eurydicebound

Okay, so Christmas part 2. After having a lovely visit with my family and getting very kind Christmas presents from my mom and brother and SIL, I came home with my kiddos and we had Christmas with Matt's family. I have a scarf and a sweater and some lovely cinnamon bath stuff, and some games and some chocolates and socks and many good things. The whole visiting and holidays and end of school thing sort of caught up with me today and I had to go hide in my room and recharge for a little while, but that's to be expected and not so bad.

Yesterday we also blitz cleaned the living room and dining room, and while there's still work to be done, there was a great deal of improvement. I feel significantly better now about that, even though there's still more I could do--and will do, while I'm on break. I knocked out another MA list book as well as some of my reading for next semester, and I got my grades for this semester-- As, so that's good. Still lots more to do, of course. We'll get there.

I love the boys, and I'm really glad they're here. It makes me really happy. I'm adjusting to being mom again, naturally, but that's okay. All of this can wait until after I sleep again, though; I'm still recovering from all the travel, and I'm still really tired.

Oh, and Sarah got an ear infection, but she's okay. Antibiotics are our friends. Oh, and we go get a marriage license tomorrow morning. And I got to watch Invincible with Billy Zane this evening, and his character, Os, is kinda like Matt. It is such a gamer movie. :) It's not great, but it's a lot of fun.

Also, I am evidently random tonight. I'm gonna go snuggle and sit with my guys and let my brain try to recharge while I keep knitting.

New journal. No icons, no styles, no happy graphics, no archives... nothing. Yet. Their time will come. In the meantime, I'm over here at eurydicebound on Dreamwidth.

Me: The world is blurry. Huh. I must really need to clean my glasses.

Me: Wait. Where are my glasses?

Me: *facepalm* *smack*

Me: Okay, I'm not wearing my glasses after all.

Thankfulness! Lots and lots of it here, let me tell you.

For what am I thankful? Let me count the ways....

1) My man. You make my life possible, Matthew, and you're the foundation on which I build the home of my heart. You give me support, love, stability, awesome sex, and the best food a girl was ever privileged enough to have made for her -- and now just now and then, but most nights a week (this goes for pretty much everything on that list regarding frequency, really)! No matter how stressed or anxious I get, my one guiding realization is that no matter what else seems awful, it's my relationship with you that shines through the darkness.

2) My kids. I wish you were here, but that'll come soon enough. I love you, boys... you are my best things, forever and always.

3) Sarah. Our relationship, as unconventional as it is and as oddly strained as it can be, knowing as we both do that the ties that bind us are knotted inextricably around Matthew, is still one of the strongest bonds I have, and it's one I'm profoundly grateful for. You are my objective reporter on the scene, and you can always make me laugh. Thank you.

4) Nicole. Woman, you're one of my oldest and dearest friends, and you know me like few others on the face of the planet. We are so mutually indebted to each other at this point that the term "family" is the only one to apply. You are the big sister I never had. Thank you, my dear, for everything. Always.

5) All my friends! Adam, Gail, Karafa, Lori & Steve, Glen, Phil, Tarisse, Misha, Drew, Eric, Gabi, Brannon, Trey, Sparky, Mickey, Claudia, Jim, Jess, other Jess, other-other-Jess, Jesse, John, Nik, Chris, Christopher, Tanith, Karyn, Nina... the list goes on. Online, in real life, you all make my life worthwhile. I am truly blessed to know so many wonderful people. Thank you all so much.

6) My school! Seriously, there were a lot of places I might have landed. This one had... well, let's say a number of attractive features that would have made it the first choice no matter what the department was like. That said, I freaking adore this department. I'm a huge fan of both my advisor-type people and I'm learning so freaking much. I love teaching, I love research, I even love writing papers for all that it makes me kinda crazy. I really enjoy my students, even when they drive me crazy too. This is my best possible career choice. I totally win. Thank you, CWRU English Department!

7) My dogs. I miss Rosie like whoa, still and forever. She got me through being single, got me through Seattle, got me moved here... she was my bestest friend for years. I like to think I gave her a good life... and especially here at the end, when she had a pack and people and a house and a big yard, I know I did. I wish she was still here...but I can think of her without instant tears now. Si... Si is a whole new ball of wax (and fur, and licks, and chewing, and cuteness). He's not my dog, he's our dog, and I love that about him. If Rosie had to leave, there couldn't be a better successor.

8) My family. You think I'm crazy, but you love and support me anyway. It'd be nice if there weren't that "crazy" part, but I'm really fortunate that in that it doesn't actually matter. Love you, Mom and Dad. So glad you're here with me. Love you, Mark.

.

I am not a great housekeeper. I'm just not. Even at the best of times, when I'm not a grad student or a single mom who's working or whatever... it's just not me. It's stressful. I don't like doing it (mentally channeling Aladdin there for a sec...). Of course, housekeeping is one of those things that doesn't really care whether you like doing it or not. It still has to be done (for varying values of "done"). I have some things I can do pretty well, and then I have some things that I can't keep up with at all (like clutter). I try, but I'm overwhelmed before I start and then I spend four hours on three square feet and I'm spent. I cannot clean a house in a day. My attention span just fails. I'm lucky if I can complete a large-ish job in one sitting... and usually I can't, I'll stop and start two or three times over. Such is life.

I have learned some things about housekeeping over the years, though. First, moving cross-country lots and living in a teensy place in Seattle taught me to de-clutter. You can only have as many things as you have space for, and not even all of your space, because then you can't get to the things for the clutter. This is a difficult concept, but it's a good one.

Second, everything has to have a home. If it doesn't have a home, make one for it. If you can't or don't want to make one for it, then you probably need to set it free into the world to find a home for itself. If something doesn't have a place in your house, it will float around like the plastic island made of trash off in the Atlantic and never settle, always being in the way. This is not a perfect rule, mind you... there is always some flotsam and jetsam in the best of worlds, especially with kids in the house, but it's a good basic idea.

Thirdly, the "broken windows" theory applies to housecleaning. Now, most notably, it's actually a criminological theory that says that if you fix things in buildings and neighborhoods as they break (broken windows, graffitti, broken lights, etc.) that crime will go down. Crime is not my issue. We inhabit our spaces, though, and inhabiting our spaces actively keeps our brains and emotional states feeling cared for, is inviting to friends and relations, and keeps out intruders who look for dirt and neglect as easy pickings (as they are all over the natural world -- if the cobwebs have built up, there's no traffic, and that means it's available for rent for the winter, right?).

Inhabiting our spaces actively means caring for them -- keeping them clean and lit and maintained. There is a problem, though, in that there are three levels of "clean:" clutter, grime, and maintenance. Clutter is what makes your house messy. It's in the way, it's all over stuff, it's accumulating in heaps and drifts. This, btw, is the level I suck at most. Grime is a more subtle issue -- it stains things and makes them dingy. It seems kind of like the thing you can most easily ignore, but it's the one that'll make you sick fastest. Maintenance is a whole other category, in which there are repairs and mowing and painting and fixes for things that break. Maintenance almost always costs money. I know very little about this level, having only now for the first time lived somewhere that it isn't covered by rent and therefore someone else's problem. I know it exists, though, and I'm learning about it. Oh, you crazy house ownership sort of thing, you.

My theory is that grime and maintenance are the aspects covered by the "broken windows" theory, aka the tipping point. If your house is broken, you fix it. If you can't fix it, you suck it up until you can or you learn how to fix it yourself. That kind of sums it up. Grime, though... grime is relatively cheap to fix. If windows are filthy, if things are covered in layers of dirt... no matter how much clutter you put away, it's still a dirty house, still neglected. On the other hand, if the grime is cleaned up, then clutter can be forgiven if it gets away from you. A house can be clean and cluttered, but not so much the other way around. I am, therefore, trying to put this into action. Once a day, I'm cleaning something I don't think has been cleaned in a while. I'm not trying to clean everything at once... I can't, I'll keel over and I don't have the time or the bandwidth. I can do it in bits, though, and in doing so, I feel we will eventually reach a tipping point, wherein even if things are cluttered, they still feel clean. Wish me luck, friends.

I use ghosts as a metaphor on a regular basis in my life. By ghosts, I rarely mean spirits of people who have physically died. I far more often mean the mental and emotional echoes of people who have passed out of my life, whether from one of my many moves or time or (sometimes even) death.

There aren't very many of these people or places who haunt me, by and large, and they come and go. They seem to come up more often in the fall and winter, but not exclusively so. Right now, it's Seattle, my ex, and my children, not necessarily in that order.

Seattle is the most surprising of these... though it's hardly the first time a place has haunted me. I find myself thinking about it a lot; wondering where a hardware store is and, for a moment, thinking of the one over by the yarn store I like in Wallingford, even though it's out of the way, and only then realizing it's half a continent away. I'm struggling to feel rooted in Cleveland and Middleburg Heights right now in a way that summers and springs don't summon up. I still don't feel like it's my city, even though it is, obviously, and has been for over a year. I need to find a way to exert some form of ownership over the idea of Cleveland, to insinuate myself into its buildings and grid and bricks and gargoyles in a way that lets me lay my hand on it without having to look. I still have to look and think and plan to know where I'm going. That's starting to wear on me. Time is the best fix for this, but that doesn't make it easier -- and until then, Seattle lives in my memory and overlays itself on my mental map of home.

My ex -- this ghost is fading for me. It has greatly faded since my relationship with Matt has grown over time -- he doesn't leave any room for it, frankly. :) But with a wedding coming up, the ghost-of-the-relationship-and-spouse-that-was stands in empty hallways, hovers near doorways, and stands over my shoulder, breathing warnings in my ear. They're faint, but insistent, and I'm forced to spend brain cycles processing them so that history cannot repeat itself in my mind. Banishing is a long and arduous process, but it's one I'm willing to do. I'll just be glad when the ghostly fingertips fade to a distant clanking in the attic, with life driving the departed on to its well-earned rest.

My kids -- these ghosts are alive and well. They dogged my footsteps last night as I walked with Matt and Teagan through the deepening twilight, surrounded by running children in masks and twinkling orange lights. I saw my own sons, running up to houses and ringing doorbells, and felt the chill of Halloweens past through my coat on top of the night's own nipping air. They are with me all the time... they hide from time to time, but then return when I least expect them, popping out of books and shows and the faces of my fiance's kids to laugh or weep and then vanish once more, slipping through my fingers again.

I'm not opposed to ghosts. Memory is a valuable thing, and the things that haunt us do so for a purpose; we learn the lessons we need to learn from the things we cannot let go. It's just good to take stock now and then of what your personal hidden landscape holds, so that you aren't taken by surprise by the tapping at the window, and can instead say, "Enter, friend, and be at peace."

My phrase for the day is "idiomatically fucked up." That is all.

Yes, engaged. Gettin' married again. Holy cats, to borrow an expression from my intended. I've been waiting to say it until it seemed like a good time, but now I'm so glad I can.

The date is January 4th, decided on since we neither of us see much point in waiting, we aren't having a big wedding, and we'll pretty much always have that weekend available so long as we're both on the academic calendar for work, which we most likely will be. Also, it's not in the midst of Oscar season, as that is a thing for Matt and it would be both funny and cruel to watch him struggle with the two pulls on his time (or would end up in our anniversary consistently spent going to movies, which... could be fun, but I'd like an option). We've ordered rings already -- no engagement rings, though.

Now, some of you might be saying, but isn't Matt married? Well, yes, he is, until sometime in the middle of next month. Heather and Aaron are already mostly moved into their new house -- they're just finishing up the painting and the last of the remodeling stuff. Once that's done, they'll be happily ensconced over there. We're all pretty happy about the various ways things have turned out, honestly. Heather and Aaron are really good together and really happy, and I think the same can be said for Matt and I. I think everyone appreciates how decisions were made, how we're working at making this one big family across two households (not counting my boys in David's household, who are absolutely part of this), and how no one has to feel left behind or unappreciated. I'm grateful for Heather, and for Aaron, and I like to think they feel similarly about me and Matt.

Now, some others of you might say, doesn't Matt have another girlfriend? (To which the rest of you might say, bwah?) To which I say, yes, he does. That isn't going to change, nor do I wish it to. I'm really fond of Sarah and I love having her as a friend -- I would want that even if she weren't with Matt. That's what poly sorts of things are all about, and that's the relationship we have. I even sort of taught her how to knit/loaned her needles and pointed her at the internet. That's love, man. Seriously.

Yes, my life is complicated. It's also the most fulfilling it's ever been. The only thing lacking is my boys being here, but that's not just up to me -- and we have a great relationship and they're happy I'm getting married again.

I will grant you, I'm still ambivalent about marriage as an institution. I have baggage I bring to this decision, and as much as I might want to pretend it's not there, it is. Divorce sucks like nothing else on earth in 90% of the situations out there. I have problems with making promises that are forever when nothing about the human condition is eternal except change and endings. I have issues with the cultural baggage we dump on marriage, and the extent to which it's used culturally as social control (see gay marriage, frex). I worry that writing our names together on a piece of paper will change something about the relationship we have, even though I know rationally, given discussions and whatnot, that it really isn't going to do that.

In the end, it all comes back to that regardless how I feel about marriage in general, I don't feel any of this about marriage to Matt. And that's why I'm here.

So. Today I'm writing about geeky hobbies. Mine in particular. I've been struggling with the definition of a geeky hobby, honestly... Is it something that makes you so happy you geek out about it? Is it a hobby that other people regard as geeky? Is it one that is traditionally "geeky," in the roles of genre fiction and other such off-the-beaten-path hobbies (for certain traditionally male definitions of geek, btw, which is something I could get into here, but won't, unless somebody wants to open that can of tribbles). In the end, I can't decide, so I'm going to post about multiple ones, with all the geekiness that goes along with it. I'm keepin' it real with my inner geekette, yo. *snerk*

So for today, then, I'm going to focus on that thing I love so much I'm kinda making a career out of it -- Gothic literature. Granted, there are many kinds of literature in the world, and I enjoy most of them in one form or another. It's not even my only concentration in lit -- I'm also specializing in Eighteenth-Century lit (which is by definition mostly British, although there are a few American novels right at the tail end -- Charles Brockden Brown, I'm looking at you). And while I do enjoy said 18th Century literature, primarily for the sheer wahoo of it all as well as the whole "wait, you mean I can make a living out of this" sense, as well as the sheer joyfulness with which authors played with this newfangled novel format, it's Gothic literature I'm writing about today.

Gothic literature is one of those things that's sort of difficult to pin down. On the one hand, we have the historical Gothic period of literature, which started about the mid 1700s with The Castle of Otranto (more or less reliably) and ran until about 1800, spawning countless novels much to everyone's surprise, delight, and horror at what kids these days were into. This "terrorist fiction" as it was called then was a return to the fantastic, not as an approved nationalist legend or foreign temptation, but as a means to deliberately make the reader feel by scaring the pants off him or her (pretty often her, but by no means exclusively). It was the progenitor of our modern horror genre, as well as our fantasy, sci-fi, and mystery genres. Romance... well, certainly in the sense of bodice rippers we have a clear line of descent. Realistic romances though were around well before. T'any rate, there you go. Novels with fantastic elements designed to make you feel and experience a catharsis as you studied clear representations of good and evil and felt the pathos and pity and revulsion that surrounded them, as a means of emotional moral instruction.

All that emotional furor is kind of exhausting, though, and by 1800 or so, the Gothic's kind of played out -- or is it? Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen's Gothic parody/homage/satirical commentary was written in 1803, though not published (and not for lack of trying) until after her death over a decade later. It had jumped the shark, to use the modern terminology. People were castled-out. It was an ex-genre. Sort of. The Romantics ran with what they'd loved about the Gothic, though, declaring that people could pry the sublime and their imaginative fiction/poetry from their cold, dead fingers, and not before. They kept the Gothic alive in their own Byronesque way, reinventing it and subverting it to meet their own needs. Frankenstein is proof of that.... the focus on the domestic, on the horror of the body, on inheritances and ambition and gender issues and the sublime played right into their hands. It laid more or less fallow for another thirty years until the mid-1800s, when we start seeing it come back in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre and so forth. This nineteenth-century Gothic resurgence gave us most of the novels we think of as Gothic today, as well as archetypes that we still keep around and reinvent and use to scare ourselves with. The realist movement was again the death of Gothic for a while, but like any good horror monster, a little death never stands in its way for long. There were always adherents to keep it alive and kicking, if off in the shadows.

Now. Historical Gothic aside, those historical novels built up to a body of work, creating a genre that we also call "Gothic." It's this genre that still persists today, coming back over and over again. It's flexible if not fluid, allowing for a wide breadth of interpretation and variation while still making works that are recognizably "gothic." In essence, the gothic genre consists of a set of conventions (or as I prefer to call tropes, since there's more to them than what I feel conventions hold and they've passed on into movies and television as well). No gothic work needs to have every gothic trope present -- honestly, anything like that would be self-parodying -- the number and type of conventions have only increased with every reinvention it's gone through. The list or tropes is long and no two people seem to fully agree on what it contains; my personal list includes orphans, unattached young women who are somehow set apart (heiresses, scholars, virtuous virgins, etc), secrets, family lines, dopplegangers, houses you can't escape, property lines of inheritance, domestic/romantic relationships, body horror, sex, torture (physical and/or psychological), death, darkness, ghosts, unnatural life (which includes but is not limited to undeath), ruin and decay, exotic locations, dark brooding men, Patriarchy!, monsters, the supernatural (or just the appearance thereof), and so forth. There can also be a significant dominance/submission element at play in the relationships as well, as sexual tension and a little hint of danger and/or kink play large and looming in a lot of the gothic world.

This latter set of gothic, genre gothic, is the one that fascinates me. Sure, we like gothic lit/movies/tv/music because they're sexy, frankly. It's scary, it's a little dangerous, it's fun, and at the end we all go home and have ice cream. Heck, it's been around long enough that we barely even register things as "gothic" any more if there isn't a vampire in a big fuck-off cape or a dark castle that really needs a housekeeper. If it doesn't signpost in neon, we barely consider it. However, take a look at these titles: Gothika. Shutter Island. Twilight. House of Leaves. Evanescence. Game of Thrones. The Shining. Sucker Punch. Psycho. Silence of the Lambs. The Orphanage. Sherlock Holmes.  That doesn't even get into things that proudly label themselves as gothic, honestly. Nor does it count things which borrow one or two of these aspects, but not a sufficient number of them for us to really consider them fully gothic, which also happens a lot. We are continually drawn to these tropes over and over again, whether we're conscious of it or not. They run rampant through our culture. For all the hokey aspects of chain-rattling ghosts and exotic transylvanian accents, there's something in these things that continues to draw us in to explore them, something in us that it feeds. These tropes are symbolic of other, deeper meanings, or else why would would they persist in the literary environment as long as they have, with no sign of aging out of the symbolic vocabulary? That's what I want to explore -- that's what draws me in and makes me want to study it and write about it and see what threads I can draw through the larger body of work, as seen against the contemporary cultural backdrop.  That's what fires my imagination and makes me want to write, and what inspires me to ask people "are you SURE you want to know," because it's the equivalent for me of saying, "so, tell me about your character."

So, yeah. Come closer. Don't worry about that moaning noise, it's just the wind. Take this candle... it can be dark in here during these storms. Take a deep breath, count to three, and tell me about your Gothic. :)