miss_s_b: (Self: Tattoo)
There is nothing I want to say right now other than the following:


Thank you for you concern in this matter.

TMI under the cut )

miss_s_b: Vince Cable's happy face (Politics: Vince - happy face)
... but only because so many people I care about made such impassioned pleas (and in some cases told me their own tales of teetering on the edge of leaving).

I'm not the world's happiest bunny right now. But I'm clinging on.
miss_s_b: (Fangirling: Internet forever!!)
I keep trying to give it up, but I keep drifting back to it.

My mental health has been SO much better the past couple of weeks of tw'oliday, and yet, despite myself, I couldn't stay away and the last couple of days I have drifted back to my usual level of tw'activity, and my usual level of screaming "Oh FUCK OFF" at various screens at various points during the day.

So I'm going to do a pros and cons list to try to decide whether I shouldn't just delete the whole boiling.

Pro: very fast personal news feed.
Con: random attacks from eggs
Pro: get news there that doesn't appear anywhere else
Con: news there is relentlessly depressing, shows the world to be a savage and horrible place, and makes me wonder if there is any point in carrying on
Pro: able to quickly message people who don't respond to texts or emails
Con: even people you love can say things that will upset you all day (recent Lib Dem AWS "discussions" have proven that to the Nth degree)

I liked twitter when it was just you'd say something and maybe it would make people laugh and there'd be fun. Twitter hasn't felt like fun for a long time. There are probably things I could do to make it more fun, but I don't know if I'd end up throwing out the baby with the bathwater... but then if I leave altogether I'm going to be doing that anyway, aren't I?

I dunno. I don't miss faceache since leaving it all those yeas ago. What do you guys think?

(this post brought to you by an utter failure to stop hiding under the duvet and clean the damn house before visitors arrive. YAY for anxiety-caused-procrastination! YAY for the fact that procrastination makes the anxiety worse! YAY for vicious circles!)
miss_s_b: Vince Cable's happy face (Politics: Vince - happy face)
A couple of days ago someone I had a great deal of affection for passed away. It was not terribly unexpected - she was past 90 years old - but it was quite sudden. She had a stroke. The funeral has been set for a week tomorrow, at 2.30pm, in Devon.

A week tomorrow, at 2.30pm, my schedule says I am zooming through the midlands because I'm due to be on a train from the civilised north to the wilds of Bournemouth for Lib Dem conference. The ticket was booked ages ago, on a two together railcard, to maximise savings, because even with my new job money is still a struggle. Because it was booked on a two together railcard, if I don't use that ticket I'll be screwing over the other person on the two railcard, who will have to buy another full price ticket to go to conference.

I could try to find two people who are 1, travelling to Lib Dem conference from Calderdale AND have a Two Together Railcard AND haven't already booked their tickets, but this seems to me to be massively unlikely.

I could borrow money so I can help my Two together partner get a solo ticket, and then all I have to do (all!) is get from Devon to Bournemouth after the funeral in time to check in to my hotel room - which I would now have to pay for whether I use it or not.

Or I could not go to the funeral.

Whatever I do, I am perpetrating an injustice. I hate impossible choices.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Sorry)
Yeah. Up until about half past seven everything was fine. Then in short order a great number of stressy things happened and now I am close to meltdown.

To give but three examples: I have deactivated my twitter account - probably temporarily, but at this point, who knows? - because life is too short to put up with being called scum by people you considered friends. Things may well have just gone tits up with my new job. And the Calderdale liberal Democrats are being their usual selves. Still, it could be worse, right? Well it IS worse, but I can't tell you about those bits. Sorry.

Comments off; this is an explanation, not an asking for sympathy. Maybe I'll see you soon.

On feeling safe

Saturday, August 30th, 2014 06:19 am
miss_s_b: Kate Beckett aiming a gun (Feminist Heroes: Kate Beckett)
I have been thinking about this on and off all week, and sleeplessness is making me blog about it now. Sorry it's not the cheeriest subject for a Saturday morning...

One of the consequences of my past is that I never feel 100% safe and secure. Even in a blissful post-coital embrace with a lover, even if I trust that person with my life, there is a part of me fretting about my safety. And not only do I never feel truly safe, but I have different things that increase my meagre sense of safety to most people. So where most people feel safer at night if they have locked the doors, I feel less safe if my escape route is impeded. I understand that locking the doores at night keeps burglars out, but I don't like it. I HAVE to know where the keys are, and I don't like having interior doors shut at all, at any time.

I feel safer sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the door. If I go to a new place I have to plan how I would get out, and am anxious and jittery until I have. I need to know where the train station is and that I can get to it at all times, wherever I am; and I always need to have a travel pass, or enough money to buy a ticket to get away if I need to.

When you've had a relationship where the person you love IS the danger, even if it is only one of many relationships, it really screws with your head. And there's always a part of you wondering if it WAS your fault, and if you could make THIS lover treat you the same way.

Intellectually, of course, I know it wasn't my fault. He was just a violent person. I also know that were anybody to try to treat me that way now
1, I am physically strong enough (and have done enough self defence classes) to make sure it wouldn't be me came off worst
2, it would only happen once, then I would end the relationship.
... but that's still not enough for the creeping sense of "what if" to go away. It worms around in my heart, and makes me doubt myself and other people. In this context, allowing myself to love ANYBODY at all is counterintuitive.

I am lucky enough to have more than one person to love. There are people I would trust with not only my own life, but my daughter's. They have proved to me on countless occasions that I could feel safe with them, if only my treacherous heart would allow me to do so. They understand, and they are patient and kind, and do what they can to help when I don't feel safe at all. Allowing myself to love them is my small act of rebellion against the forcible indoctrination that if you open your heart to someone it only leads to physical and emotional pain. I WILL NOT allow myself to believe that is true in all cases, and so I prove to myself it's not by loving people as hard as I can.

This can be a bit intense if you're on the recieving end of it. All I can say is that I am grateful, hugely grateful, for the people willing to be subjected to my love.

You know who you are. Thank you.

Reasons to be Cheerful

Wednesday, June 18th, 2014 10:23 pm
miss_s_b: (Love: Addams)
So I have been feeling a bit sorry for myself this week. Those of you who follow me on twitter might have noticed that I have been afflicted with a mystery spotty disease, which it's looking increasingly likely is shingles*. And there have been a couple of other health-related things which... yeah, I'm not going to go into those. But some of you know why they are upsetting. I never realised how much my self-esteem was wrapped up in my appearance, despite being the kind of feminist who doesn't wear make-up etc., until I suddenly have a face like a half-chewed pizza... Anyway, rather than wallow, I thought I would count my blessings:

  • I have a roof over my head, food to eat, and all that jazz. More than many people have.

  • I have an amazing daughter, and doggie-nurses who snuggle me when I'm feeling bad.

  • My boys. Some of you live with me, some of you don't**. You're all amazing. You're all utterly different to each other, but you're all such good people. I am incredibly grateful and privileged to know each one of you.

  • I have the best friends in the world***. By tweet, by text message, by phone call... You have all been there for me this week. Thank you. I wish I could repay you all for the worth you are to me, but there's not enough gold in the world.

  • Gin.

I'm sure I have more blessings to count, but right now? Right now that last one is looking like the best one I've got. Hopefully my next blog post will be less maudlin.

* the doctor said he didn't think it to be shingles because it was too widespread, and he'd lean towards an allergic reaction, but for various reasons (including my dad the human biology teacher turning up at my house, taking one look at me, and saying "well that's CLEARLY shingles!", and the fact that I have had further outbreaks when I have been nowhere but home...) I think it probably is.

** One of you is kind of half and half right now...*cough* Anyway...

*** if you're thinking "oh she probably doesn't mean ME..." I probably do. Y'all have probably heard of micro-aggressions. There should be a similar term for micro-acts-of-kindness. There are some of you who have said something that you probably think of as a throwaway comment, but which has literally shown me that life is worth living this week. That's very valuable indeed.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Drama queen)
So I am physically ill, again. I don't think it's anything serious but it is leaving me exhausted and yet insomniac, which is always a great combination.

I've also been under a bit of stress the last few days - entirely of my own making - which has pushed my never-particularly-stable mental state into full blown beat-myself-up mode. This means that the tiniest thing I get wrong feels like a disaster, and the smallest of my flaws feels like a reason I should be put to death to save the rest of the universe the embarrassment of having to put up with me.

I'm not able to do anything that involves leaving the house because of the physical illness (which makes me feel incredibly guilty and makes the mental problems worse), and because ofthe mental stuff I'm incapable of concentrating enough for books or games or even telly. I'm just about coping with Twitter (while starting the odd pointless argument).

I am posting this so that if I am unexpectedly grumpy or short with you, you know the reason. And I am turning comments off because, frankly, if I get the sort of comments I usually get on an entry like this they will only make me cry at the moment; I know I have people who love me, but right now I can't understand why they do when I'm such a useless piece of crap. This will probably pass. But until it does: apologies in advance if I say something bitchy or cruel or below the belt to you. It's not your fault.

PSA: Bad Brain Day

Wednesday, January 15th, 2014 10:45 am
miss_s_b: (Fangirling: Books)
I am having one. Work was horrific yesterday, and there were various dramas outside of work as well, and work today looks as though it's not going to be any better. So I'm not tweeting, I'm not reading blogs, I'm only checking emails from people on my important list, and my phone is on block mode*. Cut down and shut down.

It's Ella Fitzgerald, Billy Holiday, Nina Simone and various other bluesy jazzy type people on the playlist today.

Still, I did manage to nip into Waterstones and pick up a payday book** on my way into work today, so it's not all bad. I got this. Because how could I resist that when it was displayed so prominently?

*this means that if you try to phone or text me you will only get through if you are one of nine people. Four of whom are work-related, and one of whom doesn't have a working phone at the moment.
**yes, THANK YOU McGREGOR for that idea. Bloody candidates, costing me money.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Bugger)
I am now 36. For various reasons a number of things that have been percolating for a long time all decided to come to fruition at once yesterday, PLUS lots of new and exciting problems all decided to crop up at once too. In terms of personal, political, and mental health issues it was Not A Good Day to put things very mildly indeed. Most of the things that went wrong were at least partly my fault* and as is usual when I'm having a bad brain day this all got magnified in my head till I was fully convinced that I was the worst piece of human scum to have ever walked the earth.

And then I snapped, and went to the pub.

I sat there in the pub feeling like the worst lump of morally bankrupt detritus on the planet, and consumed with self-loathing. I felt like all I had in the world was the glass of beer in front of me and huge amounts of chest pain**. And then I finished the beer. And it was oddly liberating. All the various things that I fret about all the time had either blown up spectacularly in my face or gone away; but whichever category they were in I suddenly realised that meant I didn't have to worry about them any more.

What does one do when one is suddenly freed from all one's worries? Well, I'll tell you what I did. I ordered a large brandy and tried to recruit the barmaid and her friend to the Lib Dems. And I think that tells you more about what is essential to my being than pretty much anything else I have posted on this blog ever.

*with the honourable exception of First Busses stranding [personal profile] magister in Leeds, which meant he had to get a train to Huddersfield and then a taxi from Huddersfield home...
**which is OBVIOUSLY not true, I am in fact incredibly lucky, but when I get into a boo, I don't go halves.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Cleaning)
It's just gone 10am and I have Achieved Things. This is very strange. There's bound to be a terrible reckoning later...

This blog post is brought to you by the letters P (for paranoia) and U (for unable to just relax and take credit when I Achieve Things), and the number 0 (as in there's 0 chance that something isn't bound to go horribly wrong later).
miss_s_b: (Mood: Drama queen)
So said Grayson Perry on the radio just now, talking about photography, but I wonder if it applies more generally.

I am tired of having backache.
I am tired of having headache.
I am tired of my brain's relentless negativity.

I'm not smiling today. This means I am art.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Brain Hurts)
As someone who has worked in public houses for many years, I have come to dread "Paddy's" aka St Patrick's Day aka International Get Pissed And Shout At People For No Reason Day.

Even the sanest of people seems to see Paddy's as an excuse to let down their hair, their morals, and more often than you'd think, their trousers. And then sing songs which they think of as Irish (usually something by Thin Lizzy) badly, out of tune, and getting the words worng. Then drink some more. Then throw up.

I fucking hate it.

And tomorrow morning (or rather, later today) I get to go and clean up after it in my workplace. I'm going in an hour before opening tomorrow, and my job will be the toilets. If there's one stall without puke and/or poo smeared all over it I shall count myself lucky.
miss_s_b: (Mood: In Need of Gin)
... the cellar has flooded again. In between the cellar flooding last week and the cellar flooding tonight, I fell over walking the dogs and ended up in hospital with a suspected broken patella (luckily just bad bruising but I still have crutches and huge amounts of pain).

This means I have missed some shifts at work, and will therefore be missing my wage for those shifts. I was trying to save up for conference, which is less than two weeks away, and now it looks like I won't be able to meet the rent. At least we paid for the train tickets in advance...

We are hopefully going to be moving house soon. Instead of us paying X amount for this house and James paying X amount for his place, it makes sense for him to move over here so we are paying 1.5X between us and he isn't paying train fare every weekend and we get a much nicer and bigger house for less money. Sense is being made, right? But this involves sorting through all our huge piles of crap. I suspect this will unearth previously unknown civilisations, and possibly the lost valley of the dinosaurs.

On top of everything else, Roxy's skin condition has flared up again, and Holly goes back to school in the morning.

It's at times like this when I thank Cthulhu for the invention of gin.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Miserable Brian :()
The Blue Labour idiot has ramped up hatred against immigrants again, some twat has given Rupert Murdoch a Prescott moment, the government has slipped out a load of horrible horrible shite the last couple of days and the media have faithfully concentrated on hackgate instead, and half my party is supporting the badger cull despite there being lots of evidence that it will do knack all good. What is wrong with these people? Why can't they just vaccinate their damn cows? The word vaccination COMES FROM THE LATIN FOR COW for Cthulhu's sake.


I am grumpy, so I am going to watch Black Books because Bernard gives me schadenfreude.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Drama queen)
In this week's mock the week, Jack Whitehall made a joke. He said "the north! Where men are men... And so are quite a lot of the women." As one person, both Mat and James turned to look at me. Grinning. Just because I was amused by them discussing house work earlier.

I feel picked on.

* lip wobble *
miss_s_b: (Politics: Democracy)
I can understand that the party is in government now, and that we need to be careful.
I can understand that people who have not been to conference before are an unknown quantity, and could cause trouble, perhaps even worse than trouble.
I can understand that the police and insurance companies and venues like this kind of stuff, and we are under pressure to accept it.

What I don't understand is how CRB checking every conference attendee will achieve anything that the physical checks on the door won't. I don't understand why anyone could possibly think this is necessary or proportionate.

And I do not think it's acceptable. I don't think it's acceptable for a party whose leader said he would go to prison rather than accept ID cards to now be letting the police have ANY say, however advisory, in who gets to attend conference. I don't think it's acceptable for two police forces to be CRB checking and storing data on Lib Dem members.

I don't particularly see an issue with myself getting accepted, but it's the principle of the bloody thing. I should not have to ask permission from the rozzers to meet with my party.

So I am conflicted. If I agree to this, if I let myself be CRB checked, that is tacit acceptance of the system. But if I don't, then I can't go to conference to do anything about it.

JazzHands has a suggestion for how this can be solved for this upcoming conference, but for future ones? I suspect this is not just going to be a motion at conference but legislation that is required to bolster the right of members of political groups to free assembly, and that the police should not be allowed to interfere unless there is a credible threat to life and limb, and even then only to prevent injury, but also that insurance companies should not be allowed to require pointless data retention before events can go ahead. Physically checking people are not carrying weapons? That's fair enough. Demanding that they give up a whole slew of sensitive data before they can even go through the physical checks is a step too far.

But none of this solves my problem: I have already paid for registration to conference. I did that in January. Do I submit to the CRB checks and try to make sure this doesn't happen again? Do I refuse to submit data over the internet and instead be subject to police interview once I get there? Do I wait and hope that some solution to this is found before September? Or do I just not go?

The only argument I can see for going at the moment is that if I don't go then the people who think this sort of thing is acceptable have won. And I don't like that thought.
miss_s_b: Vince Cable's happy face (Politics: Vince - happy face)
... are the ones who want to "share" it with the rest of us?

I want to blog about stuff: elected House of Lords, royalty, the awesomeness of Vince Cable, the shitstorm that has blown up around Gail Simone this weekend, my wife's marvellous bread-making abilities, internal party election rule changes and why they are needed, etc. etc. etc..

And yet somebody outside the house is playing loud irritating music and I can't form coherent thoughts to put down on the screen. All I can think is SHUT UP SHUTUP SHUTUUUUUUUUUUUUP!!!! I mean, is there any need for Mika? Just because it's sunny?

In other news, Ash at work has decided he is going to start calling me Eeyore. I doubt these two things are unrelated.

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miss_s_b: (Mood: Sorry)
... and all I have the energy to think at the moment is "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh".

I keep thinking if I can just get through the next month, the next week, the next day, the next hour, the next minute... Sometimes I can't. And what happens then is what is affectionately referred to in this house as Jennie having a mental. This is when I am frozen and incoherent and screamy and can't bear to be touched or spoken to, and it usually happens when there is something urgent to do. There are lots of urgent things to do at the moment, and although I have done some of them, I haven't done nearly enough. I don't think I physically, mentally, or emotionally can do enough. And the panic makes me unable to decide which Things are actually important and which ones it's ok to let slip, and makes me much less able to do any of them anyway...

I'd post details but frankly you don't want to know. Cthuhlu, I don't want to know. All I want right now is to be able to go to work, earn my wage, get paid, and pay the rent and bills. It seems that's too much to ask on a number of fronts at the moment.

Why do normal people find this stuff so easy?

I wonder what it's like to not be terrified of opening your mail? I seem to recall it being exciting to get mail when I was a kid, but maybe I just dreamed that.

Maybe one day I'll look back and laugh at this period of my life. I'm sure as shit regretting tempting fate by having for New Year's resolutions that I wouldn't overcommit myself and that I'd get my finances in order.

So, yeah, for those of you who had a tl;dr reaction there: internet activity is still low, and will remain so for the foreseeable future. Sorry.

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miss_s_b: (Politics: Post Feminism)
But more than that, I hate the reaction they bring out in me. For, having received a diatribe three times the length of something I originally tossed off as a bit of fluff to help someone out, which totally misses the point of my bit of fluff, and lays into me in quite a nasty manner, what is my first response?

Is it "this man is a cock who can safely be ignored"?

Is it "why, what an impressive straw man you have built there, sir, may I set fire to it?"?


My first, instinctive, response is "He hasn't got what I was saying and is vehemently agreeing with me while telling me how stupid and ill-informed I am. I must have not been clear enough".

My first response is to blame myself. How deep our socialisation goes.

No, you're not getting any more detail than that. Normal blogging may recommence at some point soon. Life is still v hectic chez Jennie.

This blog is proudly sponsored by Caron's Musings.

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miss_s_b: (Mood: In Need of Gin)
Am having a bad brain day. I have things I want to post, but am struggling to word them in such a way that they will be intelligible. This is because my brain is entirely taken up with something I can't post about, and it's not a happy thing, and it won't let me concentrate on anything else.

Suffice it to say that I have Done The Right Thing with regard to a particular situation, and am now going to spend some quality time hating, loathing, and despising myself. No sympathy, please. It's not needed and it won't help. I'll get on to the self-pitying whiner stage soon enough, and I suspect sympathy will be welcome then.

Until that point, I think it's safest if I switch off and withdraw. If you have some urgent need to contact me, you can phone or text. Or leave a comment to this entry and something will get back to you later. Probably.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Not London)
Here is a selection of the brick walls I am currently beating my head against:
  1. Fragmentation. The people I love all live so far apart, and I can afford neither the time nor the travel costs to visit them all as much as I would like - or in some cases, at all. Happy birthday, bruv.

  2. Cashlessness in general. I want to flattr people. I want to give money to good causes. I want to take my daughter to the pictures every so often. I want to buy a round of drinks for my mates after karate. I want some new shoes. I want to go to the dentist with my broken tooth. I can afford none of these things.

  3. Work. I am working a six day week this week. I won't get to see as much of my daughter or Mat as I would like. At the end of it, I will still be struggling to pay the rent.

  4. Londoncentricness. If you don't live in London, you don't matter. Not to the media, not to parliament, not to the Lib Dems... The convenience of those who live in London matters far more than including or consulting or even noticing those of us who don't, it seems.

  5. Sexism. The kyriarchy is systemic and all-pervading, and I haven't got the spoons to fight it all by myself, however much I might want to.

  6. Lack of Sleep. For various reasons I am not getting the amount or quality of sleep I require. This makes me cranky, and when I get cranky, I shout at people who are only being mildly annoying.

  7. Health Issues. My depression has been acting up, I am tired (see #6), my immune system is suppressed by both of these things, and that makes things I would normally shrug off (a food bug, or a cold) suddenly become a big deal

  8. Responsibility. I have a daughter, two dogs, and various other family things which I ought to pay more attention to than I do.

  9. Trying to keep up. My inbox currently stands at over 800 emails, 325 of which are unread. I have been skim reading my f-lists for weeks.
I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I'm close to burnout here, people. I need some time off, away from all this, to relax, unwind, and recharge. I haven't had a full week off work since before Christmas, and I'm not going to get one until September, and that's for Conference, and I haven't got my ticket for conference yet because I can't afford it. I'm pissed off with everything right now. I am fighting and fighting and fighting day in and day out, and I am barely keeping afloat, and I am so, so tired.

So if I'm a little short with you (insert your own joke here), or if I miss your blog post, or if I don't contribute to something I have told you I'd like to, don't take it personally. Deal?

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miss_s_b: (Politics: Post Feminism)
Because I am poorly and have no spoons, I got into a fight I possibly shouldn't have started last night, with someone who winds me up with his sexist behaviour at regular intervals. I'm not going to link to it, because I don't want this post to be about that specific incident, but about the generality. It ended up with him saying to me that I have no right to complain about him not linking to women's views unless I, personally, spoonfeed him women's views to link to.

Now, my instinctive reaction to that is to think fuck you! Why should I do all your work for you, you lazy git?... But that's possibly counterproductive for two reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, as I have discussed before, men will happily self-promote in ways that women won't. Mediocre men will shout from the rooftops about how awesome they are, and the more mediocre they are, the more they shout; awesome women, because of shyness, or socialisation that women who shout are harpies, or insecurity about their awesomeness, are much less likely to self-promote. This is made worse by the fact that very few people will look beyond what is waved in front of their faces, so the shouty men get noticed and the quiet women don't; very few people are willing to hurt somebody else (of whatever gender) by telling them they are mediocre if they are, and so the mediocre people get promotion they don't deserve, just by being shouty (Iain Dale is a PRIME example of that); and thus the cycle that to be noticed half as much as a man, a woman has to be twice as good continues in our supposedly post-feminist times.

The second reason my reaction is counter-productive is male priviledge. Male opinion aggregators are used to being spoonfed. This is unfair and annoying, but telling them to look beyond their spoonfeeding is telling them to do more work that they don't see a reason to do. Even if that were not the case, it takes a special kind of person to resist being spoonfed, why would anybody give themselves extra work to do?

This gives us two reasons why the blokosphere is self-perpetuating, and those two reasons feed into and reinforce each other. Even a completely non-sexist feminist ally man will often unconsciously perpetuate sexism under these circumstances. This is a problem I have been talking about for years, and I still don't have a suitable sword to cut this Gordian Knot. Nobody else seems to have one either.

How do we go about forging one, people?

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miss_s_b: (Mood: You're all Crazy)
I have always thought the concept of "positive" discrimination offensive, patronising, counterproductive and illiberal. I have also said that should my party adopt such processes, they could expect my membership card by return of post. It has always been a red line for me, and my feelings on that haven't changed. And now, according to Lib Dem Voice, the london area party has done so for assembly elections.

But that was before I became so deeply embedded in this family. I am vacillating over this matter of principle because of that. To NOT resign my membership over this would be rank hypocrisy, and yet... It's not my local party, or the federal party. Am I better to stay in and fight this from the inside?

The deadline for motions to conference passed two hours ago. I could try to get an emergency motion in, I guess. But it would need careful wording, and people might not vote for it to even be considered...

I genuinely don't know what to do.
miss_s_b: (Mood: Lustful)
Sometimes objectification makes me laugh.
Sometimes I even do it myself (see icon).
But sometimes it really upsets me.

I wish I knew what the differences were between instances of each. Is it that all objectification is wrong, and I am being bad when I laugh at it or do it myself? Or is it that some objectification is harmless, and some is malicious and hurtful, and that there's a difference between the two, and if so, what is that difference?

Is it that objectifying men is funny and ironic, poking fun at a priviledged group, but objectifying women is participating in the kyriarchy?

Is it that I am fine with objectifying people I don't identify with, but when someone appears to be objectifying a group I belong to then I get upset? I mean, I'm clearly OK with being personally objectified, at least to an extent, or [community profile] a_r_s_e wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't wear a low cut top for work if I'm particularly in need of tips, but...

Maybe it's much simpler than all that. Maybe I'm just a hypocrite.

My March sponsor is Mark Reckons, who wouldn't know hypocrisy if it stood up and bit him.

Or is it just that I'm a hypocrite?

About This Blog

picture of Jennie Rigg

Hello! I'm Jennie (known to many as SB, due to my handle, or The Yorksher Gob because of my old blog's name). This blog is my public face; click here for a list of all the other places you can find me on t'interwebs.

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Goodreads: Book reviews, recommendations, and discussion

Charities I support:

The Survivors' Trust - donate here
DogsTrust - donate here
CAB - donate here


Creative Commons License
Miss SB by Jennie Rigg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.
Based on a work at miss-s-b.dreamwidth.org.

Please note that any and all opinions expressed in this blog are subject to random change at whim my own, and not necessarily representative of my party, or any of the constituent parts thereof (except myself, obviously).

Printed by Dreamwidth Studios, Maryland USA. Promoted by Jennie Rigg, of Brighouse, West Yorkshire.


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