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19 July 2012 @ 12:54 am
 
You know what else is funny about vacation? Writing smut in a household of somewhere between nine and 13 people.

Kiwi: [Sitting on the sofa, typing away.]
M-my-friend: "Whatchya doin'?"
K: "Writing!" [Big smile.]
M-my-friend: "Oh! Can I read the story when it's done?"
K: [Glances to M's father, sitting in a chair about two feet away.] "Er...maybe the next one."
M: [Laughs.] "Gotchya."

A moment later, my father sat down next to me on the sofa. I altered my position to a cross-legged one and turned a bit, hoping that my screen was now not easily viewable to My Father or Father Red.

[Later]
M: "Is that the smut?"
K: "Oh, no, this is food porn." [If you're friends with therealsnape, she had a picture up of the Indonesian food she and some of the coven ordered together. Rumour has it that it was a load fit to be wheeled in.]
B, the younger brother: [Looks.] "That's an orgy!"


This all makes me happy that we only have one person under 20 in the house most of the time, and that next year three of the other young adults will be of legal drinking age.

(Although B still seems to have his odd little crush on me, or sisterly feelings he uses on me instead of his actual sister, which either way is annoying. It leads to him trying to fist bump with me constantly--I'm trying to teach him about comedic timing for his physical humour, now--and poking me and the "I'm not touching you" gig and watching me instead of films/TV (just me for all of it, no one else). Which I have begun actually calling him out on because, um, I've run out of patience through the years and this year it seems even worse. But it did lead to a moment in which I said, "B, if you have to think of a reason for the fist bump after you've put out your fist, it isn't the right time to fist bump." My brother's immediate response was to hold out his fist and say "Inappropriately-timed fist-bump fist bump" and I laughed as I had to bump it; I'm so proud of my little Xander-Dweeb [I'm trying to stick with at least both, now, since he's 20--but still a Dweeb in many respects, plus it's one of those youthful nicknames until a new one replaces it. He was "Monkey Boy" for years].

Earlier, B was once again watching me instead of the film, which is quite disconcerting given the number of films we all watch [especially since I was trying to write smut!], and I finally asked, "Why are you watching me, and not the film?" He replied something along the lines of, "When I've watched a film so many times, I like to watch reactions instead." "Then perhaps don't just watch me? It's clear that we've both seen this film [Spaceballs] often enough to quote it accurately." "Then maybe I should watch M? ...no, that's like watching you." I didn't argue that if M was "just like watching me", with a tone of disinterest, then there was no particular reason to watch me, either. Instead I said, "Then the film, perhaps?" He finally gave it up, for the most part, and watched the film. [For the record, it would have been different if he had been sharing one of his favourite films with me and I had never seen it before; I think we all at some point fall into moments of watching people when we first share our favourite screen-media.]

I used to have more patience for or embarrassment over things like these, I think, or felt less rude for just up and walking away--since he seems to like that I'm snarky and have dry humour, and it never offended him much. But after five years...I'm a bit done with not commenting. Today I was in a wheelchair at Busch Gardens [Busch Gardens, for free!] and pushing myself forward from my brother to my mother/friends when B came running up behind me, no warning, and started pushing me full speed, which killed my hands; I legitimately yelled (something like, "WHO ARE YOU?! LET GO, DON'T YOU DARE, LET GO NOW!"). It shocked the lashes off me, since I'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to get angry enough in a moment to just yell as a response, but gods that moment was terrible and my heart was racing--I think it was a bit of PTSD as well, to be honest. I felt a little bad, after, but that is honestly one of the worst things to do to a disabled person: 1) it physically hurts [hands, arms, whatever else might pain a person]; 2) being in a wheelchair, especially, can often enough mean giving up decisions regarding accessible pathways, speed, and the details of movement [especially if one is being pushed], so having those decisions further taken during a moment of complete control can feel like being robbed of one's personal will and a statement against a person's ability to move oneself when one clearly is managing; and 3) do most people want to randomly be forced into a sprint without warning? Unfortunately, some lessons stick most when they are not delicately taught--especially not when the teacher is literally pushed into a sprint-speed gait to force the lesson. Also, I was already in a moment of fed-up-with-chronic-pain-disabled-ness and in the grips of a mood in which the last thing I wanted to do be a wheeling disability lesson. I apologised after, and tried not to make a big embarrassing deal of it since he seemed to realise immediately after why it was bad, but I'm sure it'll stick. And that some of the behaviour since has been an attempt to make up for it...but has only been annoying me more, through no fault of his own, as he is a teenaged boy.)

Alright, that turned into something way bigger than it was supposed to be, but I see that it was weighing on my mind and my LJ is just as much a place for my mind as it is for other things.

And, on the other hand, I was so proud of my little brother today. He pushed me most of the way around the park and kept us both in good humour. He inherited my father's terrible motion sickness genes so I think he felt good to have a real job to do; I felt good and relieved to have a competent wheelchair pusher [at one point B took up my chair and ran me into so many things in such a short time that I looked up at my brother, horror-stricken, and mouthed 'get him off, get him off, please!' to which he laughed and immediately said, "I got this, B"]. It was just, like...endless love for my brother, who totally got it. And it was such a change from when we were both teenagers, him two years younger, and he just didn't get it at all. I keep remembering being outside one of the shops when everyone but me was going in and saying, "I'm going to park here next to these plants" with B hovering behind me for a while, about to help, and Xander saying, "Come on, B, she's got this." "She's got this," he said. And I did: I can reverse myself into a good space just fine in a wheelchair. He knew I could do it, and he knew that it would bother me to have someone help with something I could so clearly do and that would make me happy to do, and he helped by leaving me to it and having others do the same. I keep remembering that and feeling so much love and gratitude. It really is the little things. So today has been one of those 'recognising my sibling's growth and being super proud' days--and we did all have a great time in the park.

I feel as though this is a "Kiwi is mean or beechy" post, which is probably new since those haven't been around since my earlier days of LJ (during the first half-decade since, holy shite, I've been on LJ a decade next year). I'm a bit ashamed, but this is a part of me and this is the part of me that wanted to come out today. So. Uhm. Sometimes I yell and sometimes I'm frustrated beyond belief and sometimes I get utterly fed up with the behaviour of teenage boys and sometimes I'm pissed off to be disabled in any way at 22 and at having been this way since 14.

Which kind of puts things in perspective, really. I guess this is a "hello I'm human" post--and a reminder that badgers have teeth and claws, too.

But you know, my little (6-foot-2) brother may be a Dweeb who stole my height, but Xander is one amazing young man and awesome sibling. And that makes me happy. (If you read this, mother, don't you dare go blabbing! We communicate that to each other in other ways, honest. We played video games together this week on the same team; that is sibling love right there.)

Now it's time for The Princess Bride. (It's always time for The Princess Bride.

This icon was definitely me for some of today.
 
 
 
albalarkalbalark on July 19th, 2012 06:00 am (UTC)
Alright, that turned into something way bigger than it was supposed to be, but I see that it was weighing on my mind and my LJ is just as much a place for my mind as it is for other things. Don't blame you one bit, Kiwi. What he did was really beyond the pale, but, as you say, maybe it will stick now. Perhaps you can get his sister to have a little chat with him, too, about the unwanted attention. You are neither mean nor 'beechy' - you have a right to those feelings, and to let it be known when someone crosses the line.

Good on your 'little' bro - they *do* grow up eventually, don't they? *g*

(It's always time for The Princess Bride. Word.

Kiwi Crocus: HP || Umbeech || Dark face.cranky__crocus on July 19th, 2012 06:09 am (UTC)
I may ask M to do just that. It's something both our families have been noticing for years, so it's nothing new to any of us--seems only B is the one who hasn't noticed his behaviour (or finds it normal, or doesn't care, or whatever else).

I think that's exactly it: that he crossed the line. Through the rest of this week I have made subtler comments about knocking it off (since I really don't like to turn a moment unpleasant, and I'd rather make someone aware of zir behaviour with humour over an obvious making-wrong); since the incident, I have been much more out-spoken and direct. I think he truly just crossed a line, and I realised that not being clear is only making it more likely to continue, and I need to take hold of this myself to stop it. It's not my fault that he took it too far--and blame is mostly a silly thing--but now that I've seen that line utterly crossed, and seen that there is something I can do about it, it's time I do it. And so I am.

Thank you for further helping me put that in perspective!

(And thank you for the reminder that I am not being mean or 'beechy'. I think I forget, sometimes, how wounded I have been by being called a bitch; I assume it to be true, somewhere in an uncomfortable core of mine. I wish words wouldn't stick the way they do--or, instead, that the right words would stick, like the ones you use for me. But it seems that their positivity makes them light enough to float away, while the negative ones are heavy and won't leave me unless I have it in me to consistently throw them as far away as I can!)

*Grins.* They do certainly grow up eventually! Awwr, now I'm getting that tingly love-feeling in my belly that used to embarrass me so as a child. (I didn't understand what it was, back then, when I would think of my family and friends and the lovely things they did for me; I would pretend to take a sword and impale myself on it through my belly. I did the same for guilt-gut, since I have always had terrible cases of that...I was a strange child. Shocker, I know.) No sword-impaling now, though.

Ahaha, glad you're a TPB fan too! (And not the least bit surprised.) It's ended now, and I couldn't hear much of it since I'm keeping the volume low, but just having it on in the background has been a comfort. I'm enjoying my Kiwi-time late at night while everyone else is asleep; it was a very social day. And they wonder why I have nocturnal vacation habits...
tt: Muriel OLSBtwisted_twister on July 19th, 2012 06:35 am (UTC)
Kiwi!!! This is *NOT* a 'Kiwi is mean or beatchy' post; this is a 'Kiwi is rightfully angry at people who disrespect her space and feelings - as a human being and as a disabled one'. Your explanation about why and how it horrored you to be sprint-pushed about with no control was very acurate and touching, and your praise for your wonderful brother was just that, too.

Do not ever feel bad for telling people the truth, and if they hurt you, they should know, and if they give you a scare, it's not your place to play saint and explain in a calm voice: go on and shout your anxiety away, it is your right.

We, abled people (for lack of a better term, because you are a highly abled person in my eyes), sometimes need someone to scream at us to remind us how narrow can our way of perceiving life be. Thank you for being there and doing that for us.

(edited twice because I can't even type straight...)

Edited at 2012-07-19 06:40 am (UTC)
Kiwi Crocus: EA || Rose || Flower in her hair.cranky__crocus on July 19th, 2012 06:46 am (UTC)
Thank you.

Yes, I think that is something I am learning to do as part of my 'growing into myself'--which is a life-long pursuit, truly, but I'm sure I'll be learning how to stretch out more in my skin especially in these upcoming years. I think part of me is still afraid of taking up space, but I'm learning.

Thank you for that last paragraph, too. Most of the time it's something I can appreciate--and I appreciate it when I am taught such lessons by others, as well--but it can be exhausting. It's like being the token lesbian in a group of people with many questions, or the token woman, or whatever else; it's not necessarily education one chooses to give at any time or always has the energy for. And so sometimes I get testy, especially when my boundaries are pushed or my space is not respected--which, as you say, is perfectly understandable.

Thank you for the reminder!
tt: that wasn't a questiontwisted_twister on July 19th, 2012 06:52 am (UTC)
but it can be exhausting. It's like being the token lesbian in a group of people with many questions, or the token woman, or whatever else; it's not necessarily education one chooses to give at any time or always has the energy for. Totally. Yesss. That. Try to be kind to the local politician who comes to remind you of his existence a few days before election, but whom you need because the road to your house is not tarred by the council even though you paid your taxes which is more than most people in your area even thought of, when he starts asking about who's the man in the relationship and you just grind your teeth. (JD saved me from being rude with her brilliant diplomacy).
Kiwi Crocus: Rainbow || Threads.cranky__crocus on July 19th, 2012 06:56 am (UTC)
Oh, ye gods, not that one again *headdesk*. "The man in the relationship" - always makes me wonder if the person understands the definition of "lesbian" or of the phrase "two women together". If an entire town is made up of households with one dog and one cat, and a new family moves in with two cats, the town would probably not ask "Which cat is the dog?"

Yes, it gets exhausting teaching people about the way one lives and how to be more aware of it, not when the "teachable moments" could come at any time and could actually be painful on either or both sides. But I suppose if life weren't exhausting, critters wouldn't need sleep!
therealsnape: Pomonatherealsnape on July 19th, 2012 06:36 am (UTC)
You're totally right in telling B. off - that was completely uncalled-for and way out of order.

Enjoy the rest of your holidays, though, and have fun with advantageously-grown-up little brother.
Kiwi Crocus: Text || Shit could be worse.cranky__crocus on July 19th, 2012 06:51 am (UTC)
Thank you for the validation; I appreciate it. I tend to quickly feel bad for such things, but I am slow enough to anger and it is usually in reasonable enough circumstances that I hope I can grow to trust it: my anger is rarely misplaced.

I will certainly enjoy the rest of my holidays! We have a Murder Mystery planned: 8 different characters, one has been murdered, we basically all role-play through a script and scenario to see if we can figure out, by the end, who the murderer is plus as much of the Hows and Whys as we can manage. I played Cruella de Ville last time and won best costume (which we just decided at the end (; ). I don't even remember who murdered whom, but it was a hoot and a half with all these villainous characters--Wicked Witch, Frankenstein, the works.

I'm doing well at the moment, too: back to smut-writing. The makings of a great holiday.
lash_laruelash_larue on July 19th, 2012 12:14 pm (UTC)
I think your response was just about right, since I'm assuming that you weren't armed. You may have even gotten through to him, as you said.

It does sound as if Dweeb is turning out to be a pretty okay guy, and a damn good brother, and that's a really good thing.

Pissed off is okay, too. Why the heck wouldn't you be pissed off now and again? I get pissed at my problems, and I'm old enough to expect them. It just proves you're alive and kicking, and pissed off is a fine survival skill. Also that human thing, but I try not to dwell on that, I am constantly dismayed to realize that I'm one.

Finally, perhaps the kid has his points, but he does seem to be one of those kids who get on my last nerve without even trying. But I really am a grouchy old bitch, ;)

L

Kiwi Crocus: Ani D || Grinning.cranky__crocus on July 19th, 2012 06:34 pm (UTC)
I was wearing steel-toed 14-eye Docs...so you'll have to decide if I was armed or not. :P (I asked his mother earlier that day, "Why is he spending time treating me like a sister, and not M?" and she responded, "Because she'll hit him." And I realised that I had a personal rule against hitting someone else's brother; if my brother acts up that much around me, yes, I'll give him a thwack upside the head. But after the incident, B said, "I'm going to get hit at some point today"--which was nearly accurate, because M was at the point of hitting him on my behalf.) These days I try not to be too violent, despite how much I occasionally miss my more rough-and-tumble fighting days.

Definitely alive and kicking. Survival skill--I like that. And, well, humanity may have its down points...but I wouldn't be able to write any kind of smut if I were any other species. Unless there are alien species out there who write smut.

And, yeah, you're right there too. I do like occasionally quoting Monty Python with the kid, but I have to admit that he's one of the more annoying older teenagers I've met--at this point, having had jobs/volunteer positions, I've met many--and he can get on my nerves quite quickly. He seems to regress back to 14-or-under around me--and I wasn't too fond of most teenage boys of the sort when I was a teenager.