together, I must admit. And the people liked it (I think), so that was a success too. I should have warmed up my voice before trying to do Listen, though.

It's not that late (okay, well it's 1:42AM, but that's early for summer nights), but I intend to get up tomorrow and escort the kids to school, partly so Dad doesn't do anything weird, and partly so I can wish them luck and all that, so that means I have to get up at 6:30 and get ready and stuff. So I think I'll go to sleep now, or at least attempt to. Goodnight! I hope your rest is sweet and lovely and filled with splendorous dreams!

why am I this way

Why am I always so melancholy? It's terrible! I don't want to be! I'd rather be fluffy and light and full of sunshine and dreams, sort of like a postmodern Daisy Buchanan. But instead, I'm a Romantic anti-hero! How embarrassing.

Hmm. Actually, maybe I'm more like a postmodern antihero. I'm a wreck, after all, and I'm not rich, and I don't have a beautiful girlfriend (sadly). I sort of slink around with dark shadows under my eyes, drinking whiskey instead of eating, developing increasingly unhealthy sleep habits, and losing weight day by day. Oh yes, and let's not forget the part where I seem to have found my own particular martyr complex. "Oh, dear me, my poor soul doesn't matter!" I cry, throwing myself onto the train tracks of selfless asceticism. "Please, let me take care of everything! Let me die, and you shall live!" (What an overdramatic little shit I am.) Anyway, it's very unfortunate, and I'm not so delighted with anything at the moment.

At least I look super cute. So there's that.

Right, so let me tell you all a hilarious fact of my existence. Well, okay, it's not so much hilarious as terribly sad and indicative of debilitating problems in my later life that will haunt me until the day I die, but let's not parse words. So! As we all know, boys seem to find me irresistible, which isn't completely surprising, considering my small size and conventionally attractive appearance. But though I understand their ardor, I don't condone it. In fact, it's quite annoying. I just want to be able to go about my day without men trying to hit on me, is that too much to ask? Well, no matter if it is or not, justice is never fair, so that ain't happening. At the moment, DD is texting me about how he wants to "be the best I've ever had" and how he wants to reconcile my heart and grace me with the healing power of love and all that. Very trite. Anyway, I feel like I shouldn't really be replying to him, especially since I think he's pretentious and unnecessarily egotistical, but here I am, making terrible life decisions yet again. At least he can keep up with me (sort of), which is a refreshing change of pace, but then again, he's so horribly pompous about it. And he's so self-satisfied! Like wow, tone it down, man. Maybe this could be one of those lovely stories where the two people who fight all the time develop Deep and Lasting feelings for each other, and their animosity becomes amity? I read lots of Les Misérables fan fiction like that, and it's very cute. But I don't think this guy is going to be my Grantaire (or am I the Grantaire?) because he acts like a sophomore philosophy major, and really, that isn't conducive to Deep and Lasting feelings at all. Oh, woe is me! Whatever will I do? If I were more of a romantic type of person, maybe I would appreciate the situation more, but as it is, it's a bit wasted on me. Speaking of being wasted, I sincerely hope he doesn't try to Fix My Pain or anything. "Ouuhh, Maria!" he would cry, one hand held ostentatiously over his heart, "My love, why must you live such an unhealthy life? You will die! And I will be left all alone! Please, my darling, let me hold you in my burly and sensual arms until you have abandoned all vice!" Ugh, even writing about that sends shivers down my spine. How disgusting! Also, he doesn't have very burly and sensual arms, I don't think. In fact, he looks kind of nerdy. Which is okay, I guess, because appearance doesn't really matter to me, but I think I would look more aesthetic next to a tough and massive biker/wrestler type person. Beauty and the Beast, or a Night Elf and Warlock, or something of that ilk. (Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire?) But, hmm. Maybe he'll be rich someday. That would be good. Given my particular leanings, I'm probably quite likely to end up unemployed, and the more rich people I know, the better. Goodness knows I won't be able to rely on my family; they're almost as impractical as I am. But of course, I would never sell my dignity for a more comfortable lifestyle. That's so not me. Maybe if I had a poor little child living with evil innkeepers in Montfermeil, and I had to send them exorbitant amounts of money every month because my disgusting trash boyfriend abandoned us, I could be persuaded to do something drastic, but other than that, I don't really see it happening. So DD's potential wealth isn't really a draw after all. Too bad.

I'm at a coffeeshop right now, and there's a charming group of people playing D&D at the table next to me, and it's warming this poor old heart of mine like nothing else. I too wish to play! I would be an elf. Or maybe a mage. Yeah, probably a mage. It's totally my aesthetic. But sadly, I have no friends with whom to play, because everyone I know is substantially cooler than I am, and the one's who aren't are complete assholes, and would probably accuse me of being a Fake Geek Girl or something. Speaking of which (well, not really, but it's related to feminism) (sort of), our pastor released a statement regarding the events of the General Conference today, and it was so good. Like, he definitely came down on the side of justice, and he was so clever about it, and his rhetoric was on point, and it just made me really happy. I thought I would share, because to be quite honest, the GC decision (and its implications) was bothering me a lot, and I was more than relieved to hear our church (which is a flagship organization of the Seventh-Day Adventist community) disseminating sensible views. Other than that, though, church wasn't fun. Spending time with my family is always a recipe for disaster. We're all so dysfunctional, especially now, and to be quite honest with you, I feel like my overdramatic angst is pretty much justified.

Okay, I think it's time to leave now. But I might be back later to complain more, because you know I can't go very long without doing that. Bye now!

Because DD asked

What do I want in a romantic partner?

That's a good question, seeing as I don't really care about having one. I'm not aromantic, I don't think, but I never really saw what the big deal was with romance. Capital R Romance, sure- I adore the entire movement. But I think I'm the type of person to write poetry because I like poetry, not because I like the person to whom it's addressed. So it's hard to think of the important attributes. I suppose my ideal romantic partner would be the equivalent of a super cool friend whom I could make out with and stuff. That would be swell. With this in mind, I'm not super picky; I just want someone who would mesh with my values. So!

I can't stand jealousy or possessiveness. Like, I get that it's a human emotion and stuff, and of course it's natural to feel some. But people who let it control them REALLY bother me. I don't belong to you; I don't belong to anyone. And frankly, if you don't trust me enough to hang around people who aren't you, we shouldn't be in a relationship anyway. I mean, gross, right? Keep your possessive ass at least 3 miles away from me at all times, please and thank you. (If we're in the bedroom, it's different- I'm such a bottom it's ridiculous. But anyway) 

What else? I don't like people who refuse to be open to things. Life is a learning experience, and I want to keep learning and growing until the day I die. And if that means admitting I'm wrong sometimes, I'm more than happy to do that! I never want to be a condescending know-it-all who has an answer for everything, and I don't want to be in a relationship with someone like that either. Let's explore the world together! We'll learn and grow and mature and never become stagnant or complacent, and when we argue, it will be fun, because we'll believe in what we're saying. Or maybe not, but at least we won't be stick-in-the-muds about it. I always want to be open to change, and I want my partner to be too.

Sort of in the same vein, I love people who can see the beauty in things. I love beauty; it's my goal to find and create it in the world, through kindness, love, humor, all that- and yes, beautiful things too, like a sunset, or a lovely poem, or a code, or anything! So it's important that the person I ship myself with is amenable to this. Like, cynicism might seem cool, but it's annoying when you're trying to talk about your passion, and they're all rude and yucky about it. They don't have to be a rosy optimist, I mean I'm definitely not, but they shouldn't try to be dark and brooding just for the sake of it. That's totally uncool.

What else? Oh! Patience and understanding and flexibility! All of those are different, but they go together, so I'm mentioning them together. I think it would be exhausting to be around someone with a short fuse, and besides I'm a timid little person sometimes, and it would scare me. Empathy is incredibly important to me, and I'd really want my SO to have it. I'm not saying I want a doormat person- that's no fun, and I would get really bored. I want someone who can challenge me, but who is ultimately kind and understanding, and who will try to see where I'm coming from. That would be the best! This means they would treat everyone with respect and kindness no matter what, unless that person needed a smack down, and even then, they would be mature. That's not too much to ask, right? I don't want an asshole who's only nice to me; I want someone who's genuinely nice to everyone, including me!

first draft of the letter I'm going to send to dad's shrink

Madam,

My name is Maria K–, and I am a third-year linguistics major at UCLA. At the moment, I am home for the summer, and will be until late September, so I have a front-row seat to the events that are unfolding in my family.

Recently, my father, C–, entered the BHI program under your counseling, and as such, both my parents have received advice from you regarding how to proceed. Since some of that advice concerned me, I am taking the liberty of asking for clarification on certain points which have come to my attention.

While I believe in the power of physical touch as much as anyone, I believe that it is only effective when all parties consent. However, I have been given reason to believe that you are suggesting to my siblings and I that we somehow owe it to our father to let him touch us whenever he wants, however he wants, and without regard for our comfort. Furthermore, you have suggested that this is especially important for my sister and me, since as women, we must be groomed for further (presumably heterosexual) relationships. Ignoring all the incorrect assumptions you are making with this, and even leaving aside the fact that it is frankly not really your business whom we are involved with and how, I still feel that it is necessary to point out the frightening implications of your assertion. Do you really believe that a healthy relationship is founded on a blatant violation of boundaries? In the contemporary discourse, this notion lies under the umbrella of rape culture. As a healthcare professional, I would hope that you do not endorse this type of thing, and if you do, that is a cause for deep concern. "Daddy issues" stemming from a lack of physical touch have not (and will not) hurt me or my sister in our relationships, but I believe that a constant lack of respect for our boundaries definitely will.

There is another problem that I would like to ask you about. Recently, you told my mother that she should move out and leave my father to learn to provide for our family. Either I am missing something vital in what you said, or you have some very strange ideas of what is tenable, because this does not seem like a good idea in any respect. I understand that my father needs to learn responsibility, and it is important that he becomes a functional member of society, but children are not collateral, and I refuse to allow my siblings to suffer while he works through his issues. If you push this idea, I may have to take time off from school to care for my siblings (and my father), since I cannot let them go without proper care. You do not know me, so I must impress upon you my desperation in this instance; school is what I live for, and only in a case of the direst need would I consider derailing myself. This may not perturb you much, so I will ask you to consider the fact that the kind of household my father would run, even if he were capable of doing so, would not be a healthy one, and would not be the kind of place in which children could thrive, or even grow. He would be happy as an anachronistic autocrat, yes, but at what cost? I believe there are other ways of allowing him to be fulfilled and content without other people paying the price.  

I do not know what my father has told you regarding our family, and I do not want to know. That is between him and you. But I do ask you to keep in mind that his version of household events are necessarily skewed, and he does not share the same perspective that I, or the rest of my family members, do. I know that you have spoken to my mother already, and if you would like to hear from another member of our family, I am more than willing to speak with you as well. Please reply at your earliest convenience; I would like to hear your thoughts on all this, and hopefully, you will prove me wrong in my conclusions.

Best wishes,

Maria