Grrr Arggg. I just finished watching Season 3 of Buffy again, for the however many-th time. MayorWilkins was the best villain Buffy ever produced, for me. Oddly layered, humourous and relatable (in a way Ted wasn’t, even though they were written similarly). I almost wanted him to be in my family.
There were two things watching this time that I saw that I never saw before – after all these decades of watchings.
First that Angel probably did sleep with Faith in the episode where he pretended to turn to get her to talk about the Mayor’s ascension. So Buffy was so righteously sick about it, much worse than a kiss – how could I have missed this implication before?
And the other was seeing Oz and Willow sleep together for the first time; and seeing Buffy and Angel break up. The Oz/Willow thing was realizing this is the first time I’ve watched it and known I’ll very likely never be back there again in this life: that place of first, early hope in a relationship. That place where you want to kiss your boyfriend all the time, and just be within touching distance – never straying too far, lest that silvery connection fizzles out. Energy exchange. And Buffy and Angel – that fatal connection that hurts so much. It’s thankful I will likely never be back there, but also sad that I didn’t go there the very first time with someone who wasn’t a liar and as selfish as I was, but should have known better because he was so much older and more experienced with life. Either way, those extremes of hurt or hope…getting them from a person is a gone girl now. Not a possibility. Likely.
The thing is, watching someone tenderly cradle someone’s
face, look at them with such love or awe…I had no idea I’d one day watch that
and think: not for me, anymore, that level of youthful hopefulness. When
did I age? I’m 50. I didn’t
think it would feel so different, to realise these things that may never happen
again. Or that I don't view love the same way. I'm irritated that Stanley and I are no longer cradling each other's faces! What happened!
I really enjoy sleeping (bear with me here). I was wondering the other day if I’ll be consciously on my death bed one day, and think I wasted so much of my life being scared of the pressures of the day and sleeping as a result. But maybe I won’t. When you’re dead you can’t get that lovely liquid, pastel feeling of falling asleep, or waking up feeling different (“have you tried turning it off and on again?” says Moss). It’s just the one way street, and possibly right when you were in the middle of something fun or important. No more being massively productive in evenings and the night, like I always have been. No more of that. No choice. Weird. When did I get so much closer to this?
Much earlier this
year, in the just beforehand of the Charisma Carpenter revelations and Joss Whedon turns out to be a shithead
fallout (go Google it), Alyson Hannigan said of Buffy’s character that Angel was the
right boyfriend for Buffy to have as she was coming into her power; and Spike was the boyfriend she needed when she had her power. An ideal of youth, and a messy rather mental painful
reality, respectively. I wonder when I'll feel its time for my 'power'? A very nebulous idea that. Maybe it simply means self-worth, and the degree of confidence that comes from that.
I also meant to say, watching Buffy after all this Joss Whedon stuff is fine. He doesn’t get to kill it. It’s always been bigger than him. The writers and actors, the music people – what they all made has survived and been extraordinary despite his toxic personality. Like a lot of things, people made beauty despite pain. There’s a lot of places pain shouldn’t be but somehow it is. He may not really have been a feminist, or taken us all for fools in that respect – but he still somehow managed to have a big hand in creating a character, a set of characters so relevant they still sing out today, so strong. It makes me cry to think they suffered to make this beauty. But at least it’s beautiful, and strong, and will survive him. Those characters still help me now, today. This day.
Even if it’s only to see that I’ve gone past some points and may be headed in a different direction now.
There’s this thing happening as I get older. Not only does my quirkiness appear to no longer come across as cute - I used to regularly be told I was Phoebe-like, from Friends. Now instead I get reactions as if I am always nervous, uneasy and weird. People seem to have either judged me before they met me (people at the café I worked at with Fry, judged me as Fry’s mum only); or made up their minds very soon after and decided I’m too much work, or awkward and totally lacking in confidence, or they think I’m a bit stupid. This last is the cafe again, where one boss in particular (the annoying one) but also the other boss (the brilliant unusual one), seemed to view me as someone with no expertise at all, in anything. And I was cleaning…
And I used to get it from my a more recent boss sometimes too, in a more conventional officey setting – I saw impatience or gritted teeth or something, go across their face when they ask me to do some writing, and I would ask for tone for it: perky, conversational but formal or conversational but informal. They acted like they felt they’d said the answer enough times already, though each piece was different. Then they would over explain without the answer being within those words.
It makes me wonder if people actually see me properly at all? I know I ask the questions in a way that makes sense; sometimes I’ll say the questions again in a different way if the answer isn’t forthcoming. But it’s as if people answer to their idea of me rather than what’s there or what I said or acted or did.
And people’s ideas of me appear to not be as friendly or charitable as they once were. When did this happen and what did I do? Is it partly to do with the Invisible Woman phenomenon noticed by lots of women in their late 40’s onwards, that once you get to be ‘middle-aged’, people (especially men) seem…to simply stop seeing you as active/dynamic/competent…or much at all? It’s as if you fade a little at the edges, and start to prepare to be someone’s nan, in print dresses, lots of polyester and very comfortable shoes; short helmet hair. Ugly coats. It’s a whole thing coming at you[1].
I’m annoyed in a way to be writing this kind of thing (overthinky negativity) again – it’s the death of me ever wanting to read things back. So many times in the past, I write to make sense of things, but then I’ll look at it weeks or days or months later, to see if I’ve learned anything, or can learn from my previous responses. And all I find is this long tortured, convoluted and over complicated narrative I want no part of. Even moreso if I handwrote it – I hate my handwriting.
But things aren’t always simple, and especially not for me, personally. So…I make sense best as I can?
The ghost of Fry is over my shoulder, and he says “your head, man…” while shaking his own head and looking rather smug that his head is not my head.
So who sees me and sees that I am an ok person, as much right to be here as anyone, and not useless, hopeless and stupid? I don’t know.
It’s a shame we can’t trust our thoughts. I suspect other people’s thoughts about me are incorrect (and maybe more about them), and I have read in countless books that thoughts precede feelings states, so that if I am sad and feeling hopeless, as I am now, it’s a problem with the thoughts I have had[2]. The words are useless and hopeless. But the thoughts seem to come as feelings and they feel so true. It’s tiring to have the thoughts; it’s tiring to correct the thoughts.
I don’t know who the hell I am anymore. People judge me on my children’s behaviour and attitudes; Stanley judges me on my sleeping habits, Best Mum thinks everything I say to her is a criticism; and I judge me on these thoughts that hold me down. But here they are.
Things are beautiful. There is that. The whole (slightly doomed) planet, filled with beautiful nature and creatures. There’s art. And I really really enjoy my books, films and TV…
There’s two quotes from Buffy that are apposite to my state of mind confusion here (of many, these were just the ones the popped into my head just now – it’s a damn quotable show).
The ever astringent Cordelia, to Buffy in a moment of exasperation at her angry behaviour and navel gazing:
"Embrace the pain. Spank your inner moppet. Whatever.
But get over it, because pretty soon you’re not even gonna have the loser
friends you’ve got now." Gulp. That's me told.
And also the way more aspirational speech by Buffy in the last ever episode:
"I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking yet. I'm not finished becoming...whoever the hell it is I'm gonna turn out to be."
So I’m 50. There’s more to be done yet, no matter what people see and make of my currently chunky and rather grumpy exterior.
Bring it on.[3]
Well, you know, it'll come regardless what I say, so being spunky and feisty, and possibly even graceful, is the way to go, right...?
[1] And then, if you fight it, and dress your mental age or actual figure – you’re ‘mutton dressed as lamb’?!
[2] There’s the basis of CBT – change the thoughts to change the feelings.
[3] Of course, there’s also the immortal "Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live." But I usually save that one for when things are really dark.
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