"I would rather hum"

I overfocus on belonging.

I don't know what I associate with the idea of smof, and if I want to be one. On the one hand, of course I want to be included, of course I want to be "good enough" (and oh, lord do I keep coming back to good enough, I want to be good enough to want, I want to be good enough to work for, I want to be good enough not to leave) to be part of a secret cabal.

But I also want to avoid the things that make me sad or angry or uncomfortable in unproductive ways. I want to never feel like I'm begging for anything, I want to never feel that someone else's rejection matters. And I often moderate myself by assuming the rejection before it happens, telling myself I'm too curmudgeonly to be part of a group, that I value not talking to people who annoy me more than I value inclusion. That the good parts don't exist without the bad parts, and I'm more dedicated to avoiding the bad than finding the good.

What do I want to purchase with the coin I have to spend? Why can't I successfully make plans with X or Y or Z?

I'm doing this thing for Readercon, and the more I read, the more shit it brings up, and the more I want to sign my name to this policy going forward, the more I want to police the spaces I belong to on the internet. (time to friends-lock? I still don't want to, for reasons that are probably more stubborn than sense).

Once upon a time, when I was a little girl (for values of being a broken 23 year old), I had a friend who would protect me at parties. I was afraid I didn't exist if no one was looking at me, and it seemed worse not better when I was in crowds of people, and sometimes I just got drunk and loud, and sometimes I just wanted to make sure that someone was keeping track of me, or someone would always welcome me into whatever conversation he or she was having. And it worked, for a while, and then it didn't. And I married an amazing, amazingly mellow man who doesn't seem to feel the same grasping need to be involved, to be talking, to be charming that I do, so I can't exactly trail in his wake like I used to do with all the extroverts I attached myself to. And now, for the most part, I don't go to parties. And I might be happier for it, but some part of me still needs to catch-up.

Work in fucking progress, baby. Work in progress.

"I would rather hum"

I overfocus on belonging.

I don't know what I associate with the idea of smof, and if I want to be one. On the one hand, of course I want to be included, of course I want to be "good enough" (and oh, lord do I keep coming back to good enough, I want to be good enough to want, I want to be good enough to work for, I want to be good enough not to leave) to be part of a secret cabal.

But I also want to avoid the things that make me sad or angry or uncomfortable in unproductive ways. I want to never feel like I'm begging for anything, I want to never feel that someone else's rejection matters. And I often moderate myself by assuming the rejection before it happens, telling myself I'm too curmudgeonly to be part of a group, that I value not talking to people who annoy me more than I value inclusion. That the good parts don't exist without the bad parts, and I'm more dedicated to avoiding the bad than finding the good.

What do I want to purchase with the coin I have to spend? Why can't I successfully make plans with X or Y or Z?

I'm doing this thing for Readercon, and the more I read, the more shit it brings up, and the more I want to sign my name to this policy going forward, the more I want to police the spaces I belong to on the internet. (time to friends-lock? I still don't want to, for reasons that are probably more stubborn than sense).

Once upon a time, when I was a little girl (for values of being a broken 23 year old), I had a friend who would protect me at parties. I was afraid I didn't exist if no one was looking at me, and it seemed worse not better when I was in crowds of people, and sometimes I just got drunk and loud, and sometimes I just wanted to make sure that someone was keeping track of me, or someone would always welcome me into whatever conversation he or she was having. And it worked, for a while, and then it didn't. And I married an amazing, amazingly mellow man who doesn't seem to feel the same grasping need to be involved, to be talking, to be charming that I do, so I can't exactly trail in his wake like I used to do with all the extroverts I attached myself to. And now, for the most part, I don't go to parties. And I might be happier for it, but some part of me still needs to catch-up.

Work in fucking progress, baby. Work in progress.