Good Day, No Time To Tell Yet

I don’t have much time at the moment but:

Phoebe was awesome today.
Orson ran with it and painted me up.
Dea says I smell like chemicals.
Overall, good day.

Pics coming!

A Picture a Day: Day 15

Yesterday marked two weeks of doing a picture a day. I have not yet perceived any benefit from this exercise, but Orson has suggested that I stick it out for at least a month. So two more weeks to go before I can be done with it.

This was taken on my little (non)adventure the other day. This isn’t one of the moody trees (if only because I know that I will break something if I test the fates by trying to climb one), but it was the best I could do.

A Picture a Day: Day 14

 I took this on my little (non)adventure last week. I don’t really have a particular fondness for cemeteries but, unlike parks or town greens, they’re usually pretty quiet and people don’t tend to bother me there (except for the other day when I had people do nothing BUT harass me and try to get me to lower my scarf — rant coming). The stone actually frames me pretty well, but I went over to it because it was along the periphery, very far away from the others, and I was curious to see if there was anything different about it… but I didn’t see anything that stuck out.

The Need for Company

I am a complete introvert. I grew up alone. I am good with my own company. But I spend so much of my time on my own that I often feel desperate for any kind of social interaction and I don’t often get it. The few people I count as friends don’t live within the vicinity and those acquaintances that do are perfectly amenable to talking online or coming over the apartment or me going to theirs but never wish to go out and do everyday normal-person things with me. Now, maybe there are legit reasons for that, but it feels so personal, like they’re embarrassed to be seen with me.

I usually do not ask for company idly, especially if, as I suspect, it is an uncomfortable request, but company, in addition to being reassuring and emotionally necessary to some degree, has proved to be very useful. Whether it’s doing errands around the city or taking public transit, when I am by myself, I tend to be ignored, dismissed, or harassed. When I am with someone else, people treat me better, like a person who might be worth a modicum of dignity. I don’t know what phenomenon causes this, but I imagine that it’s because other people can see how the people I know interact with me and take cues from them.

I feel terrible saying I’m lonely and feeling isolated, especially with Philandros pressed up against my leg and Dea on the couch petting my hair. I had always hoped that someday, Dea would be the one to be at my side to help ease my anxieties but while I know she loves me, she’s seven years my junior and has her own life and her own crowd, and as much as I would like to present myself to her as a possibility for more than mere domestic stability, she’s already seeing someone and I feel so unworthy, for so many reasons.

Sometimes she is the reason I feel so alone.

A Picture a Day: Day 13

I have nothing to say about this one. It’s just fulfilling the requirements. A pic a day. And I’m so sorry. It’s not pleasant for any of us.

The Job Interview Script

I’ve been doing a great many job interviews lately. Now, phone interviews, I can ace. They love me. The interviewer gets excited. On a couple of occasions, I’ve been told that I have the job with the last remaining formality before officially hiring me be only to come see the office and sign contracts.

And that’s where the problem always ends up being. It’s practically scripted.

There’s the “I Need a Different Word Than ‘Disfigured:’”
"Oh! I didn’t realize you were….. so young."

The “It’s Our Fault:”
"We’re so sorry for your inconvenience. It turns out, someone was already hired and we just did not get the message."

The “But It Isn’t Our Fault” aka “Sondheim:”
"After we spoke, I reviewed your application materials again and realized that we need someone with different qualifications than yours.”

The “Anything I Want to Say Right Now Is Illegal:”
"You sounded different on the phone."

And the “We Are Going to Make You Feel Like a Fool for Showing Up:”
"Didn’t you get the call? We ended up hiring someone else."

If it’s that big a deal, I don’t know why they won’t just stick me in a damn cubicle with a headset and I will talk to people on the phone all day. I just don’t understand why they have to be awful because they’re not fooling anyone.

A Picture a Day: Day 12

A Picture a Day: Day 12 

Trying to change things up a bit. Being silly and channeling my inner Bela Lugosi.

And you can actually see it in this pic a little bit better. I broke my nose when I was eighteen. I found a tree of hydrangeas and although they were beautiful, they smelled amazing.

(It was sort of like this, only during summer, not winter)


I thought Dea would love some, so I climbed the tree and began plucking merrily away and the last one I grabbed happened to be particularly stubborn. But I didn’t want to leave it since I had already snapped the stem. So I pulled and the branch snapped back and cracked me right across the bridge of my nose. It bled for hours. How hardcore is that, I spilled blood for my dear one’s pleasure.

I didn’t tell her about my mishap (she fusses excessively over me and she was only eleven), but when I gave her the bouquet, her entire face just lit up. And when she smiles…! And her dimples are adorable. Always have been. But yeah, a broken nose was definitely worth it. .

A Picture a Day: Day 11

Today's picture of the day is submitted without comment.
Except for that.
Which is a comment about not having a comment.
Which is the only kind of comment I have for this post.


I looked at it a bit closer. Orson always gives me The Look and tells me I'm seeing things (and maybe I am because there's been some significant fading over the years). Now, I don't know how resolution is showing up on this pic, but I swear I can still see the small white suture scars at the edges.

Moody Trees + Picture a Day: Day 10

When I was out the other day (taking advantage of the weather while it’s still cold enough that I can keep my scarf up without attracting too much attention), trying to get a little alone time (which wasn’t so alone, unfortunately), I came across a couple of really moody trees:

They seemed like very lonely and sad looking trees, so I gave them a hug to do us both some good.

Yes, that officially makes me a tree-hugger, but believe it or not, I do exceptionally silly things all the time. I just don’t always have documentation of it. This is also going to be Picture a Day: Day 10.

A Picture a Day: Day 9

A Picture a Day: Day 9

 Today, it’s a pic with my nose buried in a book… although it’s without its dust jacket and therefore open to speculation on its degree of scandalous matter!

 And look, my hair is long enough to pull back now! Wow, it grew fast. Probably time for a cut again.

(And the pics are still messing up with the colors and resolution -- sorry! I don't know how to fix it)

It's Never Been About Being Ugly

It's no secret that I'm really self-conscious about how I look, at least not to people who know me. And to those who don't know me, I don't try to hide my insecurities although the internet makes it easier to pretend that I am much more comfortable in my skin than I actually am. But the thing is, my self-consciousness has never been a matter of ugliness.

There has always been a great degree of honesty in my family and we speak frankly with each other. We have a policy of Brutal Honesty, because if the ones you love tell you the hardest things to hear, no one else can ever hurt you with the truth. That, paired with the fact that I have had my whole life to think about it and to understand my situation, means that I have a rather intimate understanding about where my self-consciousness and insecurities come from and why I have them. And I am also quite certain that it is not because I am ugly. I know for a fact that I am not.

I hate looking at myself, it's true, but for far more subtle reasons than just what can be summed up under the word "ugly."  "Ugly" is used commonly as a catch-all term for something that aesthetically makes us uncomfortable, but in truth, it's merely a word to describe something unpleasant, not something uncomfortable. Sure, I am not the least bit photogenic and despite being closer to thirty than I would like to admit to, I still look like a boy of sixteen (and with the same amount of pathetic patchy facial hair as a twelve-year-old).

But overall, I don't think the general package is too bad. I am aware of being incredibly blessed. I am healthy, have the use of all my limbs, and possess all of my senses. I am reminded of this every day since I live with someone who is blind. And for as vibrant and independent as Dea is, I am certain that I have the much lesser burden. Like anyone, I wish I could make changes to myself. I dislike my hands. They're squat and square and calloused all over the palms from work. I wish my hair was thicker and fully black rather than its natural brownish-blackish-can't-decide-on-a-color. I wish I were taller. I wish my face were a little less round. I cannot change any of these things though, and for what I have, I think it's pretty good.

Sometimes when I see pictures of myself, a thing which I have done extensively over the past week out of some hope to cure me of some of my insecurity, I have the fleeting thought that (I suppose going hand-in-hand with thinking that I look like a teenager) I could be a pretty guy without the scarring, like... genuinely pretty (side note: I don't understand why people think "pretty boy" is an insult. Hell, if someone wanted to tell me I was a pretty guy, I'd be very happy). The scarring however.... that's a nuanced and loaded subject.

When I think about the scars, my immediate reaction is frustration and anger. I have so much of it, but I know it's reactionary to the way they hurt me. Physically, they are not painful and any recollection of the initial pain has completely faded from my memory. At the most, they are uncomfortable on occasion when they pull. They only hurt in the small pernicious ways.

I hold the belief that scars should only ever be considered as documentation at having lived, having experienced life, having it written on your body. But most scars are the results of accidents or of medical necessity. In my case, mine are neither of these kinds. They were deliberately inflicted and done with no apparent intention other than to deface me. I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't have a permanent smile. And knowing that someone did this to me, with full knowledge of what they were doing and doing to a child... that is the most difficult piece to live with.

And it makes me wonder, who could have hated me so much to do this?

And the tragedy, the cruelty, of it is not that is has made me ugly, but that it has rendered me ridiculous. My face feels like someone's bad joke, something people cannot take seriously, something worthy of derision. And for this, I have become so deeply ashamed of my appearance. It's not the ugliness but the shame that hurts so badly.

I think perhaps having just been ugly might have been better.

A Colin in His Natural Habitat + Pic-a-Day: Day 8

So I went on a little adventure the other day and as I was getting ready to go out, I thought, hey, maybe I should put together a little post on the day (which I’m not going to do as my adventure was thwarted every step of the way, rant later). But, I took a couple pics as I was getting ready to leave (a couple only because they looked exceedingly dark on the camera). And when I looked at them later, I look like a deer caught in the headlights.

In my best David Attenborough voice:

"And here, observe The Colin Gwynplaine as he leaves the safety of the compound for the treacherous and unpredictable world of people. Outside that door, there is a hallway where other apartment dwellers traverse, and if he manages to get that far, he has to navigate through dangerously populated sidewalks until he reaches the safety of his vehicle.


"And look, he appears to have noticed the camera.

"And here we observe a Colin’s instinctive behavioral response when confronted with a threatening entity.

"Having determined that there is no immediate danger, but only a potential threat, he decides his safest course of action is to slowly back away."

 …

Incidentally, that middle pic is pretty much how I react when a camera gets pulled on me anywhere.

And this totally counts as a Pic-of-the-Day: Day 8 because, aren’t you lucky, you got three!

(also, I have no idea what's going on with the pics. They're crap, I admit, but this site is warping their resolution and coloring. Working on fixing it, but....)

A Picture a Day: Day 7

Day 7 of A Pic A Day, look at that, a whole week, and I survived!

On that note, I really hate this. And I'm sorry to all of you who are getting selfie spammed, and not even with eyecandy (what's the opposite of eyecandy?). See, I don't even look at myself if I can help it. When I wash my hands in the bathroom, my hands are the most incredibly interesting things in the world, I can't keep my eyes off them. So, this is even more painful for me.

And taking the pics? I feel like such an idiot. This one, it's a crap photo, but you have no idea how hard it was to take because I just wanted to be a smart ass and do duck-face or stick my tongue out or, better yet, not be in it at all, so I was tres dramatique and called it good because it wasn't going to get much better.

And I'm not sure this process of a pic-a-day is really helping me. It's certainly made me look more at myself, but each time I do, I just feel more depressed.

A Picture a Day: Day 6

Crap photo, but hell, all of mine are pretty much crap photos.

I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here until I get a couple more that will be passable.

…I really hate this mission of, as Orson put it, “self-acceptance through desensitization.” He should try it. Whether he dislikes his appearance or not is immaterial, it's just a pain in the ass.

Higher Education, Problematic but Not Pointless

Warning: a bit of a rant

While I was at work the other day, I heard a couple of my coworkers talking. Now, I don't say too much. I'm an observer and a listener, but they saw me in the break area, so I didn't feel like I was eavesdropping. Their topic of conversation was "the nuclear family" and how "godless Marxists" are responsible for the destruction of it. Somehow, this led to my coworkers condemning all media and then going on to blame higher education as a source for all the current social woes since it is the, and I paraphrase, the production center for these "godless Marxists."

I am not going to address the media comment. I'm not a huge fan of what's being marketed nowadays and I've seen a great deal of hateful, ignorant garbage out there, but in the midst of that, there are some good things, enriching, educational, interesting things. But sure, condemn all media because we're all ignorant sheep who believe everything put in front of us. Sure. If that's what you think.

But higher education. Okay, they got my attention... and my ire. I held my tongue there. I do, after all, try to get along with my coworkers. But do NOT say that college is a "useless hotbed of brainwashing." I should also note that these two coworkers did not go to college and told me one day that they did not even get accepted although they tried. So I am of course curious how they would claim to know such things.

I did the four year college bit. I did two years after for my MBA. At times in my life when I was unemployed, I would get the instructor's permission and sit in on classes, even if I wasn't in school. I was one of those people who busted my ass for scholarships to pay for my education, who busted my ass for good grades to keep those scholarships, and who tried to absorb as much as I could from the courses I took. I did it. I was there.

And believe me, I know the system is faulty. I know that, at the end of the day, something has to change drastically with schooling from the first day we walk into a classroom. From day one, we're taught that tests are more important than our physical, mental, or emotional well-being. We're taught that we're failures if we don't get into a certain percentile of our class, and that we will never amount to anything if we don't get into a good college. We don't learn about things we need to live and we're trained for jobs that don't exist. College has become the new high school diploma, a business' broken old marketing scheme rebranded as The Way To Go, and we all buy into it, even if we know better.

But, knowing that college whispers sweet promises in our ears, wrapping us in its spell of Anything Is Possible, and still knowing that it's lying through its sharp little teeth, college is not pointless or worthless or anything that my coworkers condemned it as. True, it isn't for everyone, and that's perfectly fair and valid, but that doesn't make it pointless. If you go to college for the lies, then you are going to be disappointed. But I didn't go to college for the lies. I went to college because I wanted to be educated. I wanted to learn things I had never had the chance to learn about. I wanted to have new opportunities, meet a wider variety of people, and be exposed to concepts that had never entered my mind.

Higher education quickly became less about getting a job and more about becoming a more curious individual. Granted, I didn't and don't have the financial luxury to dip my toes into schooling just because I felt and feel like it. There was an aim to get a better job with the experience, but if I had made it all about that, then I would have been wasting my time. I had this discussion with a friend of mine quite recently and he said "college doesn't educate you, it just makes you educable." That's not to say that I wasn't receptive to new things before, but college is a catalyst, facilitating in four years to that which may have taken the rest of my life to become exposed (to any of the students I tutor in chemistry who might be reading, look at that - I used a catalyst in daily life!).

Credit where credit is due: Orson, being a college prof himself and teaching philosophy and other assorted gems in the classics department (he's asked me not to disclose his institution), was extremely instrumental in trying to change my views on college, from job-making to life-building. Without his support, both emotional and financial (which was amazing of him considering that I am not, either legally or biologically, his child), I would never have been able to graduate.

College didn't hand me an education as an entree. It handed me a sampling platter. It said, here are ideas that are new to you, here are concepts you never explored, here are cultures you have never heard about. And while it said all these things, it also said, this is the most basic of things we can condense into four months of a semester, now go forth and learn on your own. College wasn't about stuffing things into my head. It was about opening up my mind so that I could go stuff new things into it. And when education gets it right, that's what education will do; your world will expand and not teach you what to think, but how to think for yourself.

So for people who, like my coworkers, think that college is a place to be brain-washed, it could be because when we come out of college, we think for ourselves, and those thoughts are no longer as conventional, comfortable, and narrow as those people would like them to be. And then maybe we wouldn't have to condemn all media if they were able to think for themselves too.

If that comes off as abrasive (what's the new phrase? Sorry, not sorry?), just remember that I think education is a good thing, and I want everyone to have it. I want everyone to know about the wondrous things around us, about the beautiful places and beautiful people that populate our world, and I want people to think about them, not in the ways they always have, but in new and creative ways, for without that, we are but insects who toil away for no purpose.

~Colin

A Picture a Day: Day 5

Ah, the companion piece to the one with my eye through my fingers! Maybe I should organise these by how much of my face I obscure, like phases of the moon….. Just don’t look too long. We don’t want melted eyes.

A Picture a Day: Day 4 + Another Handmade Scarf

About a week ago, I received a beautiful red and black handmade scarf from a friend because I was in need of a long scarf to cover both my face and neck. I love it. I've been wearing it around everywhere and telling anyone who will listen about the sweet friends I have.

And just to prove it, today I received another beautiful handmade scarf!

I appear to have been very vocal about how annoying the two-scarf method is and apparently, I've been a very good boy to merit all these beautiful things! Friend, author, and knitter -extraordinare, Dina James, made this one for me, which is not only just as long as the other but twice as wide. I am ecstatic... and now I sort of want to go back to the two scarf method so that I can wear both of them at the same time.

The pic on the bottom is the actual colour — the lighting in the top unfortunately washes it out, but it’s really vibrant blue.

I am so overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness. The scarf is hiding the blush I'll have for the next few days.

 

Also, this is going to count as day four for my Pic-a-Day. Yeah, it’s cheating, but I get to make up the rules as I go along. Besides, it's not going to last that long. I'm already thinking that I'll call it at the end of a week.

A Picture a Day: Day 3

Day three of a Pic-a-Day.

No hand in the way this time (but only because I don’t have that many pics of me or I would have prolonged a full unimpeded shot for as long as possible).

And I'm running out of things to say about the pics too. Excellent.

A Picture a Day: Day 2

Day two of a pic a day.

And I realise, even attempting this is going to be insane. I look at the pics I’ve got and I just cringe and think, “dear gods and angels, they are all lamentably unviewable.” And then I keep cutting potential pics because I just hate them so much. So I think I have about… two more? This weekend is going to be unfortunately full of attempts to get new pics. I just have to think of somewhere fun to go or something different to do or this is going to get hopelessly boring for all involved.

The Power of Words

Today was not a fun one, just generally difficult between logistical crap and work tensions. And then Orson had some event at the campus tonight and Dea was out with her new boyfriend which means that even Philandros wasn’t here to keep me company.

And then I received an email from a high school friend who I haven’t seen in an age. She appears to be doing very well for herself, engaged to her longtime sweetheart, at a job she loves, and that she’s been thinking about me of late and hoping I was doing well. Her closing lines greatly humbled me: “No one should ever feel like they’re alone, especially someone as courageous and talented as you are. I think you are wonderful.”

 It’s magical the way a few kind words can really turn a day around.

A Picture A Day: Day 1

All right, I am going to try to do this, but I’m cheating and using different pics taken at the same time because I hate being in front of the camera. I will not be taking pics of myself every day and/or posting pics taken that day unless I have something fun/ interesting/ different to share... which isn't often. I don't lead a very interesting life.

All pics will be current though (nothing from when I was five or anything). That's the only thing I will ensure.

A Pic a Day Keeps the Insecurities at Bay?

I told a coworker today about the whole new internet-thing and the semi-terrifying function of the confidence-building aspect of selfies, and while I get it, I also expressed concern at avoiding it because it’s not something I relish doing and I feel like such an idiot. 

She suggested making it a daily thing so that I feel a bit of obligation about it. I don’t think I could post a pic every day, that both innate unwillingness and logistics would likely prevent such a thing, but I suppose that I could try since it was a good suggestion.

So, fair warning to all of you who follow, there will be some selfie-spam. Believe me, it's probably more painful for me. 

Black Nail Polish

After I got out of work, Phoebe talked me into painting my nails black. She was doing her own and she likes to get me involved in whatever craziness she’s brought our way. Last week, I drove her to her bellydancing group and she handed me a set of zils and dragged me into the fray. So this is commonplace.

What the hell though, right? She tried to talk me into some eyeliner (“guyliner” was the term she used) too, but I convinced her that the polish was more than enough for the moment. It definitely makes my hands look a ton more delicate than they actually are. But hey, is the aristocracy hiring? I could be a baron — I’ve got the hands now.  

…and then pics, which I’m NOT a fan about, but she’s in collusion with Orson about this whole self-confidence through exposure thing. So here goes nothing: 

Ballroom Dancing Procrastination

This morning, Dea had Pandora on and I was doing dishes. I stopped though, mid sorting, to join her because a foxtrot came on (I think it was Michael Buble, don't know for sure). When we're both around, if there's something on we can dance to, we usually do. It's our routine: ballroom dancing procrastination. She can delay her work a little, I can delay the chores, and it's fun.

 Afterward, a nice little rumba came on (except with the faster bridge, I faked her out and switched to cha-cha to match the pace, I'm so mean). I had never heard the song before and I really liked it. Dea after IDed it as "Please Don't Die" by Robbie Williams (uplifting title, no?) whose work I had never heard before.

Is Williams worth checking out? Is his other stuff like that?

When People Tell You to Smile...

I saw a motivational poster on Tumblr today which said "Smile."

And I am all for smiling — if you’re happy, if you feel like smiling. 

But if you aren't happy, if you don't feel like smiling, that’s okay, because you are probably feeling a lot of other things at the moment, even if you are happy.

Smiling is a performative act, used to console, comfort, mollify, appease, or please if it is not instinctive, self-initiated, or involuntary. Value your ability of expression. Never underestimate the beautiful nuances that you can communicate with your face.

So don’t smile. Be expressive. Twist your face into crazy shapes to get your point across. Be emotive. Contort your mouth and eyebrows to give whatever you’re facing the full understanding of all those complex feelings going on inside of you that you don’t know how to put into words. Be unafraid. And don’t let anyone tell you to smile if you don’t feel like it. 

There is a glorious complexity going on between your skin and your bones. Use it to show the world how you really feel.