and this was one of the good days
Aug. 4th, 2010 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmToday was one of the good days, and yet I wound up in the bathroom at work. In tears. Twice. It was the first time I'd cried at the office since Torchwood: Children of Earth aired, and yes, I feel like a jackass for writing that sentence despite the fact that I'm always lecturing you all about the importance of story.
About ten minutes before the Prop 8 decision came down, I got a call from the New York City Fire Department that began with them assuring me this was not an emergency. When they told me what it was about, it felt like an emergency pretty fast.
You see, the NYFD was responsible for the ambulance that brought me to the hospital from the doctor's office when I had my kidney stone incident just before Bristol, and they were now trying to process my claim with my insurance company. There was just one problem: the insurance company was telling them my policy expired in 2003.
So there I am, standing in the hallway of the office suite, my head swimming with questions on the formal address of vampires and the Prop 8 decision anticipation and suddenly the insurance I pay a lot of money for doesn't exist.
The NYFD verifies my company, policy number, name, group number and everything else I can think of. Yeah. They've got everything, and I'm uninsured.
"Excuse me," I said abruptly before hanging up, "I need to go talk to HR."
We don't really have HR. We have a guy that sits about a foot away from me and runs interference with the accountant's office.
"Dude, call the accountant, right now," I said, after offering a brief explanation.
"Send me an email with all the information."
"That is all the information! My policy doesn't exist. Fine, I'll call the insurance company."
So I call the insurance company, who also tell me, that yes, my policy expired in 2003.
"Look again."
"Oh, here it is!"
Apparently, if you have an insurance policy with this company that gets closed because you switch jobs or whatever, that one will always come up first, as opposed to the active one. Meaning that when providers submit your insurance information for payment, the first thing the system kicks out is that you don't have any, and then you get freaky phone calls from the NYFD at a key moment of deeply personal political history.
By the time I got off the phone with the insurance company, the NYFD had called me back and left a message to say they had figured it out on their own, and the Prop 8 results had been announced. And me? My adrenalin was all fucking up over the insurance and I'd missed my moment to celebrate.
Cue crying moment #1. This first time, I didn't even bother with the bathroom. I read a lot of Twitter, tried to get excited, get happy, and do the obligatory LJ post on the odd chance I'm a primary news source for anyone (please let that not be true).
Then, amidst the huzzahs! and the discussion of what happens next, someone came into my Prop 8 post to explain why judges doing what judges are supposed to do in the US system of justice was a constitutional travesty. I was insulted, lectured and condescended to until I banned the individual, at which point I did walk, quite briskly, to the bathroom to cry.
Standing there in the stall, hands over my face sobbing because of the stupid insurance debacle and the stupid LJ drama and the stupid elevators that never work in my office building and the stupid inconsiderateness of the people we share an office suite with, all I could think of, suddenly, was last damn July and Children of Earth, because here I was again, sobbing over something that was a central event in my social circle that no one else in the building gave a crap about, or maybe, hadn't even heard of.
And if I wasn't already in a cascade of tears, well, that was it.
The worst thing about mourning for people is that they never see you do it.
The worst thing about fictional characters isn't that they'll never console you by holding your hand, but that you can never console them by holding theirs.
The worst things about these fundamental political events when you're a minority is that you're surrounded by people who don't notice, don't give a crap, or think it's a great opportunity to ignore that you're real and use it to exercise their rhetorical and devil's advocacy skills.
All of it was, yet the fuck again, like the realization I kept having in fencing over and over again, that when you fight, you fight alone. No matter who's standing right there next to you.
Back at my desk, I started looking at the news articles, at the people celebrating, at the discussion of what would happen next, and I had that other moment of realization in this gay rights thing that is always total shit.
You know the one, the one where I stop being grateful for the fact that my humanity, while affirmed this go around, is fundamentally in question because My god, we are actually having this conversation.
And to add to that list of worsts a few lines back: there is nothing worse when you suddenly have to be grateful for something you were always supposed to have known or have had.
So, yeah, bathroom crying jag #2, and then I was just done. I couldn't do the office anymore and took off, taking a cab because I couldn't be on the subway with people who didn't know or wouldn't care or might, if I was so stupid as to try to talk to them, congratulate me on having my humanity affirmed, and then I'd start crying and talking about stories or something and it would just be embarrassing.
So I took a cab.
And called my mother.
And carefully broached Prop 8, because I couldn't avoid it. I have no self-control -- it's a feature of those homosexuals, don't you know? And sometimes I wonder if storytelling is a necessary congenital defect of our kind.
My mom listened, and said, "Huh."
I hated to do this to her, to hear it wash over her that the good news can feel like bad news. But instead of giving me platitudes or changing the topic, she got it. She really got it. And was quietly awed by the weight of it. I never ever wanted to do anything that would require my mother to be an impressive person on my behalf, not that I am not grateful, because I am.
So today was one of the good days. I am actually insured. A judge did the right thing with eloquence and intellectual rigor. My mother listened to me and saw me.
And nobody real died.
But I keep crying. And I keep saying, so softly, "I remember you," meaning all these people who fight, all these communities that are fading in the face of normativity and youth and the forgetfulness of those who have never known the things I have seen, many of them as a child, when I should not have had to see.
My tattoo is obscured today under a navy blue racer-back tank, and it's like holding the hand of made-up strangers when the plane takes off.
It's like sitting across from the woman on the train hugging The New York Times to her chest and sobbing the morning after the 2004 presidential election.
And it's like fencing, when everyone else was busy pretending we weren't all in the same war.
Happy should never have to be this way.
And one day, maybe, maybe maybe maybe, at least for my people, it won't be.
About ten minutes before the Prop 8 decision came down, I got a call from the New York City Fire Department that began with them assuring me this was not an emergency. When they told me what it was about, it felt like an emergency pretty fast.
You see, the NYFD was responsible for the ambulance that brought me to the hospital from the doctor's office when I had my kidney stone incident just before Bristol, and they were now trying to process my claim with my insurance company. There was just one problem: the insurance company was telling them my policy expired in 2003.
So there I am, standing in the hallway of the office suite, my head swimming with questions on the formal address of vampires and the Prop 8 decision anticipation and suddenly the insurance I pay a lot of money for doesn't exist.
The NYFD verifies my company, policy number, name, group number and everything else I can think of. Yeah. They've got everything, and I'm uninsured.
"Excuse me," I said abruptly before hanging up, "I need to go talk to HR."
We don't really have HR. We have a guy that sits about a foot away from me and runs interference with the accountant's office.
"Dude, call the accountant, right now," I said, after offering a brief explanation.
"Send me an email with all the information."
"That is all the information! My policy doesn't exist. Fine, I'll call the insurance company."
So I call the insurance company, who also tell me, that yes, my policy expired in 2003.
"Look again."
"Oh, here it is!"
Apparently, if you have an insurance policy with this company that gets closed because you switch jobs or whatever, that one will always come up first, as opposed to the active one. Meaning that when providers submit your insurance information for payment, the first thing the system kicks out is that you don't have any, and then you get freaky phone calls from the NYFD at a key moment of deeply personal political history.
By the time I got off the phone with the insurance company, the NYFD had called me back and left a message to say they had figured it out on their own, and the Prop 8 results had been announced. And me? My adrenalin was all fucking up over the insurance and I'd missed my moment to celebrate.
Cue crying moment #1. This first time, I didn't even bother with the bathroom. I read a lot of Twitter, tried to get excited, get happy, and do the obligatory LJ post on the odd chance I'm a primary news source for anyone (please let that not be true).
Then, amidst the huzzahs! and the discussion of what happens next, someone came into my Prop 8 post to explain why judges doing what judges are supposed to do in the US system of justice was a constitutional travesty. I was insulted, lectured and condescended to until I banned the individual, at which point I did walk, quite briskly, to the bathroom to cry.
Standing there in the stall, hands over my face sobbing because of the stupid insurance debacle and the stupid LJ drama and the stupid elevators that never work in my office building and the stupid inconsiderateness of the people we share an office suite with, all I could think of, suddenly, was last damn July and Children of Earth, because here I was again, sobbing over something that was a central event in my social circle that no one else in the building gave a crap about, or maybe, hadn't even heard of.
And if I wasn't already in a cascade of tears, well, that was it.
The worst thing about mourning for people is that they never see you do it.
The worst thing about fictional characters isn't that they'll never console you by holding your hand, but that you can never console them by holding theirs.
The worst things about these fundamental political events when you're a minority is that you're surrounded by people who don't notice, don't give a crap, or think it's a great opportunity to ignore that you're real and use it to exercise their rhetorical and devil's advocacy skills.
All of it was, yet the fuck again, like the realization I kept having in fencing over and over again, that when you fight, you fight alone. No matter who's standing right there next to you.
Back at my desk, I started looking at the news articles, at the people celebrating, at the discussion of what would happen next, and I had that other moment of realization in this gay rights thing that is always total shit.
You know the one, the one where I stop being grateful for the fact that my humanity, while affirmed this go around, is fundamentally in question because My god, we are actually having this conversation.
And to add to that list of worsts a few lines back: there is nothing worse when you suddenly have to be grateful for something you were always supposed to have known or have had.
So, yeah, bathroom crying jag #2, and then I was just done. I couldn't do the office anymore and took off, taking a cab because I couldn't be on the subway with people who didn't know or wouldn't care or might, if I was so stupid as to try to talk to them, congratulate me on having my humanity affirmed, and then I'd start crying and talking about stories or something and it would just be embarrassing.
So I took a cab.
And called my mother.
And carefully broached Prop 8, because I couldn't avoid it. I have no self-control -- it's a feature of those homosexuals, don't you know? And sometimes I wonder if storytelling is a necessary congenital defect of our kind.
My mom listened, and said, "Huh."
I hated to do this to her, to hear it wash over her that the good news can feel like bad news. But instead of giving me platitudes or changing the topic, she got it. She really got it. And was quietly awed by the weight of it. I never ever wanted to do anything that would require my mother to be an impressive person on my behalf, not that I am not grateful, because I am.
So today was one of the good days. I am actually insured. A judge did the right thing with eloquence and intellectual rigor. My mother listened to me and saw me.
And nobody real died.
But I keep crying. And I keep saying, so softly, "I remember you," meaning all these people who fight, all these communities that are fading in the face of normativity and youth and the forgetfulness of those who have never known the things I have seen, many of them as a child, when I should not have had to see.
My tattoo is obscured today under a navy blue racer-back tank, and it's like holding the hand of made-up strangers when the plane takes off.
It's like sitting across from the woman on the train hugging The New York Times to her chest and sobbing the morning after the 2004 presidential election.
And it's like fencing, when everyone else was busy pretending we weren't all in the same war.
Happy should never have to be this way.
And one day, maybe, maybe maybe maybe, at least for my people, it won't be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 08:40 am (UTC)Can I send you a hug?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:05 am (UTC)I don't cry much, but being a chronic loner/weirdo/misfit/outcast/introvert/oddball, I do know what it's like to overwhelmed by something other people don't even know exists.
Cool your mom was understanding about it though.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:06 am (UTC)I have never really been able to put into words what frustrates me about the whole equality struggle until you wrote it. It shouldn't be a struggle. It should just BE. There shouldn't have to be celebrations on such simple things as marriage, or voting rights, or hell, just the right to be yourself. It should just BE that way. Because we're all people. Because we're all human. We all feel.
I'm very sorry you feel this so deeply, and for that matter, that you HAVE to feel it so deeply.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:07 am (UTC)Oh boy, have you had a day. I hope tomorrow is much better. And, yay, you have insurance. And I'm glad your mother actually listened.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:13 am (UTC)please let that not be true
Date: 2010-08-05 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:16 am (UTC)That one will always come up first, as opposed to the active one.
Date: 2010-08-05 02:18 am (UTC)Your country+healthcare=insane!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:20 am (UTC)The worst thing about mourning for people is that they never see you do it.
Date: 2010-08-05 02:22 am (UTC)My god, we are actually having this conversation.
Date: 2010-08-05 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:24 am (UTC)It resulted in a really long talk, and now he gets it. He had no idea why I found his opinion so offensive as a bisexual female.
I'm sorry that you were belittled in your place of work over the decision. I hope and pray that this stays overturned.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:29 am (UTC)No, it shouldn't. Thank you for sharing how it can be, though, so that maybe more people will get it.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:41 am (UTC)It really shouldn't. That's really all there is to say.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:41 am (UTC)Just like loving a person is normal, sharing your life with that person is normal, and celebrating your family is normal. I am beyond thankful that someone has finally called this bullshit. Marry the person you love, have a happy life together. That's all anyone can ask for.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:17 pm (UTC)Be gentle with yourself, you are more than allowed.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:52 am (UTC)I'm glad it's overturned, but honestly I'm still angry that we passed this thing in the first place. (I managed to change my husband's mind the DAY of the vote, despite numerous talks with him prior to that. The argument that finally worked as that this would be taking away a right that already existed. 8 wasn't upholding any laws, it was creating a new, bigoted one. Even he could see how backwards that was. Thankfully.)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 02:59 am (UTC)I wanted to cry but I couldn't. Instead I unleashed a little bit of righteous fury on that troll who showed up in your last entry but that just made me more frustrated and emotionally constipated. You're right. Happy should never have to be this way and we shouldn't have to be grateful for rights granted that people should have had from the start.
I'm really thankful that your mom got it. I could never call my mother about this stuff because, honestly, she was probably praying all day that prop 8 would be saved and that gays would be denied so many rights that they'd all just disappear and leave her alone.
Sometime soon I want to sit with you, drink things and talk about shit we care about and feel the kind of happy that's wonderful and good. Until then this comment will have to do.
You're awesome. Thanks for sharing the things you were feeling today. That's all.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:15 am (UTC)I got lucky. My parents have not always been cool and are remarkably erratic on these sorts of things, but traditional religion hasn't ever been a particularly significant part of that drama with them, thankfully. It gives me more wiggle room, if nothing else.
You and the person with the School House Rock comment won the troll responses.
And yes, we should hang out. We always spend time together in such completely fucked circumstances that aren't conducive to us actually being friends in some way other than "aaaaaaaaaaargh! fandom! fuck the word!" ways. Not that those don't have their moments, but more good stuff, would be good.
And lord knows, my gut understands if you ever have to cancel plans because of your gut.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:13 am (UTC)*big hugs*
AND I'm happy you have the insurance you've been PAYING FOR for years. That must have been so incredibly stressful to hear.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:34 am (UTC)Oof.
That was a wretchedly beautiful writeup of it. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:35 am (UTC)Happy should never have to be this way. And one day, maybe, maybe maybe maybe, at least for my people, it won't be. -- As far as we've come, we've still got a hell of a long way to go...still, we are advancing.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-05 03:49 am (UTC)