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Author and Editor

Perspective

I usually wait ’til something triggers a blog post, I’ve no set schedule, works for me. So, I recently shared a thing from my past with a couple of online friends. I’ll share what it was in a bit.
It brought up the odd dichotomy I have about perspective, just to clarify (since I can’t draw worth beans, really, my stick figures look drunk) I’m talking about definition 2.
My perspective seems skewed, or everyone else’s is. Not sure which, to me, the things that have occurred in my life, are just normal. Possibly even logical. Now, this may very well be a part of my Aspie nature. Remember that logic and knowledge are akin to holy to me (except math, math = bad) and that emotion takes a back seat, until it doesn’t. (Clear as mud, aren’t I?)
Ahem. Definition:

perspective

noun per·spec·tive \pər-ˈspek-tiv\

Definition of perspective

  1. 1 a : the technique or process of representing on a plane or curved surface the spatial relation of objects as they might appear to the eye; specifically : representation in a drawing or painting of parallel lines as converging in order to give the illusion of depth and distanceb : a picture in perspective

  2. 2 a : the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed <places the issues in proper perspective>; also : point of viewb : the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance <trying to maintain my perspective>

  3. 3 a : a visible scene; especially : one giving a distinctive impression of distance : vistab : a mental view or prospect <to gain a broader perspective on the international scene — Current Biography>

  4. 4 : the appearance to the eye of objects in respect to their relative distance and positions

perspectival

play \pər-ˈspek-ti-vəl, ˌpər-(ˌ)spek-ˈtī-vəl\adjective

I shared, what to me, is a perfectly amusing tale of ‘how not to drink.’ Yet, my memory was met with sorrow for the events that occurred. (Yeah, this is totally ’cause I’m Aspie, isn’t it?)
By the time I turned twelve, I’d learned to drink. Yes, really, no I’m not implicating anyone, it just… was the way it was in the time and place I grew up in.
I’d been raped by someone I cared about by the time I turned 17, and I stayed in a relationship with him afterward. I didn’t even ‘know’ it was clearly rape until I’d taken a sexuality class in University, years later.
I’d also been threatened with both physical abuse and having a family member abused, and loss of where I lived if I didn’t recant something I’d accidently shared about a family member sexually abusing me.
I can almost hear the gasps, but… thing is, life and childhood just ain’t pretty for so many people.
It’s why I support, desperately, authentic YA stories (kinda wish I could write them, but… my real life YA is more suited to a memoir I think. I’d never get pubbed, I’m no where near disneyfied enough for the YA market that I’ve seen. My time and energy are limited, I’ll continue writing what I love to write. Also, to clarify, I want to get pubbed only so my stories can reach the most readers, the one’s who really need/want to read them).
The YA stories that are real? The ones that tell the hard truths, the ones that explicitly describe the terrible decisions some kids, a lot of kids, make on a day to day basis, those stories need publication, so they know they aren’t alone!
I could’ve used that, then, you know?
Anyway.
I think I was all of 24 when myself, my husband and a friend were invited to the largest Halloween party in the (Capitol) city we lived in. It was a bit of a social coup to be invited. I didn’t care so much about the social coup, so much as that we had a party that promised to be fun to attend.
My social anxiety being what it is, we arranged for a cab and started the libations while we costumed up. I’ve been a professional costumer, my work is in museums and has graced stages, I’m good, so it took a bit of time. A fun time to be sure.
Lol, yes, we were well on our way to tossed when we got into the cab to go to the party, ebulliently enthused is a good phrase.
We got to the party with our donations, booze and food, of course, as one does (and ourselves).
We mingled, we drank, and since there was a free open bar, and I admit, a hot, shirtless bartender (I’m demi, not blind) well, I figured in the dumb damned way of youth, to try stuff I hadn’t yet.
Tequila shots.
Yep.
I’ll say now, just in case you ask later where my companions were, this was in the late 90’s, we’d hung together for a while then split up and mingled where we willed. (were there orgies, yes, there were, it was a goooood party).
So, by the time the challenge for Tq shots came along, I was mostly sober and alone. (I did know many people at the party, but… I wasn’t with anyone I’d come with.)
Some random person in the group I stood with asked if anyone would do Tq shots with them.
(Even now, it’s just an experience to me).
I offered, he made it to three, I made it to four. After flirting (badly I’m sure, no one ever looks as good drunk as they think they do) with the bartender, I tried oozo, because I’d never tried that either.
Apparently, I don’t handle liquor well. Too much Native in my ancestry perhaps (I was told that by someone from a rez once, I may be completely off base and smack me with a clue-by-four if I’ve misspoken, please.)
Oh gods, Drunk, with a capital D, and not in the pretty, fun way, and all of the sudden!! We’d been shooting for maybe half an hour. Remember I started this little learning experience mostly sober… well… reasonably, I wouldn’t have driven, but I consciously made decisions knowing their likely repercussions.
lol, no, I didn’t puke but gods I had to pee in the worst way. (I may be weird in liking that the other guy puked, saw him coming out of the john as I went in… only time I’ve ever liked the ‘hail fellow well met back slap’ of ‘victory’.)
By the time I was washing up at the sink, someone in full renaissance garb needed the john, no worries. I went out onto the porch for air.
I watched some poor sap fall down the three flights of wooden stairs. (yeah, the hosts should have blocked them off, they didn’t) Guess who the next poor sap was?
Yup.
I’m lucky I didn’t break my damned neck (the doc’s words the next day, not mine). He said I was lucky I’d been drunk, apparently the muscle relaxants in booze save a lot of college kids lives) I had bruises up and down the left side of my body. Um, by that I mean the whole left side of my body was black, and they gave me tetanus shots and vit-k? I think? There were needles. (In another time and place, fun, but at the time, I had no clue as to my own mortality.)
Fuck, I still remember how badly the bruising hurt.
So, being me, after the zipper ride down the stairs, I stood up and walked around (I swear, I have more than a little ‘cat’ in me) Carlin said it best at about minute 4:43 Fucking Meow
So. I walked it off (gods, there’s a sports metaphor from my stupid ‘oh, I like sports! years) Look, I don’t judge anyone for legitimately liking sports. But dang, could we just stop shoving it down everyone’s throats? There’s a fecking large percentage of the population who’re faking enjoyment of it, ya know? (Unless there’s armor and swords/axes or MMA involved, in which case I happily throw over my own reasoning.) (Sorta like faking orgasms… regardless of gender, y’all can stop that too.)
Ahem.
So, yeah, I walked it off and hobbled my way back up those fecking stairs. A guy dressed in a sheep suit met me at the top, expressing concern for my well being.
I’m not great at reading social cues, but how many women can tell ahead of time they’re about to have an issue?
I didn’t. He’d been around the whole night (yeah, yeah, alarm bells, I was young and dumb).
He asked me what I needed, when I said my husband or my friend he led me to a room with a phone. (so I could call them, ya know? In the days before frequent cell phones?)
I won’t detail what followed, but anyone who didn’t know how to apply a gooseneck (hapkido) or (yeah, hapkido, sorry) and had the will to apply that and other methods of self defense would have been raped.
I wore bruises from that the next day too.
Nothing was broken. I suppose it says something about my life that that’s the standard by which I approach injury.
So, much disturbed, still sickdrunk (there needs to be a word for that, if you know it, enlighten me, please) I left him to his, um… writhing is good (he survived, and so deserved it) and found my husband and friend. We called a cab and went home.
Except… (you knew there was more, didn’t you?)
Yeah. For the first time in my short and varied life, I puked while drunk and in a moving car.
I’m nothing if not polite. It’s a skill you learn with an Asperger’s brain. You figure out, through trial and error, what is socially acceptable and what isn’t, ’cause let me tell you, it isn’t obvious to some of us.
I got the window down and puked out of it. On the highway. (I still regard this memory as amusing, I learned my lesson, I don’t usually drink liquor and rarely drink anything to excess.) Though I pity whatever cars were behind us.
It occurs to me that this post might lose me followers. Do I care? Nope. If you’ve never, in your entire life, done something stupid when you were young, (or old, learning isn’t a bell curve) feel free to judge (and take the stick out of your ass while you’re at it). Lol, unless it was fun putting it there, then, kink on my friend! Honestly, if you’re doing whatever with a consenting, of legal age partner? Have fun with my blessings (hope you don’t need them).
It also occurs to me to say, damn, kids, if you’re reading this, it totally isn’t worth it. I speak from experience, being raped isn’t fun (please report it, I wish I had, both the successful, and the almost) (report it here) or please, in the US and Canada, call 911 or go to a police station. (I’m not internationally traveled, I’d love to link to international resources for this, email/DM/PM) This applies to male, female and non-binary gendered. If, for whatever reason you can’t (I get it, I do) my DM’s are open, my email is public. I’m here. I can’t help, but I can listen.
The cabbie robbed me. I can’t judge all cabbie’s by that one, but she spun an entertaining (now) yarn about how she had to clean her cab of the puke.
In my drunken state, I didn’t do the math, a carwash cost about 4$ then.
So, she dropped off my friends and took me to the ATM. We had all of 40$ in our account (Still in University, we were so poor then).
She took it all and demanded more. When I told her there wasn’t any, she finally drove me home. Where I found my companions on the lawn of our apartment building. We hadn’t been gone long for such a ‘rich’ experience.
As an older woman, I desperately hope neither of my kids, nor anyone’s kids, ever experience life like this. Except. I know incredibly well how hard life can be. I know that people are as varied as the days on a calendar, and that it can be as simple as a bad day that makes a person do a bad thing. It can be a bad hour, or a bad 5 minutes. Every second, we choose.
You know? I’m still viewing this, with my perspective of age, as being a learning experience. Sure, I was ticked off the next day (I mean, who wouldn’t be?)
Did I consider reporting the guy who learned his lesson? (Hopefully about more than not to wear a sheep costume!) Yeah, I did, but I didn’t know his name, and in my drunken state, had a bad description. (Sheep costume, dark hair, Caucasian, location, that’s not really enough.) I also knew exactly how the cops were likely to respond to an accusation. (Another story, later time, maybe.)
In any case, from my perspective. I learned a deep and abiding lesson and have what *I* think of, as an amusing story. From the perspective of those I blurbed this too, well… that’s where the confusion comes in.
It’s where perspective comes in. If you’ve had a relatively easy life. (I’m obviously no judge of *easy*) then your perspective will be different than mine.
If you are any of the kids I’ve taught in inner city schools, especially if you’re POC of any variety, I bow my head in respect for what you’ve lived through, because I haven’t a blessed clue. If you’re POC at all, I bow my head, because you’ve lived through so much.
… and even now, I’m *still* fecking wondering why my sharing of something someone *asked* me to share is… off? wrong? Elicited-the-response-it-did-that-I-still-don’t-understand? Yeah. That.
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