Maybe Better This Way

I think one reason this whole journal reads as one long depressing post is that I tend to write only when I'm emotionally driven. That's either when I'm down or when I'm really really up. I have a hard time articulating when I'm up, so I write less when I'm in that condition.

Instead I mostly write when I'm down. Such as now.

I've been doing housework all weekend. I did tons of laundry, only to find out the people I'm doing it for have been throwing clothes on the floor, dirtying stuff up, and sending it right back to me to clean. This didn't thrill me.

I've been doing loads of dishes all weekend. I don't know how things are where you are, but here "the dishwasher" means me, not some mechanized device. One reason for this is that having OCD with a washing compulsion, I do a very very thorough job of it. Another is that if I didn't no one else would. But when people get a glass, drink some water, put it in the sink, and ten minutes later get another glass, etc. it gets old in a hurry.

So earlier I went to the store, and by the time I got back utter chaos reigned at my house. I was told to take care of things, so I did. Utter chaos then reigned outside my house, and I spent much energy and more keeping it that way while I did more dishes and got the latest round of dirty clothes out to the laundry.

Then I got yelled at.

Yep.

For not lightening up.

Yep.

For a brief moment I felt something. For a split second I felt... what? Anger? Likely. Frustration? Definately. Surprise? I don't know. Possibly. Then nothing. You reach a point where you know you've lost. Not the "know you've lost" where you're still thinking, "Next round... I'll get you next round." I knew I'd lost and would not win. Not now. Not ever. So I walked away.

What really drove this home was that everyone but me has been playing all day. Video games, reading books, rough-housing, watching movies, etc. I've been working. I've been taking care of things the way I was told. And now I'm at fault? Ok. You're right. You win. I'm at fault.

A few weeks ago I was celebrating that it's been a long long time since I'd really thought of hurting myself. But as I stood in the kitchen trying to figure out how things came to be this way, I really started thinking about it again. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would just draw more attention I didn't want.

I'd love to turn this around at this point and tell you about the epiphany I had that explained everything, that made me one with my experiences and got me through them. I'd love to tell you that I didn't hurt myself (I didn't) and that I'm not thinking of it any more. But none of that is true. I'm still feeling tired, misunderstood, and emotionally beaten.

Sometimes when I'm in this state it's useful to get into a chatroom, practically ANY chatroom, and just watch. I don't share what I'm feeling in places like this because it leaves you vulnerable to attack. But it helps to see other people, to see them laugh, to see what makes them cry, just to see them for what they are: people.

But for some reason that didn't work today. It was just a series of verbal attacks, one right after the other. There was no basis for them as far as I could see. But as quickly as I ignored the nastier chatters more came. By the time all the nastiness was clicked into oblivion I was left with a stack of silent chatters, just like me.

Could we all have been there for the same reason? Could we all have been looking for a glimpse of humanity, fragile, feeble, fallible, but human? Could we all have been seeing the same nasty hatred and could we all have been wondering the same thing?

What if this really is humanity? What if this is the human condition? What if I'm the problem for wishing it was some other way?

I left. I can't remember if I typed a word.

So now I find myself here, writing out my angst and self-doubt in a journal. Perfect. Now I get to read it two weeks from now when I'm bubbling over with enthusiasm, unable to put two words together to explain why. And I'll think, "How the hell did I ever feel like THAT?! That's not ME!"

Aaaah, but it is. Get used to it. Because those feelings will come back.

They always do.

-- Pencil

Being Left Handed

I was looking up some information on the web and ran across a web site for left-handedness. Left-handedness? Yes, left-handedness. I'm left-handed, so I followed the link.

Not much of what I saw was new to me, but it did serve to remind me of a lot, and to bring these things to the fore. Left-handedness is not uncommon. The ratio of left to right-handed people is about 1:10. Compare this to the ratios for many other "differences", and it is apparent just how common this is. Yet how few accommodations do you find for left-handed people?

This might beg the question: Why would a left-handed person need accommodations in the first place? Good question. An even better question is how a right-handed person would react if given a left-handed version of an object.

One of my favorites is the Skilsaw. I have a nice Skilsaw at home (made by the Skil company, no less). It's a handheld circular saw. It has a blade fence for safety, one that only uncovers the blade as it engages the board it is cutting. It has a trigger lock to prevent unintentional startup of the motor. For something that cuts wood by spinning a large disk of razor sharp cutting edges around at high speed, it's one of the most safety-laden tools I have.

It is a right-handed tool. In order to disengage the trigger lock with the right hand, you push a button. To do so with the left hand involves a modified grip that puts the operator in danger of dropping the saw. (I do it two-handed, leaving no hand on the work while I'm starting the saw.) When cutting, the saw ejects sawdust to the right and back. When using the saw with the right hand this ejects the sawdust away from the operator and behind them so it cannot obscure the cut. When using the saw left handed, it ejects the sawdust into the operator's face. (I wear eye protection any time I am in the shop, but this is still unsafe.) The times I have used the saw with my right hand I've come close to losing control of the tool.

This is far from a limited example. When I first started doing machining, the mill I used had all of the emergency stop buttons arranged for a right-handed operator. Lathes, on the other hand, almost seem designed for left-handed operators. (I'm still in love with the Monarch EE Toolroom Lathe, the one I learned on.) Drill presses have their quill feeds on the right side. Most scrollsaws have their power switches on the right side. These are not issues of convenience, they are issues of safety.

I've learned to adapt. It's that or lose body parts. Shop safety rarely splits hairs in this regard. But lest I seem to be whining, try this experiment:

Get a pair of left-handed scissors. Don't go cheap and get the gawdawful green-handled scissors you find in grocery stores. Go for broke and pick up a set of high-end shears with contoured handles. Fiskars is a nice brand if you're being picky. Now try to use them right-handed. Difficult? Awkward? Tough! That's how it feels to use right-handed scissors. That's what I learned to adapt to. And that's just scissors. It's a matter of convenience rather than safety. Ready to try that Skilsaw now? How about a drill press? Don't skimp now. You're putting a 1/2" drill through quarter inch plate steel, remember.

Now that you understand what a left-handed person is often faced with, I'll go into one of the ways not to address this difference: conformation. When I was in school I studied under several teachers. No surprise there. That's how the school system works. Each brought a different set of ideas (and ideals) to bear. Each had a different style and different expectations. For some, part of those expectations were that left-handed people would give up this evil habit and conform.

In case that seems to be a little strong, please understand it is not. I had one teacher tell me point-blank in front of the entire class that I was defective, and if the school district hadn't ordered her to stop doing it, she'd "fix" me by beating me every time I used my left hand. This was the state of things in some regions of the US in the 1850's, and was still the state of things in some regions of the US in the 1950's. Thank goodness it wasn't entirely the state of things in the 1970's, but it's obvious some people resented that and pined for the good ol' days.

Lucky for me I assumed the role of the screw-up early on, at least in school. With one exception all of my teachers gave up on me at some point. One of them stuck it out for an entire semester, twisting my paper and my arm around to unbelievable pretzel shapes every time I wrote, insisting that this was The One True Way. Thank goodness I ignored her and just went ahead and smeared my ink. I always got horrid grades in handwriting anyway, so I guess they just got discouraged. I certainly was. But at least now I can write without causing permanent wrist damage.

In time I learned to look for my own solutions. In junior high I began writing with a drafting pen. With a fine enough tip (3x0 in my case) the ink dries almost immediately, leaving no smear. For the first time in my academic life I came home at the end of the day with a clean hand. I learned to use right handed scissors. It's awkward to apply pressure in the right directions to keep the two blades of the shears engaged, but it's possible. I came to appreciate Fiskars, which take almost no pressure to pull this of. (I still hand-sharpen my scissors, a habit some people find eccentric but I find necessary.) I learned to use a drill press right-handed. The same is true of a mill, a mouse, a keyboard, a can opener, etc. It's certainly better than having a teacher spit insults and threats, but it's still a compromise.

But the situation is improving, at least in the schools. I don't see left-handed kids being targeted as much any more. They're simply left to grow as they grow, learn as they learn, and adapt as they adapt. I don't expect to find any left-handed drill presses any time soon, but at least no one will be there saying, "Twist it this way and hold your hand that way and what's wrong with you?!" Could it be that the world is becoming more tolerant of ten percent of its population?

At one point on one of the mailing lists for Tourette Syndrome the question was raised: What accommodations would you like for TS and why? The only one I could come up with was: Have everyone just deal with how I am and move on. It hasn't kept me from doing anything I wanted to do. It's only made things extremely uncomfortable when someone assumes I'm crazy because I tic constantly. In my reply I said I had a harder time because of the left-handedness than the TS. I don't think that was very well received.

But it's true. I have had a harder time because of the left-handedness. Not because of any inherent difficulties. The problem is that so much of our world assumes right-handedness. Ironically I probably could get accommodations for the TS, despite its only affecting roughly 0.5% to 1% of the population. But getting a company to buy left-handed mice, scissors, etc. is almost unheard of.

In case you happen to be left-handed, there actually are companies out there making left-handed versions of asymmetric products. Here's a store:

TheLeftHand

They even have my Fiskars.

--Pencil