Tempered Fragility

My two week break from classes has officially started.

I had an editing exam yesterday, on proofreading and copyediting, and it wasn’t as stressful as I thought it would be. I completed everything within the time limit, managed to resist the urge to correct the exam instructions (TWO errors, on the very first pages), and I’m feeling pretty good about it. Naturally, I’m aiming for a distinction or higher, but I’ll be happy with anything above a pass.

The biggest thing on my mind right now, though, is this blog. I’m considering changing the domain name. I chose temperedfragility.com almost three years ago, and lately it just seems.. meh. I don’t know, but I’m not happy with it. I’d really like a domain with my first name in it, that will still seem suitable in a few years when I’m working and then years after that when I have kids, and a mortgage and so on.

I suppose I feel like I’ve outgrown the name.

I’m still thinking about it right now, but when I find a new name (and I WILL, eventually) I’m just going to go ahead and change it. I don’t have a huge readership, so the move isn’t going to cause major issues. All of the old posts and comments will be moved across, I can get a theme actually up and running before I make the switch, and I won’t feel like I’m posting to some angsty teenager’s blog by mistake.

Rissa urinated on my bed again tonight.

I’m blaming myself for this incident, because I haven’t been upstairs (except to sleep) since Friday. Since the vet cleared her of any health problems, the behaviour is probably due to stress. She is particularly nervous - not unlike her owner - so my absence would have stressed her out.

As much as I love her, I almost threw her out the window when I found that wet spot.

I’ll make a point to spend more time with her from now on, and perhaps bring her downstairs in the cat carrier so she gets used to Shadow. I’m also thinking about changing her litter and buying a bigger box; she might not like the setup she has right now.

If all else fails, a lot of nervous cats have been prescribed a medication similar to Valium, that apparently helps to calm them down and reduces inappropriate urination. I’m all for medicating if the behaviour continues, because I simply cannot own a cat that pees on everything.

I have never before discussed an animal’s bodily fluids this often.

I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I’m a quiet, introverted person.

Something I’ve noticed this year, though, is that I’m much quieter in class. I’m not sure exactly why. Different teachers? New classmates? No idea. What I do know, is that I’m back to blushing every time someone looks at me, and stammering when the teacher asks me a question.

It’s frustrating, considering how confident I was last year. And although I’m not stressing more than usual, the panic is crowding me a little now. I can feel myself slipping backwards, slowly. Just a little at a time, but isn’t that how it starts? Two steps backwards.

Maybe being aware of it isn’t enough.

I know how to go about getting support. That isn’t the issue. The issue is that I’ve been drug-free for two years now, and maybe this has been an eventual decline. Maybe this has been happening slowly for the last two years, and I’m only just now catching on.

My doctor warned me that not having the medication would be difficult. She thought I could do it, though. So did I. From where I’m standing right now, though, facing the rest of the year and then the years after that? It doesn’t seem so easy. The end result doesn’t seem worth the struggle.

Sometimes it’s easier to give up.

I’ve never understood defiance.

To be fair, I shy away from confrontation more often than not. If people are angry, I’ll let them yell at me until they’ve calmed down, and then I’ll talk to them. Particularly when it comes to my mother; I rarely backchat her or even defend myself until I’ve heard her out.

More often than not, I’ll realise that she has a point, somewhere along the line. Sometimes she blows things out of proportion; sometimes I do. Once we’ve talked about it though, we both calm down, and we reach an agreement of sorts. It works out well for both of us.

My siblings, it seems, have never been able to help themselves.

They have to argue, every single time. It’s insane. Mum’s standing there, trying to make them understand that it’s their behaviour that gets them into trouble, and they’re fighting her the whole time. They always need to have the last word, and they can never just say, “Yes, Mum.”

I just don’t understand what they’re trying to achieve by such blatant defiance. It doesn’t get them anywhere. They’re not better off, and it certainly doesn’t help their relationship with Mum. It worries me, too; are they applying the same attitude to their interactions with their teachers?

I’m not losing sleep over it, but surely it can’t serve them well in the future?

Disclaimer: I am not a parent. I just read a lot of blogs written by mothers.

The next time I read a blog post in which a parent worries endlessly about the new phase their child is going through, I’m going to post ‘YOUR LITTLE DARLING WILL SURVIVE. AND WILL PROBABLY GROW UP TO BE JUST AS ANXIOUS AS YOU.’ just like that, with capitals and everything.

Because frankly, I’ve had enough.

Children go through phases. Their tastes change as quickly as their moods. They are growing, and developing, and becoming real little people from the minute they’re born. Your boy-child may well like My Little Pony and playing tea-party with his stuffed animals when he is three. He might be climbing trees and catching all sorts of disgusting things for you by the time he’s four.

That’s called growth. Development. That thing that kids do.

If your daughter likes Disney princesses instead of Dora, then let her enjoy them. You have years to teach her about morals, and peer pressure, and inner beauty. There will be plenty of opportunities to show her that beautiful can mean many things, that she shouldn’t depend on men all the time, that she should make her own decisions. She’ll probably be more receptive when she’s out of nappies, anyway.

Likewise, if your son wants to do nothing more than dig in the dirt and play with toy cars, let him. Stop worrying about him thinking pink is for girls, or not wanting to play with dolls. He won’t always think like that; I’m sure you’ve matured somewhat since you were three. If you show him that men can be gentle too, that they can wear pink and cry and even feel, I think he’ll be just fine.

In short: if you’re laying awake at night wondering why your three-year-old isn’t challenging gender stereotypes at every opportunity, then you’re doing it wrong. Gender stereotypes are generalisations and they don’t apply to everyone. Stereotypical behaviour doesn’t guarantee that your child will be a helpless slave to their gender and everything it entails, either.

You, as a parent, have the most influence over the adult your child becomes.

Disclaimer #2: There are posts all over the internet where mothers (such as Her Bad Mother and Uppercase Woman) talk about this ‘issue’, but the real inspiration for this post were the hundreds (seriously) of comments left on various blogs where mothers everywhere worried, obsessed and stressed about how their little boys and girls weren’t quite the well-rounded individuals that mummy and daddy felt they should be.

Shit. This post sounds angry. I’m not angry. I’m just sick of parents worrying over every tiny thing, about stuff that shouldn’t even be an issue. When I was five, I loved wearing flouncy dresses and pretty shoes. When my grandmother let me wear lipstick, it made my day. I smiled and twirled and tra-la-laed, even. I adored Disney movies. I played with Barbie dolls and baby dolls. I wanted a prince to save me.

I’m not like that any more. I grew up; I became a different person. I like to think that I’m strong, that I can think for myself. I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy, or believe that I’m worth something. I understand that women and men are equal, and I hate stereotypes, as you may have guessed. I believe that I can look beautiful without makeup and a princess dress, too.

Growth. It’s a wonderful thing.

Also? TV will not kill your child. They won’t get turned away from college because you let them watch an extra hour of whatever brain-numbing show they happen to love. Everyone watches TV. EVEN YOU. So stop worrying that you’re going to rob your kid of the chance to be the next Einstein.

There’s something wrong with Rissa.

I changed her litter last night, and this morning it was flooded with pee again. I originally thought that Rylee had used it, but she wasn’t in last night, so. There’s definitely something wrong with her. According to the internet, it could be feline diabetes.

She could also be in season, I suppose, but she isn’t displaying any of the other symptoms. I knew as soon as Jazz was in season; she yowled, she rubbed up against us all the time, she tried desperately to get outside. Rissa is acting completely normal, aside from the excessive peeing.

I’m trying not to think about what that might mean.

Her appointment is at 4pm. I’m hoping to find out more then, but the vet will probably want to do (very expensive) tests before he can tell me anything. Which means I’m free to stress about this for a few days at least. I hate waiting. Seriously.

UPDATE:

The vet told me that Rissa is probably upset because there were six extra people in her ‘pack’ for three months. And now they’re gone, so she’s stressing about that. The peeing on my bed is her trying to re-affirm that the bedroom is our territory. She thinks she’s helping, heh.

I have no idea how to fix this problem, but I’m going to start by keeping her relatively contained and changing her litter regularly. I’ll watch her, and try to spend a little more time with her. Plus, I’ll keep Shadow away from her, so she doesn’t have the chance to attack her.

I arranged to spend some time with a friend yesterday.

The plan was simple; he’d come over, we’d watch some DVD’s and then I’d drive him home after dinner. Problem is, he never arrived. I called him at about 7pm, to ask what was going on, and he sheepishly informed me that he’d only just woken up. He was at his parent’s house, he said.

I waited, but there was only silence.

No apology for sleeping all day, despite the fact that we had plans. Not even a token ’sorry’. No answer when I asked whether he had been planning to call. Nothing. The silence annoyed me the most. It’s always annoyed me, his inability to communicate, his unwillingness to discuss things.

I have no right to his time or attention, and I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s not the first time he’s failed to show up. As far as I’m concerned, though, I have the right to be annoyed. When he called me after dinner, to ask how I was, I told him. He asked whether I was still pissed off, and then laughed.

Yes, I am still annoyed. Anything else you want to talk about?

But of course, there wasn’t. There never is. I do the talking; I start the conversations and push them along and I find things to fill the gaps. It frustrates me. It always has. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t talk because he doesn’t care, or isn’t interested. He assures me that isn’t the case, but still. I wonder.

I know that I’ll get over this. We’re friends; shit happens. I’ll forgive him and move on, until the next time it happens. I’ll be frustrated, and disappointed, and a little pissed off, but I’ll get over it. He’ll probably read this and be insulted, indignant even. He’ll get over it, too.

And so it goes.