Very late last night, I read something that made me very angry.

Anger is an emotion I'm very unfamiliar with, actually. It doesn't come easily and I tend to repress it, or rationalise around it. I have a very high tolerance for misunderstanding; I have a very high tolerance for 'lack of progress' when things aren't urgent; I have a reasonably high tolerance for most aspects of standard human behaviour. So a lot of things that get people irritable or angry don't affect me.

I used to get angry, of course, when I was a young child; I remember several decent rolling-around-on-the-floor temper tantrums, none of which had any good cause. They probably lasted until I was about nine; by then I was starting to realise what I was losing, and to take more care of my dignity. Then, too, anger started turning to sadness and retreat - and eventually I started skipping even that step in favour of analysing the situation and, well, doing something about it. Or learning from it.

Part of it, I guess, is that I have a reasonable self-esteem in a lot of areas, these days. So it takes quite a lot to threaten me. It's not often that I encounter any cause for fear, real or imagined; I have a good life. You can't hurt me by saying I'm ugly, or fat, or stupid, or selfish, or a whiner, or silly, or nerdy, or any manner of other things, because I know what I am. (To wit: I look like your average Chinese, I have a poor appetite, people call me unusually intelligent, I do things predominantly for others, and I complain very little. And I'm silly and nerdy and geeky and indecisive and overly serious. So what?) I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm even popular in certain circles, and loved by others.

I do place a high value on understanding. But I also appreciate that it's sometimes not easily obtained. If someone has misunderstood something, I know that that doesn't necessarily mean they think ill of me; such things can be resolved. Who knows, I might be mistaken, or I might not have made myself clear. I give people the benefit of the doubt in these situations too; I tend to assume they have good intentions, that they don't set out to malign me, and that nobody has perfect delivery. Some times understanding takes more effort than others.

I'm also used to having patience with and tolerance for people. If the lady at the bank has to sort out paperwork the previous customer left, before she can call me up, so be it. The person who stepped on the back of my shoe didn't actually do it deliberately. The patient who makes unreasonable demands is sick and needs comfort. The people in the queue in front of me have their own agendas and stresses. I don't need to get worked up about it.

When I see people's anger in these situations, I've always seen it as getting in the way of resolution - people alienate each other, make each other nervous, and stop communicating. I'm a communication junkie; I love to know that somebody understood what I meant, or how I feel, and to think that I can empathise with them in some way, and see what they are trying to tell me. Anger, as I see it, is often a barrier. And quite often a waste of time.

Which is not to say that I ignore injustice. I don't know, I must lead a charmed life, injustice seldom happens to me, or at least not in any serious way. And I don't have the sense of self-entitlement that leads some people to imagine injustice, whenever they don't get everything they want. When it does happen to others, I do what I can. I try to help those who need it. There are always options, ways around a situation, ways to cope and things to work on. I'm not motivated by revenge, but fairness appeals to me. And I have an exceedingly strong - overriding, even - sense of doing what is fair. Or trying to.


But anyway, last night, I was angry. Very much so. I even considered getting her back, showing her up by making it clear what I really was.

Of course, that idea quickly dissolved. What angered me was that realistically, there was no way to make things right and still be true to who I am and lead my life. There were options - there always are - I had considered and rejected them many times before- but they involve a lot more time and effort than I have available, or ever will. I am going to have a full-time job to go back to, after all.

So I did the first obvious thing: I vented to a friend. I didn't even have to tell her much, just point out what had happened and let her see the obvious injustice. She sympathised - that was all I needed - and I felt better immediately. After a rambling discussion on health, what she was cooking for dinner and what I had in the fridge, I thought I was ready for bed. It was 4am my time.

What I didn't fully appreciate was the energy that comes with anger. My mind was abuzz for the next two hours. I'm not one to think negatively of people, or to go over perceived misdeeds round and round again; I had already accepted that the injustice was there, and permanent; my previous efforts had come to nought. Where I was mistaken was in thinking that acceptance was the same as resolution. Instead, my mind got creative, and started presenting me with an infinite number of avenues. I could do this and this, and limit the damage... I could help others learn from my situation... I could be true to myself and what I really wanted to do by starting this or that project, and everyone would see. And maybe, yes, there was an easier way of showing her up; it wouldn't even have to be permanent ... no, here were some even better things to do with my time ... on and on.

I know now why they say never to go to bed on a dispute. Bedtime is the worst time to be angry, because you know you need sleep, and yet you can't. And you know that no matter what you think of, it will be best done in the morning; you'll be out of whack if you don't sleep; and yet you can't. The energy is there, whichever way you channel it, constructive or destructive ... it quickens your breathing and your pulse, raises your blood pressure, whooshes through your mind and your limbs. And you need your sleep! Darn it.

It got to six o'clock, normal time for our morning walk, although I knew Smith wouldn't be walking because he'd been up late trying to make something work. I got out of bed for a drink of water, and seriously considered doing the walk anyway, in the rain, by myself, just so I could sleep. I'd already tried progressive relaxation (and found my jaw was tense), and attempts at meditation, trying to block everything out with my mantra, but of course I was too tired for that to really work. Concentration was not available.

And then I dismissed the idea of the walk (I probably would have collapsed) and went back to bed, and Smith turned over and put his arms right around me ... held my head to his chest while he slept... and I was safe.

Only then could I let go, tell my creative mind to take a rest; only then could I slowly, visualising each colour in turn, bring my thoughts back to a normal level (I dunno, it works); and then, focused, take myself back to the reality of warm, soft bed, half-light, bird call outside ... cradled by my husband, I relaxed. Even then it took a while ... but I eventually slept.

And of course the options were all there in the morning, and some of them were more realistic than others. Morning is the best time to be creative, because you have the whole day ahead of you to do what you think best!

*sigh*

I haven't been that angry in a long, long while.

Tea flavouring and random topics

Well, I'd been putting off posting here for a while. The reason is that there is a topic I really want to write about - have for a couple of weeks - but I don't quite know what I want to say. So every time I come here, I think 'I really should write about that conversation' but I don't know what to write, and I go away.

But I also want to practise my writing skills. I'm determined to post three times a week now - Monday/Wednesday/Friday if I can manage it. And I've just realised - it's okay to just come and write something else! If I can't think of anything, I'll look up a random concept from the dictionary and write about that. If nothing else I'll have learnt something. :P

But today I wanted to write about tea flavouring. My sister April brought me a bottle of Lychee Tea from a Chinese supermarket. It's really nice - tea mixed with lychee juice, and refrigerated. I love lychees, sweet and lovely to bite into, in a mini-explosion of juice. I haven't previously been an iced tea fan, but I could get used to this stuff. Probably not especially good for my water balance, but even if I have to drink extra water to make up for it, I think I can live with that.

Anyway, on the bottle it says 'Real brewed from tea leaves'. And that made me wonder ... why on earth would they need to put that?

I think they're trying to distinguish it from 'tea flavouring'. But who would bother with tea flavouring? Tea leaves have got to be one of the cheapest commodities around, I would have thought. (Maybe I'm wrong.) Wouldn't 'tea flavouring' be much more expensive? Lychee flavouring, that I can understand. The fact that this drink has real lychee juice in it does count as a selling point. But 'real brewed from tea leaves' ... not so much.

When I first thought about it, I wondered if you were only allowed to put 'real tea' if you had actual tea leaves in the drink and didn't take them out. That's not so cheap. But now that I look on the bottle, in the ingredients it says 'freshly brewed black tea'. That, and the original 'brewed from tea leaves' wording, tells me they took the tea leaves out.

So they're advertising the fact that tea leaves were involved. In a bottle of iced tea. Is that special?

Maybe I take things too much for granted.

While I was out today, standing around waiting for my dad to come out of a bank, a girl I don't know made eye contact, and came over to talk to me. I wasn't sure what she was after. She didn't look like a homeless person, at least, she had a watch on, clean clothes, and a mobile phone in her hand. I gave her some of the bread I was eating, though, on the off-chance she might need it. We made really stupid small-talk for no good reason.

I think she wanted to steal my handbag, but she had no chance anyway, because my dad came out of the bank then. That was my dad's worry too, and when I think about it, she was standing on my handbag side, and my bag was open. I don't know how she would have done it, though, considering my bag strap was over my opposite shoulder. If she'd got out a knife she could have threatened me or cut the strap, but cutting the strap would have taken some work, and it was out in the open with plenty of people around. When I thought over it, I figured I'd done what was right in chatting to her and giving her some of my bread. But probably foolhardy. I also turned away from her to point, at one point, and she could have pickpocketed something then, I guess. But she didn't.

However, she probably feels rotten. Even if she wasn't out to steal anything, she'd accepted food from a stranger, despite not being a beggar. That worried me a little, that she might find that painful. She wasn't there when we came out of the supermarket.

Internet anonymity

I got my sister to pick an internet pseudonym the other day. My real sister, that is, not Tie. After I explained why it was important to me, she chose April. She doesn't have much of an internet presence at the moment, but I do, and I guess I'm doing it to protect her as well as me.

It's gradually become quite important to me to keep this identity separate from my name. I put a lot of myself into the angel Jean, and I've started really thinking about how to control the links between this and my real life.

Ideally, I want the flow to be one-way. I want my real name, address, place of work etc to be private, while this blog and my internet identity are completely public. And I'm happy for friends of mine to come here knowing who I am.

But I realise that you can't keep factual information secret, and so my personal information is probably out there on the Internet somewhere. There is probably a list or a web-page that links my name to my occupation and place of work. My address is on the Australian electoral roll. If you know my name, you could probably look up my phone number in the Yellow Pages. All of this information is available to people who don't know a thing about who I am. (I know this because I get telemarketers asking for me by name. :P)

What I really want to avoid is people going from my internet presence to my real life, without my control. I know for a fact that they can; a dear friend of ours that Smith and I know through the MUD once sent flowers to Smith's place of work - and as far as I know he hadn't told her where that was. Now, with her, I don't mind at all, but still ... it can be done. And all because she knows his full name and some facts about him.

And, as I've become aware over the years, if you put enough of your personality out there, you will engender dislike. I like to think of myself as inoffensiveness personified, but of course it's not true. You may also encounter envy, obsequiousness and stalker behaviour (I have). All of which make it a good idea to limit access to my personal details.

Part of this is because yes, I do, and always will put my personality out there. As the angel Jean, I talk to people I would never otherwise meet. While some people come from similar social backgrounds to mine, I have also talked to former street kids who are stealing internet access from their neighbours, working mothers both struggling and settled, members of military organisations, and people established in middle- and upper management of large corporations. I'm a story junkie, so I listen to everyone. When it comes to message board forums, I happily chat to strangers and express my views. And I link this blog. But I don't want all these people to know how to find me, and so, I take very good care not to use my name or my picture.

I also protect the identity of my friends, as well as those who might comment here. I can't really insist on pseudonyms, I guess, all I can do is encourage them, but I do try very hard not to use people's names. There's an extended rationale behind this, but it's somewhat questionable in itself and full of hypotheticals, so I'll just say for now that that's what I do.

Anyway, please be mindful of this concept at least, if you decide to post here, and maybe as you travel the internet. And I recommend the Internet itself - there are lots of stories to be had there!

the angel Jean

You know your husband's a geek when...

Shamelessly copy-pasted from my post in the xkcd forums.

*watching TV, and at a random pause (dinner was ready)*
*Smith looks at the paused screenshot, which happens to be itself a screenshot, of one of a character's many computer monitors*
Smith: Ahh, source code!
*Smith inspects the screen carefully*
Smith: This could be the GDK libraries.
Jean: Ahh, at least it's, umm...
Smith: Open source?
*Jean nods*
*Smith considers some more*
Smith: No actually, this is the OpenGL libraries.
*Jean giggles, and runs off to post in the xkcd forums.*

I love my husband.

For reference: Moonlight Season 1 episode 12, about 5 or so minutes in.

I've been cleaning!

*does a happy dance* I'm so proud of myself!

Okay, as you can see by the washing corner in the bottom picture, I'm not a clean freak. And from the previous posts you can see that I do an average of one chore per day. This is despite being at home with nothing to do.

Yes, I have lots of things I could be doing, and no particular duties. What I end up doing: playing Insaniquarium and reading the Internets.

In fact, Smith is the tidy one in this household. He hardly puts things down out of place (except that his end-of-the-day clothes pile is next to his computer chair. I can cope with that.) If anyone does chores in this house, it's usually because Smith noticed they needed doing, and it's usually Smith that ends up doing them. Or he'll set aside a weekend and we'll do them together. Sometimes he'll say 'Can you do the washing today?' before he goes to work and that'll be what I do that day. But today...

Today, I set myself more than one chore to do. The dishwasher needed doing again as there were no clean bowls, and Smith mentioned that he'd like the washing done. I know that the floor needs vacuuming, but I hate it, so I said to him (apropos of nothing) 'I don't want to vacuum.' He agreed to do it (sometime) and I said I'd tidy the floor so he could (sometime). Also, as Smith was sorting through the clean clothes pile looking for socks, I said to him on a whim, 'Today I'm going to tidy up that pile.' (It was in front of the wardrobe in the third picture, and took up nearly all the floor space you can see there.)

Well, I didn't really have a timeframe for that, other than 'today' for the washing, dishwashing and the clean clothes pile. And I didn't start out in a housework mood, either. We went for our walk, which was lovely. I told Smith one of last night's dreams along the way, and he talked about Dark Angel. After our shower, I just felt like going back to bed. So Smith helped me towel my hair, and I hopped back into bed.

I lay there for a little while, before thinking 'Now that I've exercised and not eaten, if I sleep now it'll be tough to get out of bed later.' So I hopped back over and got a peach, and a book (I've been looking for a particular quote. Still haven't found it) and snuggled back into bed.

After I'd finished the peach, I started reading for a little while, looking for that quote. Then Smith left for work at about 8.30, and I figured, okay, I'd eaten, had my goodbye kiss, I could sleep now.

Lay there a little while longer, and then thought, hmm. I'll just put the washing on, and then I can sleep. Got out of bed to put the washing in the machine.

And as I was sorting the washing pile, I thought to myself, this wasn't so hard. And I realised that my body wasn't actually tired. My mind was, though. Perfect time to do something mindless, like housework!

And then ... while sorting the washing ... I saw a mosquito. In my bedroom. I hate mosquitoes with a passion, they are one of the few living things I can't tolerate. I get a huge (2-3cm) reaction to a mosquito bite within five minutes, although it will gradually die down if I put cold water/soap on it. And they always bite me, not Smith. (Either that, or he just doesn't notice.) So if I see a mosquito in my room, I will hunt it down and kill it.

This one went and hid in my bookshelf. (They like to hide on wooden surfaces, sometimes in plain sight if forced to land.) When I moved the books it flew out, just within reach. I smacked at it inexpertly, and hit it with one of my hands (the other didn't connect in the right place). I think it fell down somewhere, stunned. But I don't know where! I moved some things about on the floor (there was a little bit of visible floor) but it wasn't enough, I didn't find it. That was when I decided that today, I would tidy the whole room. I opened the window, let the natural light in, and after I'd put the washing machine on, I set to work on the clean clothes pile.

I think it was while I was doing that, that I noticed how dusty the plastic horizontal blinds were. (Or maybe I noticed it while I was in bed reading, before I closed the curtains to sleep. Anyway.) Now, normally I don't dust. It would, in fact, be more accurate to say that I 'grime' - that is, I only remove dust with a wet cloth, when it is in quantities that would count as 'grime'. But ... I'm allergic to the house dust mite. Having a blocked nose used to wake me up 16 times an hour at night (or something. I don't know what the number actually means.) We now have hypo-allergenic pillows, pillow protectors, a new vacuum cleaner and two nose sprays, and I sleep much better.

Anyway, while I was picking up dusty clothes with the window open, and sneezing, I was thinking, 'The breeze is nice, but the dust from the blinds is blowing all over my bed.' And when I went and looked ... it was grime. It's amazing how much dust two humans can generate, and that window doesn't even get street pollution grime because it's mostly closed.

Luckily, I had a set of bed-sheets that needed washing, so I slung them under the window to protect the bed and the floor, and set to work with my wet sponge. Note to self: sheets, ready to be washed, make good dust-protectors when cleaning. After a little while I had to make a face-mask out of a tea towel to protect my nose, too, but I got the job done. Boy, were they yucky. There was now less dust in my bedroom!

Of course, I still had to clean the floor, so I'd done it in exactly the wrong order, even if you're supposed to clean top-to-bottom. But, as you can see in my photos, I succeeded! I didn't even have to hide stuff in other rooms - most of it stayed in the bedroom. There was one set of clean sheets that went out into our storage cupboard, but apart from some other little bits of rubbish, that was about it.

Eventually it became a game of 'what can I clean up so that I can take a photo to show Smith'. (I'm going to teach my kids that game.) And now the bedroom floor is clean, and ready for vacuuming! All in all, it took less than two hours. I was done by 10.30; since then I've hunted for the camera, taken photos, worked out how to transfer them to the computer, put the dishwasher on and written this blog. 12.30 and I've achieved all I wanted to, today. No, it's not a lot. It's a lot more than this time last week, though.

My mind also gradually woke up as I was doing the mindless stuff, but now that I've written all this hopefully I'll be able to take a rest. Off to find something for lunch, and then sleep, I think.

I never did find that silly mosquito, though.

Meditation session

Tie and Smith's mum and Tie's dressmaker friend are coming down today to buy fabric for Tie's wedding dress! They should be here in about an hour. I'm pretty much ready, I've got the towels in the wash and they'll be ready to hang out before they get here, so I can write about stuff until then.

I didn't end up sleeping well last night, after all. Probably something to do with the fact that I took a nap in the afternoon, plus reading all those forums. I was going over and over the arguments in my head (yes, xkcd forums are my new addiction). Finally after a while, I decided it was as good a time as any to try and meditate.

I haven't actually managed it in years. Last time I tried, a few days ago, I ended up falling asleep. But since I wasn't tired last night, I made a good effort, and ended up doing okay.

My session is based on a tape that an English tutor gave me, long ago. It involves progressive relaxation, descending into a meditative state, and focussed visualisation. I dunno whether it works in achieving all that it's supposed to, but at least it's good at making my mind calm.

The first part is the progressive relaxation. I've always been pretty good at this bit. A knowledge of anatomy does help a little :P Anyway, the way I do it is to slowly relax each part of the body in sequence, then to become aware of which parts are still tense, and relax them more. And breathe slowly the whole time. After that, if I've done it right and I'm not asleep, I'm usually happy not to move for the next hour. (Sleepiness tends to interfere with this step, because I start moving around involuntarily trying to get into a comfortable sleeping position rather than my meditation position.)

It does take some concentration when your mind's racing, though. For these occasions, I have an unspoken mantra. I don't expect it to do anything except push all my other thoughts out of the way, so I chose something I'm happy with: 'Love Smith' (except I use his real name). First word on the in-breath and second word on the out-breath. If I can focus on that for long enough, my mind gradually becomes emptier.

The next step is supposed to clear your mind even further. It involves slow visualisation of the colours of the rainbow (I don't know, I took it off the tape). It goes something like this: 'Now visualise the colour red. Red the colour of (something, I forget). Now visualise the colour orange. Orange, the colour of (something else).' I lost the tape years ago, so last night I just tried naming the quality of my thoughts as I went through each colour. It ended up like this:

Red, the colour of concentration. (It took me a very long time before I was content with the quality of my red last night, and I took a while over each colour before moving on.)
Orange, the colour of worry. (There were worrying thoughts about.)
Yellow, the colour of analysis. (I was analysing my own thoughts.)
Green, the colour of nature.
Blue, the colour of eternity. (I dunno. Eternity is blue, for me. It just is.)
Indigo, the colour of concern.
Violet, the colour of calm.

I didn't entirely succeed last night. When I've done it properly in the past, I can hardly feel my body at all, and my senses are muted. Last night sensations intruded quite often, sounds and my body telling me it still existed, and the knowledge that Smith was lying beside me asleep. But my mind was pretty calm.

The next visualisation step is to make your mind comfortable. The tape just kind of says 'Okay, visualise a garden ... make it as detailed as you like' and gives you a couple of minutes. I think last night I took 20 minutes to get it right, and even then I didn't feel like I was really there. I tried everything: the feel of damp grass under my back, the shape and textures and scents of the various trees and bushes I put there, the personalities and habits of the animals there, the layout of the garden and direction of each item in relation to me lying there on the ground. In the end, I could get up and move around there a bit, but it was still difficult to 'see'. I was pretty happy with my surroundings, though.

The last part is to imagine going into a room and using it to sort out your thoughts, visualising each one. I dunno whether it works, but I tried it out. The choice of room was easy:

The sunlight streaming into this room wraps itself around you like floating gossamer. It does not seem inclined to touch your skin, content to simply warm and welcome you. Several wicker baskets, each overflowing with orchard fruits, lie gently bathed in the glow. Nearby, a few fluffy clouds of carefully gathered radiance drift around a mahogany desk. Its centrepiece is the figurine of an elf leaning forward in a cushioned chair. One hand is draped over the shoulders of a much smaller elf who sits at his feet, her head resting comfortably against his knee. He gestures with the other hand towards the middle distance, both elves smiling at his unseen observations.

I just kind of experimented with putting notes into various drawers, and turning concepts into various shapes, including glowing auras. One I wrapped around me, and I turned the concept of 'energy' into green balls of light that I handed out to various friends. I don't know if it works in organising my mind, but it was worth a try.

Then I reversed the process - going back out into the garden, then visualising the colours in reverse order, and finally feeling out my body and what it wanted to do. In the end I was calm and ready to sleep.

I guess I've got to practise a lot more to get in the habit again. I'm pretty happy that it worked, though.

That's all for now,

the angel Jean