Tag Archives: growing up

Through the Crazy Looking Glass

Alice realizes she doesn't quite feel safe in the company of The Hatter...

Alice realizes she doesn’t quite feel safe in the company of The Hatter…

I’m afraid of a lot of things.

I think that’s fair. A lot of things are scary. When someone recently asked me what the scariest thing I could think of was, however… an odd thought occurred to me. It wasn’t my debilitating fear of worms. It wasn’t my ironic fear of the ocean. It wasn’t even my childhood fear of teletubbies. Nope. My worst fear? The absolute most terrifying thing to me? It was a paragraph in the Stephen King novel “The Shining”; the character Danny’s description of The Lady in the Bathtub’s thoughts. He said that all he could see when he looked in to her head was blackness and anger, and all she wanted to do was hurt him. There was nothing beyond that. Just thinking about that kind of makes me go cold.

This is sort of a two pronged fear. I guess, firstly, you could say that I have an irrational fear of irrational things.

Oompa Loompas, for instance, are evil. I don’t like that they’re short and orange, and that they sing weird little sadistic songs every time something potentially life threatening happens to a child, while everyone else just kind of stands around and says “well, I guess this is just how they do things in the candy factory.” Why would that be how things are done in a candy factory, and furthermore, why is everyone so nonchalant about a race of orange faced, green haired trolls that they didn’t know existed before? It doesn’t work in the real world. Along that same idea, Tim Burton movies are like hell to me. All his characters are thin and sallow, and no one stops to think “you know, these under eye circles sure are getting out of hand…”

If I tried to sit there and have a talk with an Oompa Loompa, I’d be terrified that they were going to completely ignore what I was saying and end up breaking out in to song about something bad that was inevitably going to happen to me. Meanwhile, all that is probably going on inside their heads is a fiendish desire to harvest children. Alice in Wonderland bothers me for the same reason. Alice drops down through that weird hole in the world, or steps through her crazy looking glass, and suddenly she’s in a land full of things that can’t give her a straight answer to save their lives. They’re all running around being insane, and nothing has any real reason or rhyme, and what the hell is up with the crazy hat guy and his bunny being able to slice cups of tea in half? Tea doesn’t slice! That’s just physics. What’s just as bad, though, is that Alice doesn’t seem to mind it so very much. Why doesn’t Alice flip out? Why don’t Charlie and his grandpa sneak out the back way of that damn chocolate factory and alert the proper authorities? It’s creepy, and it’s wrong.

Now, I say most of this with a tongue in cheek kind of amusement at myself. The root of this fear, though, is very real, very simple, and goes deeper than just being disturbed by movies and fictional characters. The second part of the two pronged fear: The idea that there is nothing behind a facade.

I feel like, living so close to Hollywood these past few months, I have come face to face with this fear quite a lot.

I meet a lot of famous people, for instance. Just today I was confronted with an actor from HBO’s True Blood. I know him only by face, and not by name, and I couldn’t have cared less about him… But he hid underneath his hat and too big sunglasses, and whispered to people around him so as not to call attention to himself. That’s weird. People shouldn’t live like that. I know everyone thinks the world revolves around them to some extent, but feeling a certainty about it seems like too big a responsibility to bother with. I feel that being famous for too long can have a profound impact on a person’s psyche. The normal part of them seems slowly to start to recede in to the shadow that is deep self involvement, and then I can’t imagine there is any kind of living with them. Talking to a famous person, who no longer knows what it’s like to be unknown, who, for all intents and purposes, has forgotten what it’s like to want things, makes me uneasy. When a public image is no longer discernible from an actual sense of self, it dehumanizes a person in my eyes. All I can see is a mask.

If The Shining’s Danny could look in to their heads… I wonder what he would see.

On a more relatable level, this is also how I feel about younger generations. There is a marked disconnect between me, and anyone who is anything more than 3 years younger than me. They use words and wear clothes that I don’t get. What the hell are jeggings? Dammit, they’re awful. I was invited to a birthday party for a girl who was turning 24 and I thought to myself, “I’m too old to hang out with you.” I could only imagine sitting quietly in a booth while they talked about setting the world on fire for fun or… I don’t know, planking or something. Not that I have anything against her for being younger than me; I just can’t relate to her. When you say something and look in to someone’s eyes, you can tell when it goes completely over their head. Not because they don’t understand it, but because they don’t understand you.

I get this often when I attempt to talk to people about my tea parties, or my weird tendency to name all my stuffed animals Thomas after my big brother. Some people can only manage blank stares as they vaguely try to register what it is I’m going on about. I can’t blame anyone for this. I don’t blame anyone for this. That doesn’t change the fact that it almost leaves me feeling like I’m not talking to anyone at all. There’s nothing beyond their present, there’s nothing more than what they emote on their faces. I’m not saying everyone is like this; I’m not even saying most people are like this… But, to me, it comes off as empty.

It’s funny. Hollywood’s an interesting place to be for someone who doesn’t like masks and facades. You know what they say, though…

Something, I’m sure.

Does Growing Up Mean Having to Grow Apart… From Health Insurance?

Let's save our money for when I lose both eyes...

Let’s save our money for when I lose both eyes…

I sometimes find very interesting notes to myself when I decide to look through my phone, or my sketchbooks, or my blog outlines. More often than not, they’re very ambiguous and puzzling. For instance, I’ve found “the end of the world will be nothing more than the ending of a narration to a story” scrawled in one of my notepads. I have no idea what I could have meant by that. I’m sure it was all very profound at the time, but reading it over all I can think is “…What?” I’ve also found little notes like “become a teapot.” I feel like I might be trying to tell myself something, but I’m not quite sure what that something could be. Furthermore, I’m not sure that “becoming a teapot” has ever been an option for me.

Sometimes, however, I’ll find little notes that actually make sense:

“I have come to the conclusion recently that the scariest thing about growing up is losing Mom and Dad’s health insurance.”

I don’t remember writing that, but the fact that I still agree with it wholeheartedly was unfettered by this point. Growing up is scary. Losing health insurance is terrifying. If you don’t think so, you either have never been without it, or you have lots and lots of money. As for me? I’ve seen a kid with putty for a face get turned away from an urgent care because he didn’t have proof of insurance. I sat, eyes wide, as the young man begged for them to do something for him and the woman at the front desk shook her head repeatedly. My mother and another good Samaritan in the room took it upon themselves to get him transported to an emergency room where, presumably, they’d have to at least give the kid a band-aid and a sucker.

What happens to me now if I decide to ram my face in to some pavement? Whereas I could have done that to my heart’s content a year ago, I now have to keep my precious face at least 3 feet away from any pavement and pavement like substitutes at all times. What kind of life is that? It’s a half-life at best.

It’s got to tell you something that when my mother informed my primary care physician that I am recently engaged, the woman was so happy for me… because getting married means I can be on my husband’s health insurance plan. I told my mom to thank her for her well-meaning, but misplaced sentiment. I’m not marrying Dan for his wonderful insurance possibilities. If I married for anything other than love it would be for tea accessories, followed closely by “lulz” (an indication, similar to “likes” on Facebook, of how funny any given post is in an internet community I’m a part of). Marrying for health insurance, however, is just outrageous.

I’d like to get in to the politics of it all, and the obvious greed and corruption running rampant throughout the healthcare system, but I can’t. I can’t, because I just don’t know enough on the subject. Up until very recently it was never on my radar, given that I was very well taken care of and never had to worry about it. Ironically, that’s one of the biggest problems insurance reform faces; complacency. In fact, I think that’s one of the biggest problems any kind of reform or progress faces.

Not a novel thought, I’ll grant you, but at least I arrived at it on my own. Sort of. I mean, I arrived at it by having security viciously ripped from my hands, but that’s kind of like doing it on my own.

I’ll tell you one thing, though. That degree that I scoffed at a year ago sure is seeming like a better and better idea. But that’s just the fear of accidentally losing an eye talking. In any case, I’m sure the hospital would do something for me at that point.

… Right?

Well, whatever. I won’t be bullied or terrified in to doing something that isn’t going to make me happy. You can dangle wealth and insurance in front of me like a doughnut on a stick in front of someone on a treadmill, but it won’t work. You see, I’m too young and stupid to think anything bad is ever really going to happen to me, and so I win by default.

To all those models posing for healthcare stock photos, though… Stop smiling. No one believes you.