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Yesterday I wrote a post, on too little sleep, about a dream I had which woke me up with a weird question.
The question was: There’s three there’s?
Remember that I just said it was a weird question in a dream, so it is under no obligation to make sense to you, or to me… oh, and yes, I know it’s grammatically incorrect, I got annoyed about that in my dream and had a bit of a rant about it in my post (see excerpt below).
But before I go any further I should give credit to those who partly inspired the dream which woke me up at 4 O’clock in the morning unable to get back to sleep again so I wrote a post instead.
The fine folks of the Ragtag Community work their fingers off to come up with Ragtag Daily Prompts, and their prompt for Ragtag Tuesday caught my eye (no, it’s okay, it wasn’t too painful, thank you for asking) at first because of the photograph which margaret21 shared and then because of the question she asked: The past. What comes into your mind?
I had read the RDP during the day, and had been contemplating many variations on the theme as I fell asleep that night. Sometimes I write posts in my dreams although I rarely remember them when I wake up. This time…
In the dream I had logged in to my blog, and found a new comment on a post (no idea what the post was about, but it may have been one I’d written for the RDP about the past). The question was the comment, and I was attempting to understand it so that I could reply.
In the dream I wondered if the commenter:
- Was being funny and I had missed the joke? Was it some humorous spin on the three bears?
- Was being all enigmatic and stuff hoping to say something that would blow my mind with how enigmatic and stuff they are?
- Was correcting a grammatical error I’d made in the post while ignoring their own in their comment?
That last one really got to dreaming me and also got to woken by an annoying dream me. This is what I wrote about it in my groggy post the following morning:
“I said something in the draft of my reply about having dyslexia… and then decided that was a pointless thing to say. Besides most people who correct the grammar and typos of others online when others have not requested this service (which I wouldn’t, why? because year upon year of my entire childhood and later on until I’d had enough of having more than enough, my every word, spelled or spoken, my every gesture, every facial expression, every choice, was critiqued, criticised, and corrected by a perfectionist on a mission to fix me by constantly breaking off bits of me) do not give a flying that people are living and dying from far worse crimes than those against proper English.
They want world peace they say, and then they help world peace to happen by surfing online until they find someone who has made a mistake in their tweet or elsewhere where a person can comment, and proudly point it out with rarely a hi, hello, how do, would you like this service or should I not do this because your tweet was about how you’re so depressed that you’ve been considering killing yourself… but there was a grammatical error in how you worded it… don’t you want to do things correctly, people like you are killing English!”– from a post I didn’t publish, partly because after writing this bit I thought – that’s a tad harsh, Ursula, you need to get some sleep.
If it had been a real comment on my blog, I’d have most likely just said – Thank you for sharing 🙂 – and left it at that because I am thankful when people share themselves in a comment on a post even if I have no idea why they commented or what they’ve shared of themselves.
I didn’t publish that post so don’t look for it… although if you’ve read more than one of my posts you may have come to the conclusion that I write while semi-conscious. Maybe you’ve wondered if I’m inebriated. High. Insane in the membrane.
If you have wondered that, in some ways your wondering is correct, but not in the more conventional meaning of those concepts.
When I write and I’m in the right frame of mind (according to me, of course), I will get high on the exhilaration of expressing myself (for a significant portion of my life self-expression was a no-no), I will get drunk on emotion, feeling, and… well, I am very weird, strange, and crazy but blogging has been helpful in healing my relationship with my weird, strange, crazy self.
“I grew increasingly annoyed, mostly with myself… why did I feel the need to mention my dyslexia, okay I deleted that bit but… it’s like I felt the need to excuse myself, apologise, give a reason, why? I don’t like doing that, especially since that’s often what they want you to do and then they’ve got you, it wastes so much time, and when it comes to informing people that I have dyslexia… they just end up talking to me a little LOUDER and s l o w e r. Yup, thank you, that’s awfully helpful, you’ve totally understood the condition, and my reason for telling you!”– also from that post I didn’t publish. I really needed a long nap.
Here is a link to a simple article about some basics of dyslexia which may help you appear less stupid when someone tells you they have dyslexia – 9 Strengths of Dyslexia – and no, I didn’t have to word it that way, but in my experience smart people end up behaving really stupidly when I inform them I have the condition – usually I only mention it when it is relevant and keep quiet when it isn’t to avoid them embarrassing themselves by treating me like an idiot.
I didn’t publish that post because when I got to the end of it… I fell asleep. No, it wasn’t that boring. In fact, to me, it wasn’t boring at all as in writing it I figured something out, and that led to me relaxing, which then lead to me realising I was too tired to stay awake anymore.
After a few hours of sleep later… I found that I had a case of the bleeds, aka that time of the month had arrived, period. Which explained why I was feeling deeply exhausted yet unable to sleep properly. Yes, you do need to know that because if I ever get there it’ll be relevant.
Tell you what, let me get to the point now:
The great Fandango of This That and The Other has started a new series for blogger participation – Fandango’s Provocative Question #1: “If you could be the opposite sex for one day, what would you do?” – he explains it all in his post so please click on over there to read his reasoning and what people are saying in the comments!!!
I have actually been the opposite sex at random times in the past.
When I was a toddler I had short hair and only wore trousers. The reason for the pixie cut was because my mother was attempting to turn what she called my ‘pink’ hair into many shades darker. The reason for the trousers was because I climbed everything and sprawled everywhere, skirts were not practical.
When we went to Japan, the locals thought I was a boy and because I had bright orange hair I was a – lucky boy. People, particularly schoolgirls, kept wanting to have their photo taken with me or just take a good luck charm photo of that lucky boy with flames for hair. My nanny, who was Japanese, explained all of this to my mother and told her not to tell them the truth as it was easier that way. If any of those many photos still exist… they are of a tiny angry person.
Later on I was allowed to grow my hair out, so the cases of being mistaken for a boy were less frequent. But then I fell in crush with Purdey from The New Avengers and got a bowl cut. What a lovely boy you have!
Several years later while working in my father’s gallery, a woman told me all about the artist and his family (I didn’t let on that I was a member of the artist’s family when I worked there because it was better that way), and how she owed the painting he’d done of his son (it was a painting of me, but to be fair to her, the title had the word boy in it because it was me during my Purdey phase and until my father had his own gallery he didn’t name his own paintings). I did try to explain that the artist had a daughter and not a son, but she was adamant that she was right and I was wrong. The customer is always right.
After those early years of randomly being a boy, I didn’t get mistaken again for the opposite sex until I went online. The gravatar I use (which is my face) is apparently not always clearly a woman. And the way I express myself through writing is apparently sometimes rather masculine. There’s actually a couple of fun online tests, quizzes, apps which try to guess your gender based on your answers, or a sample of your writing… they either guess that I’m male or tell me that I could be either male or female so take your pick, person of non-specific gender!
Online I often get confused about other users’ genders. The pics people use only tell you that they’ve decided to use that pic as their avatar, sometimes it’s their favourite celeb, and females may use a male celeb, so… even when they’ve got a traditionally male or female name, told me they’re male or female, I sometimes find myself thinking they’re male when they’re female and female when they’re male, and ultimately I don’t think it matters (although it may matter very much to them…) because online is about who you are inside rather than on the outside.
If you could be the opposite sex for one day, what would you do?
For only one day… I have to admit I’d behave rather irresponsibly and waste the opportunity to learn anything serious or deep.
I’d probably dress up or maybe not, maybe go naked, either way I’d take loads of selfies… dick pics will be happening but I won’t be sending them to others. I’d definitely play with my penis and balls. I wouldn’t fuck around but I might make my partner an offer he might refuse. I might end up in A&E after using a vacuum for a very stupid use indeed!
If after all my dicking around I had time to go out before Fandango’s fairy godfather spell wore off, I’d probably wander around the local village and do some regular shopping to see how differently I got treated as a male.
As a female I’m rather masculine physically, big shoulders, almost flat-chested, and I’m unusually strong for a lady – my judo teacher at school thought he’d hit gold when I joined his class because I could knock pretty much every other student over without any training. I ended up paired with a boy who was several belts above my no belt white belt, he had training and I didn’t and he struggled, oh boy did he struggle… and as a female I felt bad for him and eased up on him, as a male he didn’t realise what I was doing and decided to come on stronger and almost choked me a couple of times (in a judo choke hold while supervised by the teacher and not for fun, but maybe there was a bit of revenge of the ego going on).
Some of my behaviour and mannerisms… aren’t particularly female, but would they be considered not particularly male if I was a male? I think I get away with my weird, strange and crazy more as a female… I’m just another crazy woman!
Speaking of being a crazy woman… I saw a headline recently claiming that the queen of goop is planning on pro-actively rebranding menopause. So it’s going to be more expensive, perhaps only for the rich to experience (which means I guess I’ll miss out on it, aw shucks!)… but very in and cool to have it? I’m very relieved she’s doing that because that means when I get it (which should be any moment now as I’m almost 50), it should be trending, popular, and a hot flushing topic! Yay, I’m so excited! Menopower!!!
But seriously… I would love to be a man for a while, I think it would fill in some blanks in understanding and give me a better idea of the bigger picture of being human.
I also think that men would find it interesting to bleed profusely once a month and not just from the wounds inflicted by women near and dear to them who are hormonal due to their vagina coughing up so much blood and guts. And women would find it interesting to experience just how vulnerable men are in their bodies no matter how macho they appear to be.
But I think the experiment needs to last longer than a day. It needs to go on until the novelty wears off, the doing of things you couldn’t do in your own sex’s body gets its fill, the assumptions get bored, the defenses come tumbling down, a person sinks deeper into the experience for the sake of the experience of learning, seeing, feeling, knowing by being, and the existential crisis which comes with a male or female body sets in.
How long would that take?
“But how long does it take to get places? Let’s start close and move further out. It takes light about 1.3 seconds to get to the Moon, therefore, you see the Moon as it was 1.3 seconds ago. To get from the Sun to Earth, light takes about eight minutes, and to get to Pluto, light takes about five hours. We call this “light travel time,” the time it takes for light to travel from one place to another. We can also write this in terms of a light distance. For example, eight minutes of light travel time from the Sun to the Earth is eight light-minutes of distance. Thus, Pluto is five light-hours away.
– Jesse Rogerson, Canada Aviation and Space Museum, for Ingenium Channel: The Death of Stars
Now let’s jump to the stars. The next closest star system to Earth, Alpha Centauri, is about four light-years of distance away. That means it takes light about four years to travel the distance from Alpha Centauri to us here on Earth, and thus, we see the Alpha Centauri system as it was four years ago… trippy. But Alpha Centauri is only visible in the Southern Hemisphere (constellation Centaur), let’s pick one the northern hemisphere. The star Sirius, for instance, is the brightest star in our night sky, and is about eight light-years away (aka eight years of light travel time, I think you get the pattern now)*. What about the furthest star we can see? Well, that again depends on how you look at it, but let’s augment the question to be, “What’s the furthest star I can see with just my eyes?” It turns out the answer is the star V762 Cas (in the constellation Cassiopeiae), which is 16,308 light-years away. Crazy!”
When we look at the stars…
…we’re looking at the past. Which may explain why wishing on stars is an ineffective wish-granter.
That’s it from me… over to you!