It’s just not discussed enough.
It’s just not discussed enough.
I’ve put in quite a few hours with the house, and several fixtures are installed as a result. My mother asked if she could see the progress thus far, which wasn’t a problem to me. After a few day’s time, she decided today would be perfect to stop by and view it with my father. Being a respectful host and dutiful son, I waited for any sign of them before I started the heavy work on the house… and waited… and waited…
“They probably needed a nap. They like those on a Sunday afternoon,” I rationalized. I know she hadn’t forgotten, as we spoke about this last night. There have been several times in my life where she’s simply forgotten what I was doing, as she was so wrapped up in her own business. Over and over I would be questioned about where was I going or what I was doing simply because she couldn’t remember and wouldn’t write it down. She also asks way too many questions, until her dialog is nothing but question marks. I find that a little much. It’s an inquisition at that point, not a conversation. Why would you ever do that to a person?
Finally, at the six o’clock hour, I called her cell phone with no answer. I’ve stopped leaving messages, as she never listens to them. She simply sees that I’ve called and calls me back to find out what I wanted. It has frequently ended in me regurgitating everything on the voice mail I left. So, I’ve stopped.
Highly agitated, I went to work. I had house chores to do, as the remodeling had made the place very dirty. I was vacuuming with my gym trunks and no shirt, as I work up a sweat that drenches all my skin touches. After cleaning up the kitchen, laundry room, and part of the dining room, I spin around to see my mother at the back stoop. Startled, I angrily dropped the sweeper attachments and trudged upstairs to put on a shirt. No warning. Nothing. Dammit!
The visit was unpleasant, because I wasn’t happy and she was clueless about how I operate. Voicing any concerns initiates her defensive side, and I will be blamed for being absurd or mean or “on edge” or just plain wrong with what I have to say. In this case, it was simply an asinine request to call a person ahead of time and tell them when you were arriving. How foolish of me to think I would be informed of what time to stick around my house.
This got me thinking. We don’t know how to be a family. We don’t know how to be cohesive, and my family simply doesn’t know how to handle me as an adult. This is infuriating to no end as they tap dance around being a part of my life with no real work. When I say “real work” I mean remembering our interactions, remember my preferences, and otherwise interacting like adults do.
My mother would deny this flat out, but after tonight, she has demonstrated that her life uber alles, and her service to others is to satisfy her martyr complex. My father’s not a martyr, rather self-interested and prefers living in his own world rather than interact with the real world. My personality cannot have a deep, meaningful relationship with them as my desires will always play second fiddle. I need to see eye to eye with people. I have earned that.
I am metaphorically alone, and with them in a state of denial, there’s little that can be done. Acceptance is hard sometimes, but may be necessary in this situation. We can’t always get what we want, I suppose.
I’m going to make a statement that’s woefully obvious to a lot of social liberals in America: this country is still too sexually repressed for its own good. Now that I’ve had that “no shit, Sherlock” moment out of the way, I may proceed with my analysis on sex and sexuality in America. As mentioned in earlier posts, I’m from the Midwest. While the larger cities may have loosened up over the past few decades, the majority of this land is still quite scared to death about sex, sexuality, and most of all, sexual identity. Some of it is from the religion boogie man, but I have another idea on what the “darker” reason may be.
If I had a heart, it would go out to the gay people either still in the closet or living in the small hamlets of this nation. I will only use the term “great nation,” when it does something to warrant it. For example, when people come together like this:
…that means your nation did something “great.” I might have cried, provided I had tear ducts, but I use autohaemorrhaging for quick defense against terrorists and used car salesmen. I am the horned lizard of Freedom!
I was driving back from work a few days ago to hear the Hooterville (that’s my term of endearment for this “city” in which I reside) university radio station play a PSA on what I would classify as “aggressive sexual behavior.” In a 1950s sort of way, it’s the classic serpent-tongued horndog trying to get a girl to take her clothes off. One of the last lines she says is “nudity is disgusting.” I almost brought the car to a screeching stop. “No,” I thought, “nudity is not disgusting! Nudity is beautiful!” I agree forcing your will upon women is wrong. Rape is wrong. Using women is wrong. Women aren’t always the ones getting the business end of the stick, but more often than not, they are.
However, nudity is NATURE! Stop trying to stigmatize it! That’s the problem here. In an effort for the masses to feel “safe,” somewhat well-meaning citizens have decided to pour bleach all over the concept of sexuality. It makes me nauseous. For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to keep this tirade past the age of majority. There are plenty of people that want to muddy the waters to avoid discussing serious problems. So, please, focus on the concern.
Aside from religion, I think there’s another reason for the huge stigma still surrounding sexuality in this country: people are truly afraid of what they really are. They are afraid to be in the fringe. They are afraid of being a “freak.” They are afraid of being left alone. The guilt of being a sexual “deviant” is enough to drive a human to repress emotions to an unhealthy level. How gross! How can we love one another, when we can’t even accept the kinks that love us?
This is why I think the pornography industry thrives in this country. They are filling a need that is so embarrassingly neglected that people are willing to pay top dollar for it. I’m also of the opinion that’s why the sex trade is a “trade.” There are men out there that haven’t been trained to understand sexuality properly, and are willing to pay for a Band-Aid over a gaping mental wound.
My point is: who cares if it’s absurd or severely unorthodox? Accept your sexual identity! The bedroom is none of society’s business. As long as everything’s consensual, relax and have a good time already. Maybe the release of fear and guilt will prevent you from going off the deep end?