On the first day of...

I started writing this almost two weeks ago and I'm too lazy to change it, so just imagine that it's two weeks ago.


Twelve days left until my wedding and I'm finally getting through to my thick jerkbrain that everything will turn out great. Being out in the beach house for an overcast and rainy weekend really helped, as did the books I managed to read. I love reading and being able to relax enough to enjoy a book is a huge deal for me.

The three books I read were "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D Salinger, "And Abundance of Katherines" by John Green, and "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

An Abundance of Katherines

I highly recommend this book to anyone who has ever wondered if they're wasting their time. It is a beautiful story about a guy who feels like he is losing himself and the heartbreak he experiences in the wake of a breakup. This guy, Colin, and his friend Hassan goes on a road trip to get Colin's mind off of his latest love-gone-sour, and they end up right in the arms of The Strange Unknown.
The build up is captivating and the descriptions are on the right side of enough to be intriguing.
This is a really really good read.


The Catcher in the Rye

I know that many people don't like this book, mainly because it's one of those books school teachers like to make students read. I have so far never liked a single book I've been forced to read, so I can fully understand the opposition.
It is, however, a really good book. The language is very appropriate for the character of Holden Caulfield. Holden is not a very likable character, yet I couldn't help to feel for him. Holden is just a guy who is afraid of facing his parents' disappointment once again, and is trying to reach out to the people he meets. No one listens and Holden feels more and more lonely.
It was a little tricky for me to reconcile the uses of words, especially words I use for totally different things than Holden does. English is not my first language, but eventually I managed to get it straight.

The Great Gatsby

I couldn't really get into this story. I liked the characters and the story telling very much. There was just something that prevented me from being able to  identify with the characters. It also feels a bit unfinished to me.
The one thing that really made an impression on me was Gatsby's profound loneliness. He's completely obsessed with Daisy Buchanan and wants her in his life again, but in the end, not only doesn't he get her back, no one but Nick Caraway seems to actually care at all. It seems like a very good description of the mindless search for those 15 Minutes.

SAFE SANE CONSENSUAL

  - or Why "50 Shades of Grey" is dangerous.

I would like to start by pointing out that I do not ever advocate the banning of books for any reasons. The written word, once published, should be allowed to stay out in the open.
That said, the author is responsible for what they publish. The publisher and editors are responsible for what they let pass their nets. It's up to the editor to say "Hold on. What do you want to say with this text?" If the author self publish, they are fully responsible for their work. The End.

Secondly, I am a masochistic submissive who spends way too much time on google, tumblr and on the Internet in general. It took me YEARS to research everything I wanted to know about the Scene. YEARS!

Now, why is 50 Shades so dangerous? Here's a list.

1. It promotes abuse under the name of BDSM.

- Anyone with the ability to google will find that there's a world of difference between violence and abuse, and S/M play. There are so many rules surrounding BDSM Scene.
 
Safewords.
Consent.
Silent safewords.
Hygene.
Scenario descriptions.
Negotiations.
Contracts.

This is the core of SAFE.

2. If anyone in the Scene feels that something's off, it's no longer Play.

- It is incredibly easy to disguise violence and abuse under the name of S/M Play. That is why there are rules. Strict rules. You do not deviate from the rules if you want to call it Play.

This is also part of SAFE.

3. Negotiations are the foundation of BDSM.

- Talk about EVERYTHING you want from a Scene. Limits, what you want, what you don't want, what you will not do under any circumstances.
Stick to the things you agree on. Do not deviate from the agreements without re-negotiations.
Each Scene should be negotiated before starting. Each Scene is different and should be treated as such.

Negotiations is the main part of SANE and CONSENSUAL.

4. Drugs and alcohol have NO room in BDSM play...

- UNLESS it's part of something the participants of the Scene have previously agree upon. (See negotiations)

This is part of SANE.

5. "50 Shades of Grey" is promoting un-negotiated Master/slave dynamics.

- Some people in the Scene enjoy the M/s dynamic. The difference between pushing someone down and fulfilling someone's need to be subservient is NEGOTIATIONS. If you want a 24/7 dynamic, you need a contract.
There are also major differences between Slave and Submissive. Google it.

A contract fulfills all three aspects of SAFE, SANE, and CONSENSUAL. I have yet to see negotiations or contracts in 50 Shades.

- - - - - - - -

If you want more information about Scene, here are some links.

Quick intro to further reading.
National Coalition for Sexual Freedom
Description of Safe, Sane, Consensual
A Submissive's Guide
A Video

Here are some really good BDSM fanfiction

- Demented Dee writes some amazing fiction, both original and fanfiction
- Liralen Li kicks major writing butt.

How I dare to live with myself

Part 1. Why telling me people have it worse isn't helping

Telling me that I could have it worse than I have it actually makes things worse, so I guess it is true that things could be much worse than they are - BECAUSE YOU JUST MADE THINGS WORSE! Congratulations.

When you tell me that I should cheer up, because I should be happy I have what I have, you're just adding guilt to my anxiety and depression. Shaming someone into meeting your expectations is evil, cruel, and makes you an asshat.


Part 2. Why comparing your hurt to anyone else's hurt is stupid

Always trying to out-ill people around you makes people dislike you. Telling me that your pain should be more important than my pain makes you egocentric. If you always try to push down someone with a mental illness, that is called abuse. Yes, abuse doesn't have to be about physical violence.


Part 3. Why questioning my boundaries is mean

I set up boundaries to make my life easier. When you break or strain them, you make my life much harder than it has to be. Also, testing my boundaries is blatantly disrespectful.
Because people seem unable to remember my boundaries, I've set up another boundary

1. Information about boundary.
2. 1st reminder.
3. 2nd reminder.
4. Exclusion from my life.


Part 4. Why I dare prioritize my own illness

Looking at the beggar by the store, the homeless woman sleeping on a bench, or the alcoholic man in the town square doesn't make me feel less pain. It makes me happy for my privileges, but it doesn't make my mental illness better. Telling me that my anxiety is insignificant compared to other people's suffering, again, adds shame to my anxiety.
I dare feel my hurting. I dare acknowledge my depression and my anxiety, because they are part of me. I dare set boundaries. I dare live my life the way I see fit.

AND I DARE YOU TO TRY TO DIMINISH MY HURT TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER!

All Bodies Are Beautiful

For those of you who read my last post, you know that the last couple of weeks have been really hard for me.
One of the triggers for my Social Anxiety Disorder is size-ism, or more specifically, the belief that I'm not good looking enough to be in social situations, because I am fat. This belief had me develop an eating disorder by the time I was 14. An eating disorder I was too ashamed to seek professional help for. Studies have shown that our sense of self is mainly formed before we hit puberty, so I firmly believe that being repeatedly told that I was disgusting, lazy, stupid, nasty etc in elementary school still interferes with my sense of self today.

One of my tools to cope with my anxiety is anger. I don't get angry easily. It usually takes a lot of provocation for me to fly into a rage, but when my nerves are already frayed from anxiety, depression, and self-loathing, it doesn't take much to have me frothing in anger. Anger is not a very healthy tool for dealing with  mental illness, and I do not recommend it. I can use anger to shake myself out of the anxiety but I will always need other tools to take me back to a tranquil state of mind.

This morning I found something that shook me right out of my anxiety and into Hippo!RAGE territory. The response to this article is too perfect, so I will link to that instead of trying to form my own reply. All I want to say is this -

Linda Kelsey,
How DARE you! How dare you pretend to have the right to stand as judge when it comes to other people's happiness?
Get a hobby.
Sincerely,
Hedgehog


 

As always
DFTBA

TW: Admitting defeat

This post contains subjects that might be triggering for some people. Trigger warnings apply for Social Anxiety Disorder, depression, self harm, and eating disorder.


Sometimes I can't help but to feel extremely and desperately alone. Logically, I know that I have people around me who cares. People who would listen and who would help. The hard part is telling them that I need them, and so I end up not saying anything at all.

I have been told that loneliness is worst when you have no one to talk to, but to me, loneliness is worst when you have people to talk to, but you don't feel like being a burden. Because being a burden is worse than being lonely.

If I were to explain my S.A.D in an easy way, I would say it's like sleep paralysis. My mind is working at full throttle, but my body wants nothing to do with it. Exercising helps, but the anxiety is still there.
My mind is firing off thoughts like GLaDOS on a caffeine binge and my body is exhausted from the lack of rest.

Imagine staying up for two full days, then being conned into babysitting a toddler who has just learned "No" and "Why?". You can't escape said kid because you are duct taped to a heavy armchair. To prevent having to answer the questions the child is spouting you eat everything within reach. Add some guilt about fatness, courtesy social indoctrination, and the stage is set.

All the pent up guilt and the desire to accomodate everyone can lead to some serious damage. I took to self harm. In a sense, I still do. I have scars from finger nails, razorblades, scissors, and knives all over my body. I still bite my nails until my fingers bleed.

But the thing that gets to me the most is this - How can I ever hope to belong anywhere when meeting strangers makes me want to run?

DFTBA

Feeling good as a fat girl

I am fat, there's no way around it. At my last weigh in, which was in December, mind you, I weighed 275 lbs. Before I got sick, I weighed 222.5 lbs.

Thing is, I can be very lazy. I love to sit. I love to sleep. I love to find a quiet corner and read. This, and a life time of being called ugly, disgusting, nasty etc lead to some seriously bad choices, such as quitting competitive swimming and eating things I found, and still find, to be really gross. I did this, because I was sure I didn't deserve nice things.

Eight and a half years ago, I met a wonderful man, who taught me that the only person's opinion about me that really matters is my own. He taught me that I deserve the best I can get and more just for being alive. With his help, I have started to love myself for everything I am, and in the process I've come to love him even more.

It is true that in order for us to love others we have to first love ourselves, unconditionally and for everything we are.

Yesterday, I made the decision to start exercising again. Not my brightest moment, going out for a power walk in 29 C temperature and 64% humidity, but I was determined to not find another excuse to back out.

Heavens, am I glad I stuck with it. It was great. Moving in that heat made me feel powerful and alive. The endorphines made the world so much more vibrant while adrenaline made me feel like I was flying. I was exhausted when I got back home, to the point where my legs gave out when I got inside the front door, but I was ecstatic. Hell, even my time from two years ago hadn't changed much. I managed 2.7 km in 22 minutes then, 2.7 km in 25 minutes yesterday, and 2.7 km in 25 minutes today.

People glare at me when I am exercising. Disapproving looks that seem to say "How dare you, a fat woman, enjoy exercise? How dare you smile when sweating like that?" To them I say, try to enjoy life more. Life can be great if you stop worrying so much about what others think, and start loving yourself.

DFTBA

Humid Blue

I love blueberries. I love blueberry jam, blueberry soft drinks, and blueberry pancakes.

I am extremely fortunate that my parents' yard borders a wooded area covered in blueberry bushes. It's a really beautiful area, green and lush, with pine, fir, and birch trees. I really enjoyed being outdoors and rifling through undergrowth in search for yummy.

What I didn't enjoy was the 32 C temperature and 81% humidity this day had to offer, but I sure enjoyed it more than my dad and Boy did. They were replacing broken roof tiles. Black concrete roof tiles.

Now, to get wild blueberries, there are a few steps you need to take in order to get the yummy berries.

First, spend an hour looking for a bucket and a berry picker in your parents' garage and/or shed. This is very important. Without the heightened level of frustration, you cannot possibly hope to appreciate the humidity and heat once you get out of the cool garage.

Secondly, make sure the cat didn't sneak into the garage. If she did, count on spending another 30 minutes trying to get the stubborn animal out. Cats are smart animals, so don't count on her volunteering to leave the coolness of the garage for the OHSWEETPOPESONAPOGOSTICK heat of Outside. Luckily, I didn't have to wrestle a cat today.

Thirdly, ANTS! WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANTS!?

Fourth, sorting out all the debris from the berries. Thankfully, this can be done anywhere with air conditioning.

And finally, find a jar to store the berries in until you want to use them. All berries can be frozen until they're used, unless you want fresh looking berries. I have never succeeded in getting frozen berries to look like anything except a Rorschach test.

Yummy yummy berries.

I bought sugar on the way home, and I also found lemons and rhubarbs, so while I was waiting for the blueberries to boil, I made Ice Tea fixings.

This juice is stupidly simple and so great for iced tea. 

All you need is 

1 sliced lemon

1 cup sliced rhubarbs

1 tbsp sugar

1 liter water

Mix everything and let sit in the fridge for 2 days. Enjoy.

Anyone who's ever known me knows of my previous kitchen failures, such as the Charcoal Eggs Adventure or IDon'tThinkIt'sSupposedToLookLikeThis custard, so it should come as no surprice that I managed to almost burn my hand off before realizing that melting sugar plus exploding berries make for a potentially harmful situation. In the end, though, I managed to make two liters of glorious blueberry jam.

...that somehow look like brown beans. O.o

DFTBA

TW: My body is my own

I want to preface this post by saying that this text is not directed at anyone in particular. I wanted to write a reflection on the content I have linked to and add my thoughts on body objectification.
This content might act triggering to some people, so please read with caution.

This post will come to you in two parts and a conclusion.

Part 1. Shaming of women in modern media.  

Contains spoilers for all but one slasher movie I have ever seen.

While I was watching this clip, my attention was drawn to the shaming of women in modern slasher movies. (I call them slasher movies, mainly because I don't find such movies scary or horrifying, so I don't want to call them horror movies.) In these movies, it seems that the general idea when it comes to survival is "Don't have sex and don't be independent". (I won't even get into the idea of "Don't be not-white if you want to live" that is also abundant in this kind of movies. That's a topic for another post.)
All these slasher movies have a few things in common, each very much problematic it it's own right.

First, there's the group dynamic. Most main characters in slasher movies are high school seniors or college freshmen, meaning they are between 17 and 20 years old. Usually you have the Cheerleader, The Jock, the Nerd, the Outcast, and the Journalist/Thespian, for some odd reason gathered in the same place, usually by either some common misfortune or a study group setting.
The Cheerleader and the Jock are always mean and/or stupid and always Caucasian (I am not talking about satire slasher movies here. Scary Movie and the likes are in a category of their own). They're usually dating, and they either die first or end up having sex and then die.
If the Journalist/Thespian is a girl, she'll end up having sex with the Outcast and then she'll die.
The Nerd or the Outcast or both will always survive, and the survivor is almost always a girl who has never had sex. 

Secondly, the killer is almost always either the Nerd, the Outcast, or someone the group as a whole mistreated/killed/pissed off. Sure, the idea of a bullied Nerd or Outcast getting even is something I can kind of get behind, considering my own past, but the idea that the only merit a Nerd or Outcast has in this group is to be either undesirable or a killer or both is problematic on several levels (socially, stereotypically, and ideologically. Ever heard of positive representation, Hollywood?) 

Thirdly, the Killer and the Survivor usually share the common trait of not being stereotypically desirable. They are never ever fat, freckled, or physically disabled, but they don't fit the mold of Show Stopper either. 

Finally, when the boys in the group get killed, it's close to never in connection with their sexual prowess. While the girls can get killed directly after having sex, the boys usually manage some act of heroism or douchebaggery that lands them in the way of the Killer. If the boy dies trying to be a hero, the girl he saved will feel guilty about it. If he's being a douche bag, the one who points it out is immediately put in harms way.


Part 2. Body policing and body objectification.

Recently, I have caught myself policing my own body, and it makes me feel sick to my soul. The thing is, I like my body most of the time. It's a brilliant machine that does all these amazing things that keeps me alive, and I like being alive. I like how my feet look, the shape of my hands, and the color of my hair. I love how my eyes go from brown to green depending on my mood. I love how my boobs look in a bikini and the arch of my neck. I adore my freckles, the curve of my lips, and the shape of my ears.

So why am I so apprehensive about showing off all these parts of me that I love?
Because the objectification and sexism I get subjected to as soon as I show off a part of me that I am proud of, be it my hair, my tattoos, or my cleavage. So many people seem to think that because I am a woman, they have the right to comment on what I wear, how I look, what I eat, and what I do. And I am not alone in getting attacked like this, as this column by B in Mommyish shows.

For a while, I didn't care which parts of me other people saw. I felt that if I did what I could to stay modest, it wasn't my problem if some creep got on all fours and tried to look up the towel at the beach or peeped through my blinds while I was changing after a shower. That later turned into a disregard for my own body, and I stopped being modest around certain people. That has now changed. Not because I want to hide, but because I respect and love myself more. I am in charge of who gets to see my body, no one else. Especially not a woman like this, who thinks that it's other women's job to hide their bodies so that her husband doesn't get tempted.

I am a long time MMORPG player (AtlanticaOnline ftw) and I've heard all kinds of requests and demands over the years. Just the fact that the gaming industry objectify female characters to cater to a male audience, when almost half of the player base consists of female identifying players, is proof that something needs to change.

Conclusion.

I was shocked that I hadn't thought about the shaming in slasher films before, but I was more shocked to notice that people around me don't seem to find any problems with this ideal of a "pure" woman. Why is that only half of the world's population is regarded as being qualified to make decisions about their own body? Why is it that I feel guilty about feeling good in a bikini and also feeling guilty about not wanting to show more?

I believe that, as long as we deny one large part of our society and community the right of body autonomy, we as a whole suffer. As long as women are regarded as objects, we can't stop seeing men as defilers of these sacred objects. As long as we put the responsibility of all sexual encounters on one party, we can't help but to see the other party as savage and volatile. If we teach women how to not get raped or harassed, aren't we telling men that they're unable to control themselves? That they're mindless machines, incapable of common decency?

    “Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virile. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.”
— Monica Sjoo, The Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering the Religion of the Earth



DFTBA

The flee market

This past saturday was a really stupid day fo me. I slept poorly, I burneNever again my hand on my coffee, and then I ran to the bus stop, because I was convinced that I would be late for work. Not until I got to the bus station where I transfer busses did I realise that I was an hour early. I started freaking out and raging about, until I just went "Meh" and took the bus to work. A bus in which the STOP signal buttons did not work. I ended up a stop further than I wanted, but that turned out to be a blessing.

Right there, in the central square of Vänersborg, the weekly flee market was setting up. Granted, most sellers were still unpacking, but it was still interesting.

I like flee markets, because you never know what you'll. I rarely find anything interesting, but when I do, it's usually weird, cute, or silly.

This doll kept staring at me.

It always amuses me to look at the things people will bring and try to sell. This particular market was filling up with your basic Old People's Attic stuff - baked goods, old ornaments in porcelain, plastic, and wood, dolls, clothes, records, and furniture. 

I wonder if the sellers made a profit. Potential buyers were gathering and the weather was really nice, so the scene was set for success.

I have tried to sell things at a flee market once, and all I have to say is "Never again." It was just too weird for me. I have great respect for people who have the patience to be flee market sellers, but it's not gor me.

DFTBA

The window to the world

Warning: this post is exceptionally image heavy.

In what is called the culture axis of Vänersborg lies a white brick building. The word "Museum" is engraved into the parapet with gold letters. The heavy wooden double doors are set deeply in a Romanesque archway.

This building is the oldest of its kind in Sweden. It was built in the late 1800's for the sole purpose of being a museum, and it has remained a museum for almost 130 years.

Behind the double doors, visitors are greeted by a beautiful entrance stairway, which opens up into impressively decorated atrium hallway and double staircase in white marble.

The Museum of Vänersborg is known for not showing a lot from the nearby area. Instead, the museum was built to let the regular person "experience awe in the presence of beauty and God's bountiful gifts." 

The museum is also home to Northern Europe's largest collection of South African birds, mostly thanks to this man. 

That's creepy.

Additionally, this museum houses -

- A couple of false mummies

- An impressive collection of porselain

- A reindeer, a moose (I named him Jared) and a previous owner, now in wax.

I am very fortunate to have this layed back job, and I would love to work more. 

For now, though, I am content to relax in this brilliant house filled with history.

DFTBA

The blue quilt

Last year, I started making this quilt from old scrap pieces of fabric I found laying around in my closet. It was around the time when I got diagnosed with stress induced depression and general anxiety and I figured that keeping my hands busy would stop me from biting my nails.

Apparently, I decided to sew myself to the quilt instead...

It worked for a while, and then, as it normally does, something distracted me and I kind of forgot the quilt. So when I made the list of things I want to do this Summer, I added "Make a quilt" without a second thought. I have yet to do more than find the pieces I've already made, though, but I will start on the quilt today.

And before anyone says anything about NO PATTERN, it's intentional. I don't have the patience to make patterns, so I'm pairing fabric pieces that fit together. That's it.

I don't know what else to say about this quilt, so I'll end things here.

DFTBA

Hedgehog's History: Church at the corner of Past and Present

This will be exceptionally image heavy.

I set out from my parents' house, which I am not showing you, on my sad excuse for a bike, which you have here.

And also, be careful about riding a bike with faulty brakes down a stupidly steep road.


At the end of the road, where asphalt turns into gravel and grass, there lies an old church.

The beige stucco walls raise softly from the hill, nestled gently between birch and oak, maple and pine.

The church was officially opened in 1799, and was in continuous use until 1997, when the church was closed due to the danger of the roof collapsing. It was restored in 2005, but is no longer in official use.

As I walked through the cemetery, looking at names of people long since past, I thought of the strangeness of this life of ours.

 
Cemeteries are really odd places. In the ground rest the remains of individuals who no longer talk to us with voices, while in the trees swallows, thrushes, starlings, and pigeons are courting and building nests in order to raise another generation.

"How improbable are WE? How strange, and how lovely, it is to be anything at all." - John Green here

 I am always inspired by contrasts and as I wipe sweat from my forehead and make my way back to my bike, I am inspired by the contrast between the old church and the modern railroad and highway within hear distance. I am curious about how Life and Death walk hand in hand in a cemetery. The nesting of birds and the names of people long since silenced by age.

The last years' Winter storms have caused much destruction, but Nature still finds a way to be attractive.

Even the leg numbing stupidly steep hill back to my parents can't take away from how beauty can be found in destruction.

This is life for me. Life and Death, Destruction and Creation, Past and Present.

DFTBA

Beach house and "A Game of Thrones"

This post will be image heavy.

This past weekend I had a great time, getting silly sunburned while enjoying a great book. Here I could take an idea from John Green and use several authors instead of cursing, but "Anne Rice Tolkien Cassandra Clare sun burn" sounds really weird.

Anywho, I wanted to share some of the amazing things I see from the beach house and the beach. Beach house is kind of a misnomer in this case, because technically, the house isn't on the beach, even though you'll be on the beach in less than a minute if you stumble and roll down the hill.

 

You can't really see the slope because it's behind the big rhododendron. Said rhododendron is really pretty, and has some really funny eye creatures in them.

Aren't they just too cute?

Boy and Dad-in-Law were being Adulty adults and mowed the lawn and cut the hedges, while I was sitting in the sun, reading "A Game of Thrones".

Sitting in the sun for more than 10 minutes at a time is BAD FOR YOU if you're like me and have really fair skin, so don't do it. Even Spf 25 is not enough if you're a freckled nerd like this Hedgehog and never go outside. 

 BE CAREFUL IN THE SUN. You don't want to look like this.

This book was totally worth it, though.

I also kind of accidentally stumbled upon a historic location while wandering around the cliffs that makes up the majority of the beach.

Now there's a parking lot and a trampoline where there once was a steam boat dock. Also, the entire fiord was apparently riddled with sink mines and submarines and military. Well, there's still a military base somewhere along the coast (no idea where it is), but not 1940's military, that I know of.

Other things I saw were 

These cows

 And these cows

 This pretty jelly fish

 This adorable crab

And these rhododendron buds.

Boy managed to commandeer my camera one evening and took this amazing sunset photo. The view is from the patio by the beach house. Looking at the sun setting over the ocean really brings home the beauty of the world for me.

The importance of taking a stance.

Today is the last day to vote for who you want to represent you in the European Union parliament, and it is important to vote, for many reasons (look, a list. I like lists.)

1. Having elections and having a voice in the electoral process is a PRIVILEGE, not a right. Many people in years past have fought for our voice. I, as a woman, feel especially obliged to vote, because so many instance have fought against my suffrage, and so many people have struggled to give me a voice. I would pay these people great disrespect if I squander the privilege their fight have provided me.

2. Fascist, nazi, and other anti-humanitarian forces are gaining ground in Europe, and in Sweden. In many parts of the European Union, human beings are persecuted based on their ethnical background, sexuality, religion, gender, and/or social status. Human beings' rights to their own lives, their safety, and their voices are being pushed aside and ignored, all based on ideology.

3. Politicians fear the educated voter and they fear the educated citizen. Show that you care about what politicians do by turning up at the ballots. Every vote counts, even if your party or representative doesn't win. To politicians, every vote is one person who will be paying attention to what the parliament is doing.

4. In Sweden right now, there is a government supported kind of unpaid labor in which people work full time or more, and then they have to beg the welfare office for the money to pay bills, because the employers are not mandated to pay salaries to these workers. The government calls it "unemployed people having something to do", but really, it's the Employment Agency paying employers money to keep unemployed people busy, without having to actually employ the people doing the work. Taking a stance against cheap labor in the EU gives hints to domestic politicians as well.

5. If you are alloved to vote and you choose not to, you have no right to complain. You didn't care enough to even try to elect a representative, so in my eyes, you have selected to mute your own voice.

Mostly though, I feel that too many people think that their votes don't count, but you know what? There's a great saying that whoever thinks that they're too small to make a difference have never tried to sleep with a mosquito in the room.

DFTBA.

Hedgehog's Summer Vacation

I was browsing my Facebook feed and I came across this lovely thing by the Militant Baker and thought "Hedgehog, you need to make a list of your own. Your organization OCD will thank you." So here it is - my list of 15 things I will get done this Summer.

1. Read the entirety of A Song Of Ice And Fire. (It's about time I get it done. I've been neglecting the poor thing lately.)

2. Buy a bikini and wear it.

3. Pose for beach photos, wearing said bikini.

4. Learn how to knit.

5. Finish a quilt.

6. Visit the open air flee market in the next town over.

7. Organize a BBQ party at the beach house.

8. Keep my pepper fruit plants alive.

9. Fly fish by the ocean.

10. Watch an outdoor movie.

11. Picnic. Because, why not?

12. Write a novella.

13. Finish my "My Year In Las Vegas" scrap book (it's 10 years in the making)

14. Make at least two colorful Summer dresses.

15. Visit all historic landmarks within biking distance.

The Benefit of Suffering

This post might contain subjects that will act as triggers in some people.

Yesterday, I found this really interesting article linked on Anne Rice's Facebook page, and I thought I'd write out my thoughts on the subject.

For the longest time, I thought that if I just managed to become happy, I could do everything I wanted. I kept telling myself that, if I only got over this depression, my life would be perfect and all the happiness would be mine. I worked harder and harder to reach goals that in the end turned out to be more draining and hurtful than beneficial. My well being was at the mercy of an arbitrary mind, governing my being with unreasonable and often abusive demands.

One paragraph of the article really spoke to me, and this is the one I will be focusing on in this post.

        Recovering from suffering is not like recovering from a disease. Many people don’t come out healed; they come out different. They crash through the logic of individual utility and behave paradoxically. Instead of recoiling from the sorts of loving commitments that almost always involve suffering, they throw themselves more deeply into them. Even while experiencing the worst and most lacerating consequences, some people double down on vulnerability. They hurl themselves deeper and gratefully into their art, loved ones and commitments.

- David Brooks, NY Times, April 7 2014

When I was younger, I thought the key to happiness was to belong. To some degree, I still have the urge to belong to something out of the ordinary or even secret. The difference is that now, I can stop those thoughts, take a breath, and remember that I am doing well just the way I am. I have no need to belong to secrets and outcast groups or change to fit into a certain box. As I realized that I can live with just myself and that that is enough, I found it in me to love deeper, to connect more, to other people. The fear of being rejected no longer compels me to be alone. Instead, it pushes me to show more of who I am and to accept that others either like me or they don't. It sounds crass to say, but really, if people can't accept me for who I am, I have no need for them in my life.

        First, suffering drags you deeper into yourself. The theologian Paul Tillich wrote that people who endure suffering are taken beneath the routines of life and find they are not who they believed themselves to be.

When I crashed head first into a stress induced mental and physical breakdown, many things changed and shifted in me. Before the break, I was convinced that, since I had been subjected to so much mental abuse in my school life, I was supposed to be jaded, emo, and bitter. The break let me have a complete reset of my mind set and I decided to throw the bitterness out the window. I am still living with the consequences of years of mental, verbal, and physical abuse, but refusing to go against my nature let's me take the pain in stride and lets my heart be broken again and again without leaving lasting damage. I would rather suffer a broken heart than pretend to be someone I am not.

Suffering has shown me who I am and has taught me that happiness is not a utopian dream that will come after suffering ends. Happiness and Suffering goes hand in hand in shaping who I am and what I want in life, and that knowledge lets me move through life without being jaded or mistrusting.

Diving into Scary (photo heavy)

One of the things I find the most scary and embarrassing is to photographed. I just don't like how I look in photos. Which is exactly why I am going to add more photos to this blog and also feature in more photos. Because, as the ever-so-lovely Militant Baker states, if something is scary, dive right into it. (This doesn't exactly apply to phobias, so NEVER tell someone with a phobia to just dive into it. You are just a Dick Roman if you do that.)

At first, I was thinking of doing a vlog thing, but I can't afford a new video camera and the built in webcam on my laptop has taken too many beatings for it to actually work.

I also like to photograph things, so this will give me another great excuse to get out and take photos on a more regular basis. Outdoors is overrated, but it is there, so I might as well force it to pose for me.

To kick this thing off, here is a progression of photos from 2012 to last week (I think.)

 Bedside lamp and beer cans. Yay, Germany (origin of the beverages, that is).

I was spending the night at my parents' house and I couldn't sleep, so naturally I found the light coming from the bedside lamp fascinating.

Light fascinates me.

Benefits of living in a rainy country. Silver sunsets, anyone?

Cemetery in winter. This was taken at 5.30 pm.

 I'm bored...

My sister's dog. 

He's a labrador-whippet-old English sheepdog-somthingIcan'tremember mix named Elvine.

Friend of mine and a random dog trying take the sandwich.

Stockholm at sunset.

Stormtrooper and Rogue, hand in hand. That balloon, though.

Rosehips.

And a ninja