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Current Music:Stars (Fun.)
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Time:10:50 pm
Current Mood:exhaustedexhausted
So I am pregnant, which on the whole is a wonderful, much-wanted, very exciting thing. I'll be sixteen weeks along this Friday.

But let's talk for a moment, because I can't hold it in anymore, about being disabled and pregnant, and moreover, being disabled, pregnant, and employed by the federal government, with its bureaucracy and idiocy.

The model for diabetes care in pregnancy is simple: you dance on the line that separates "normal" blood sugars from lows. All the time. The glucose goals non-pregnant people have are irrelevant to preggos and our practitioners. I cannot tell you how many bags -- and I mean economy-sized, bought-in-bulk-at-CVS bags -- of Skittles and Mike & Ike's I've gone through in the last, oh, eight weeks. (And before that, when I was in England, my students were constantly having to run out and fetch me sodas.)

There are so many factors going on when you're shooting for a target range so small. The human body is not predictable. Measuring carbs is hard. Insulin is taken up differently depending on time of day, and on where the pump site is. And so on, and so on. The end result is, I have to spend a lot more time worrying about my blood sugars. When I was not pregnant and I'd be a little high, I'd shrug it off. "I'll come down later." Now it's an emergency that needs to be corrected now . . . even if that means I'll be low later . . . and let's hope I don't overcorrect the low and end up in the rafters again. This is my life. It's OK -- I chose to become pregnant. (Obviously I didn't choose the autoimmune disease.)

So that's how it is. And what makes it all so much more difficult to deal with is my job.

I'm lucky inasmuch as the people around me are all happy for me and supportive of my choice to have a kid. It's not the people, it's the structure.

Lemme give you a for-instance. This morning I woke up at 4:30 tremendously hungry. So much so that when I tried to go back to sleep, my body was like, "LOL, nice try."

Now, an able-bodied woman could stuff a couple granola bars down the hatch and be back to sleep in ten minutes. But welcome to my world: I went downstairs so as not to disturb Flame too much. I tested my sugar. I was low. Dammit. So I downed a healthy handful of Mike & Ike's and waited the requisite fifteen minutes to test again. Tested again. STILL low. Motherfucker. Another handful of Mike & Ike's. Another fifteen minutes. FINALLY I'm at a level where I can safely eat something more substantial than sugar pellets. So I get a bowl of cereal, since fuck, I am awake now.

So now I'm running on four hours' worth of sleep. I can try to go back to sleep. I do, briefly, but it's not happening. I could lie in bed till it happens, but . . . well, let's take a short diversion and talk about parking at work.

Where I work, there are a bajillion people, and not enough parking spaces, pure and simple. People show up at simply insane hours so they can snag that coveted space in a reasonable walking distance of their desk.

Meanwhile, if you are so déclassé as to show up at 9 AM, the standard start-of-business time since time immemorial, you are forced to park in a satellite lot so far away that you have to wait for a bus to take you to your building.

That bus. I hated that bus before I got pregnant. Now that I'm pregnant, I loathe it. It rides over the worst-maintained stretch of road I've ever encountered in the Northeast. Imagine being on the World's Bumpiest Bus with morning sickness or sore breasts. It's sheer torture.

But I'm on that fucking bus all the time because oh, did I mention, pregnant women need TONS OF SLEEP. Even after nine hours' worth, I often feel like I could go right back down. So getting to work at the asscrack of dawn is all but impossible.

Let's get back to this morning. I don't want to try to go back to sleep, because I know it will take a while, and then I'll sleep for a while, if at all, and then parking will be awful. So I just get up and start my day.

Of course, around 10 AM or so, I crash. But there's nowhere for me to go. There's no empty office to put my head down in. We are famously squished in like sardines in the government, and my building is perhaps worse than most.

How many times have I yearned for a small, dark room where I could just relax for half an hour? Pregnancy brings with it gastrointestinal upsets, and for some (me included), headaches. Also, daily exhaustion. And it's not the kind of exhaustion that bends at all to a couple cans of Diet Coke. It is much, much deeper than that. It is the exhaustion of supplying all the basic needs of two human beings instead of one. The only time I've felt anything like it is when my blood sugar goes extremely high and won't come down. It's not about lack of sleep; it's about inability to continue functioning without a break.

But at work, I have no recourse. My car is too far away to walk there and nap for even ten minutes. The "Meditation Room" is regularly policed for anyone foolish enough to try to get some shut-eye. It amazes me -- if you let people clock out and take a snooze in the afternoon, think how much better the work you'd get out of them would be afterwards. Yet no one seems to think this is even bordering on reasonable.

Today, when my neurons started going on strike, I became desperately envious of my friends who sometimes or often work from home. What I wouldn't give right now, I thought. Or even just my own office, where I could close the door for half an hour. (Ha! You have to be REALLY important to get your own office 'round our parts.) Something. Anything.

Instead I drank a cup of caffeinated tea (barely put a dent in anything, but hey) and let myself read things that really didn't relate at all to what I was supposed to be doing, but what I was supposed to be doing was several leaps of evolution beyond what my brain was capable of in that moment.

Yes, I know there are pregnant women who drive buses and do hair and teach school and do all kinds of things that are seemingly a lot tougher than being a white-collar knowledge worker. Doesn't mean I feel any less miserable, knowing that.

Twenty-four weeks left. (And then, y'know, I have to deal with being responsible for another human being, but let's cross that bridge when we come to it.)
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Current Music:Melt My Heart to Stone (Adele)
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Time:09:37 pm
Current Mood:exhaustedexhausted
I doubt there's anyone who reads this who hasn't already heard this through other media, but for completeness sake . . . .

So I wrote that last entry about the Project from Hell, and [info]mathmuffin gave some great advice. So right before I went on my trip, I went to the office and wrote my boss an email that said, basically, "I can't do this." And then I left and went to England on business for two weeks (followed by a week of me and Flame tooling around London and Paris, which was pretty great). And now my boss is on vacation, so I still don't know what he has to say about that.

Several days into the trip, I got an email from my endocrinologist -- she needed me to call her about the thyroid biopsy I'd had. Well, I knew that could only mean one thing, and indeed, it looks like I have thyroid cancer. Not a particularly nasty kind, just your garden-variety thyroid cancer. My endo said I'd need a total thyroidectomy, which seems like an overreaction, but what the hell do I know.

If I was set against the Project from Hell before, I'm dead set against it now. Everyone can suck it. I'm not forfeiting what little sanity and control I have left in this life to some dumbass heap of spaghetti code. No.

And that's how it is, my friends. Stupid fucked-up endocrine system just gets more fucked every year.
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Current Music:Crash Into Me (Dave Matthews Band)
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Time:09:54 pm
Current Mood:depresseddepressed
I've been assigned the Project from Hell at work. It is so much the Project from Hell that I am desperately trying to think of ways to get out from under it. There's the simple, "This is not a good match for me"; there's the more complicated thinking of ways to escape from that office altogether; and then there are the truly outlandish thoughts I've started having -- "Maybe I should go to med school. People always need doctors, right?" (I haven't taken biology since 9th grade, so this is a particularly great plan.)

The very short version is that a woman left our office having only half-finished (singlehandedly) a huge codebase. She left it incomplete and buggy. There is no commit history, no bug tracker, and very little documentation. We have a customer who's been asking for this code since the dawn of time. I was the most flexible, so they stuck me in the gap she left behind without having any real grasp on just how buggy and awful the codebase is. (Oh, and it's in C, which is . . . look, I can write C, but you don't want me writing C.)

It's just a shitty situation with no good resolution. And there's part of me that's like, "Oh, just shoulder the burden and everyone will love you SO MUCH," but there's a much larger part that's like, "Wait a sec, why do I have to be the sacrificial lamb here?! Someone else created a huge messy pile of shit and now I have to shovel it out for a year by myself? Says who??"

I'm beside myself, I really am. I want to run away from this as fast and as hard as I can. I also don't want to be a dick and leave good people in the lurch. Over and above everything else, though, I don't want to be miserable for a year. I can't stomach it. So I'm trying to figure out what to do, and I'm just so glad I'm taking a trip and I'll be away from this shitstorm for a few weeks.
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Current Music:Reelin' in the Years (Steely Dan)
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Time:10:47 pm
Current Mood:mellowmellow
Following up on this morning's post, there's a certain type of Social Networking Terrorist (I use the word "terrorist" in a completely inappropriate way, but it's the word that sprang to mind) that I only see pop up once in a while.

I've seen many types, mind you. At the moment (though this may change), all my Google+ posts are Public. Which means sometimes when I post something about atheism, random angry Christians reply. Those are "I Must Refute Total Strangers' Opinions" SNTs. But they're pretty easy to ignore.

There are spammers, of course. And there are the folks who post way too much, way too often. It takes all kinds of SNTs to make social networks go 'round.

But the specific type I wanted to talk about -- it's the Random Asshole Social Network Terrorist. Here are the basic qualifications (I'll use "he" 'cause the ones I've known have been male):
  1. He's not a complete stranger to you. You don't see each other in person, really, but you have some tenuous connection.

  2. When you post something substantive about your life -- fears, worries, hopes, dreams -- he doesn't say jackshit.

  3. When you post something random, once in a while he jumps in and shits all over everything.

I actually encountered the RASNT when I was first writing here at LJ, close to a decade ago. There was this one dude -- he was the cousin of a friend, plus he'd dated another of my close friends. When he was reading and commenting, he hadn't seen me in person in half a decade. He had this uncanny way of skating past all the entries where I talked about, say, the last time people were worried I could have cancer (I had a horrific vaginal biopsy my junior year of college). What he loved to do was catch me on spelling mistakes (few and far between, but they do happen) and challenge me on random facts. I seem to remember repeating some piece of random trivia my mother claimed to know, and he was all the fuck over me for citations and references.

I think I find the RASNT more infuriating than all the other SNTs. This is a person who has enough knowledge about you to actually contribute to your life, but chooses to just breeze in, take a shit on you, and breeze out. You have honest questions, and he does not answer them. You share a fear, and he does not comfort you. You crow at your own success, and he does not congratulate you. But you confuse two homophones, and he is all over that, muthafucka!!!

So, that's actually what happened this morning. There's this one guy, N, who has been the RASNT in my life for the past, like, three years. It was confined to Facebook for a while, and I actually said something to him at one point about his role as the RASNT (something like, "You know, you only ever comment to pick a fight" or something). However, he offered the time-honored "defense" of the RASNT: "If you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen." On FB, it was always, "Just unfriend me." Uh . . . OK. Or you could stop being a douche.

Then this morning N started hassling me on Twitter for no fucking reason, and when I reacted angrily, said, "You have issues, lady." (OK, everyone knows you don't use "lady" as a form of direct address, right? Because it's incredibly gendered, impolite, and assholish?) So when I told him to shove it, he had that evergreen defense: "If you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen." Except this time it was (I paraphrase), "If you don't want people to be stupid all up in your face, don't tweet." Uh . . . OK. Or you could stop being a douche.

What compels people to be the RASNT in other people's lives?! That's what I'm stuck on. I only have three theories:
  1. RASNTs hate their targets, and they exercise their hatred by taking dumps on them.

  2. RASNTs are sad, bored muthafuckas, and they pick targets based on the reaction they get out of them (I assume they test the water with multiple targets). It's like bear-baiting for them.

  3. RASNTs are so socially retarded that they somehow think it's normal behavior to act like this.

Honestly, knowing the guys I've known who act like this . . . I'm leaning towards #3.
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Current Music:Change of the Guard (Steely Dan)
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Time:09:51 am
Current Mood:irritatedirritated
Any argument that is anything along the lines of, "If you can't accept verbal abuse from randos who say shit like I'm saying right now, you shouldn't be on [insert social networking tool here]" is de facto made by an abusive moron who will never medal at the Human Decency Olympics.

The sad thing is, I have no idea how to respond to a message like that other than "Fuck off." It's not like a person who would say something like that would probably ever listen to reason coming from a stranger, right? Or am I missing a chance to shed some light on it all?
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Current Music:Can't Hide Love (Earth, Wind & Fire)
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Time:10:26 pm
Current Mood:cynicalcynical
The human body is a funny thing. Those of us who are disabled or ill know it can turn on you with no provocation. Everything from your brain down to your toes can fail spectacularly in a million ways.

Thankfully, we have modern medicine, which shields us from some of the worst consequences of having bodies that are so easily broken or warped. I suspect most Americans appreciate (even if no one can ever fully accept) the general idea that disease can strike anyone at any time, and that good health is as much a product of luck as any other cause.

And then there are the ones who don't.

Take, for instance, a friend, who I shall just call G. G is one of those crunchy folks who credits xyr juicer with magical properties. Xe keeps fit and eats what xe considers to be the "right diet." Something that has struck me through the years I've known G is that xe has little to no sympathy for people with chronic illnesses. Xe also credits xyr health and physique solely to xyr life choices.

Now, we all know that while environment plays a part in a person's weight, probably the greater factor is genetics. Two people can eat the same food and look vastly different. But, whereas someone like [info]flamingophoenix will just say flat-out, "I have skinny genes," G seems to deeply believe that xe is in complete control of xyr body, appearance, and general health. There is no acknowledgement of the roll of the genetic dice, there is only smug self-satisfaction. (Yes, xe really is a friend -- we don't have to talk about food and fitness!)

While I can mostly ignore G's attitude, what I can't stand is when someone parlays that attitude into a life choice that he then arrogantly touts to others. Enter Mr. Money Mustache (a.k.a. MMM), a man who is independently wealthy and lives frugally so he doesn't have to work. He's got a whole blog about it, and occasionally [info]flamingophoenix links to it. Sometimes he has good things to say about finances, so I usually read him with interest (ba-dum ching).

Well, that all changed when I read "I Can Never Retire, Because of Health Insurance, Waaah Waaah!" (Yes, that is the honest-to-fucking-god title of the post.) I'm not going to subject you to anything but the thesis explaining why he doesn't need health insurance:

Long-time readers know that I'm a big fan of Health. I don’t ride a bike every day, eat natural foods, drink only moderately, lift weights, and maintain a 10% or less bodyfat level because I’m hoping that Calvin Klein will call and offer me that job as an underwear model that I’ve always wanted. I do it because that's what you MUST do to be healthy when you are getting old like me! . . . . Of course, only about 1 in 10 people these days actually follow these rules throughout their lives, so they get to enjoy considerably more early contact with doctors and hospitals. But the formula is there – it's the cheapest and most enjoyable form of health insurance there is! And sure, there's always a chance that some hidden bits of my genetic code will give me some unexpected form of cancer, or a freaky accident will bust me up. But when you look at the odds of these events by reviewing the statistics for a healthy population of people, they are very low . . . . Even though I've got 63 years of work left in my own mission here, I’m kind of looking forward to reaching that rocking chair, just because it shows you've done everything else all right.

Jesus Rollerskating Christ. It's hard to know where to even -- oh, wait, no it's not:

FIRST OF ALL, congratulations to MMM for utterly erasing all people with disabilities and chronic illnesses! You know, people who really fucking can't retire because they need the fucking health insurance! (I believe all people need it, but bear with me for a moment while we get through this first point.) Gosh, all we do is go "waah waah" all day, isn't that right? "Waah waah, I need insulin to live!" "Waah waah, my cystic fibrosis drugs aren't affordable without insurance!" "Waah waah, because I have HIV I keep getting opportunistic infections that send me to the hospital!" Shit, y'all, we are SUCH CRYBABIES. Why don't we man the fuck up like MMM? He's got the fitness regimen of a CK model, donchaknow.

AND NOW let's talk about the assertion that biking every day and eating "natural" (LOL, what?) foods will magically keep you illness-free. Rather than writing a full rebuttal, I'm just going to list all the people I know personally who would tell you to shove it the fuck up your ass (initialized to protect their privacy):
  • M1, E1, C1, and L, who require psychopharmacological treatment for depression.

  • My mother-in-law, who became a Type 1 diabetic when she was a teenager, and has had numerous cardiovascular complications over the years.

  • E2's wife, who fell ill with MS a few years ago.

  • My mother, who was born with a congenital aortic defect that has needed two repairs in her life.

  • S, who was hit by a car while -- wait for it -- OUT BIKING. S also has needed knee surgery due to -- OH MAN -- excessive competitive sport participation!

  • A and J1, who have severe allergies that require constant monitoring and treatment.

  • My father-in-law, who has progressive hearing loss that requires hearing aids.

  • My father, who survived prostate cancer way before he was "rocking chair" age (fuck yooooouuuuu, MMM). Oh, and then he fell down some stairs and needed rehabilitation.

  • J2, who survived childhood abuse and has needed weekly counseling for years.

  • M2, who had painful fibroids that needed surgical removal.

  • H, who was born with a heart defect that required insane amounts of surgery through the years.

  • K, whose daughter needed surgery to correct an off-kilter hip joint.

  • R1, who, thanks to bad genes, is pre-diabetic despite the fact that he BIKES EVERY DAY, OMG IT'S LIKE BIKING ISN'T THE CURE-ALL YOU SAY IT IS, MMM.

  • R2's wife, who has been a Type 1 diabetic since she was a little girl.

  • W, who has Addison's disease.

  • B, who has messed-up knees, thanks (again) to excessive participation in competitive sports.

  • C2, whose sister has lupus.


And then there's me and my autoimmune diabetes and my autoimmune thyroid disease and the nodules in my thyroid that might be cancer, WHO KNOWS, they'll do a biopsy soon. Fuck me for not biking more, right???

All right, I don't want to bore anyone with more disease litanies. The point is, and I hope I've said it enough that you already know it, health is largely based on luck. There are ZERO diseases on that list that could have been prevented by bike shorts and hippie peanut butter. But for MMM, it's entirely due to his skill and hard work that he hasn't been struck with any of those diseases.

I don't wish ill health or luck on anyone, especially for the comparatively tame sin of utter arrogance and smugness. And so I don't wish anything bad on him, or, for that matter, on G. But I have to believe that if they did have to face the hard realities of the human body within their own safe little bastions of wheatgrass smoothies and elliptical machines, what they would lose in life expectancy, they would gain in empathy.
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Current Music:In Another Life (Vienna Teng)
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Time:09:40 pm
Current Mood:pissed offpissed off
My mother- and father-in-law are in town, and by god, there will be blood before this long weekend is over.

It's not my MIL. She's kind and helpful and a good conversationalist. I don't always agree with her, but our disagreements are minor, and she's actually a role model for me, since she's been living with diabeetus for forty or so years.

It's my FIL. He is not cruel or a conservative nutjob or anything. He's just an entitled, self-centered man, and my ability to handle that declines pretty damn fast on the best of days.

Let me just give you one example, the actual reason I was spurred to write this down so I don't just jump up and bonk him on the head with my (heavy) laptop. We went out for dinner last night, but I was determined we'd have more meals at home than out, so I decided to make an elaborate dinner tonight. I made a potato-onion-cheese galette that took two hours (though, you know, 45 minutes of that was it baking in the oven, but still), and that was just the main course. I also made a salad (including farmer's market carrots I'd lovingly saved, and I served it with dressing my MIL picked out specially) as well as dessert -- individual-sized vanilla pudding pies in wee graham cracker crusts dotted with quartered strawberries.

I'm not sure I've ever spent so much time on a meal. Except one time in college, but that's a legend. (Goddamned vegan pumpkin lasagna, made in the least well-equipped kitchen in the Northern Hemisphere. It's quite a tale.) And by the way, I was on my feet in the kitchen tonight after an exhausting day in D.C. going around to museums my in-laws wanted to see. So I'm achy in previously undiscovered ways right now.

The point is, I worked my ass off for hours. As soon as I started preparations, MIL asked me if I needed any help, and I had her shred the cheese and slice the potatoes. Flame is accustomed to being ordered around when I cook; I had him get all my supplies from their hiding places, as well as clean my workspace when I ran to the co-op for a couple supplies I didn't have in the house.

FIL sat in a chair.

OK, fine, too many cooks, right? So then finally everything was ready. Flame and MIL set the table. We all sat down. We had the salad course. Then I got the galette from the kitchen, put it on the table, and served everyone.

Because Flame and MIL are kind and have manners, they both said things like, "It looks so beautiful," "Oh, this is delicious," "This turned out so well," etc. I told the story of how I'd come across the recipe ([info]darcygirl showed it to me, and I stole it).

FIL was silent.

And I mean silent. Not a grunt of approval, not a "Yes, I agree," not even a nod. Who eats a homecooked meal and ignores the chef?! Even if it's not up your alley, you thank them anyway.

I honestly think he's been so coddled for so long that he just think he's earned the right for everyone to work their asses off for his care and feeding, and he no more thanks those who take care of him than people thank a pair of shoes at the end of a long walk.

Anyway, when I served dessert, my MIL again complimented it, and my FIL finally chimed in, but only because he wanted to make a dumbass pun. Something like, "It hit the spot, good thing it didn't hit the floor!" Ha. A ha ha.

I think this feels particularly egregious to me because it's so the opposite of what happens in my parents' house. Mom cooks every night, which is . . . not very progressive. (Flame and I cook about the same number of nights a week.) But every night when Dad starts to eat, he makes a huge deal out of it. "Oh, honey, thank you so much. This is wonderful. I don't know how you do it." And he's being completely earnest, because my father is incapable of being non-earnest. He deeply, deeply appreciates what my mother does for him and for the house. He never takes any of it for granted, because he respects my mother as a human being, so he doesn't treat her as a cook and housekeeper.

Flame is probably going to read this and try to give an over/under on how long it'll take me to snottily say, "YOU'RE WELCOME" when a situation like this pops up again. Guess away, honey. It'll sure be memorable if I do just lose it on FIL.
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Current Music:This Year's Love (David Gray)
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Time:12:41 am
Current Mood:curiouscurious
Right-wing politicians love to say that gay (or same-sex, if you prefer -- I'll say "gay" without loss of generality) marriage will inevitably lead to people marrying children! their dogs! trees! All of which are clearly bullshit, and we all know this. But sometimes they'll also say it leads to poly marriage.

I don't think gay marriage leads to poly marriage in the slightest. I say this with basically no opinion about poly marriage. But if I may offer a simple analogy -- when women won the right to vote, nothing about the act of voting changed. They just changed the laws to allow all the people who ought to have been voting into the voting booths.

Poly marriage would be a completely different beast from marriage as we know it. I have a ton of questions about what poly marriage would entail, which I'm just gonna lay out here, because I feel like I've been talking about this a lot recently. If anyone has a link to some kind of document that addresses these issues, please pass it along; I'm really curious about the ideas people have had. And if you have your own ideas, of course, chime in.

For the purposes of this post, let's make "xe" our gender-neutral pronoun. I don't want to tangle with "s/he," plus there are always the folks who don't identify as either.

  1. What sort of poly marriage will be legal: one person may marry as many other people as xe likes, implying no bond between xyr spouses? Or a group marriage in which everyone is married to each other? (This answer will affect all other questions, but most questions apply to both versions.)

  2. Will there be a limit as to how many people an individual may marry?

  3. Must an individual designate a "primary" spouse?
    • If yes: How will this arrangement differ legally from xyr legal responsibilities to "secondary" spouses? Must the choice of primary spouse be reciprocal? (N.B.: if "yes," and you chose group marriage in the first question, odd-numbered groups are now out.) How often will an individual be allowed to switch designation of primary spouse? Are secondary spouses more or less legally important than family? (Example: a pair of primary spouses is killed in an accident. Who decides if their bodies are donated to science: secondary spouses, or the decedents' parents/children/siblings/etc.?)

    • If no: How will conflicts be resolved when different, equally important spouses disagree? For instance, Person A is married to B and C and is injured in an accident. B wants to let A die naturally; C wants extraordinary measures to be taken to keep A alive.

  4. Who are a child's parents? (Small legal aside: when two people are married to each other, any child born to the marriage is legally theirs, regardless of biological parentage.) Does the law expand the concept of parenthood so that a child may have any number of parents? Or must a second parent be selected by the person giving birth? N.B. the issues only get stickier around adoption, but I don't have all night here.
    • If changing parenthood: If parental consent is needed for an event, how many parents must give consent? (Example: are you aware that girls seeking abortions sometimes have to have both parents' consent? What happens if you have more than two parents?) If the group of parents divorces (for whatever that means), how is custody split? How does it differ if N parents divorce themselves from a marriage of significantly more than N spouses, versus when a group disbands entirely? How is child support calculated?

    • If selecting two parents: What are the other spouses' rights to the child, and responsibilities to it? What is their relationship to the child? Is the birth-parent restricted to choosing the biological parent, if that parent is one of xyr spouses? If the birth-parent selects another co-parent, does the biological parent have any rights? Do those rights change if xe is in or out of the marriage?

  5. How does divorce work? May one person leave a group marriage? May a subgroup split off from a group without divorcing each other? How is alimony calculated? How is the splitting of assets performed?

  6. What benefits are spouses entitled to? If Person A is married to Persons B through Z, and Person A has health care provided by xyr workplace, may Person A elect a group plan that covers all xyr spouses? If Person A is being relocated for xyr work, is xyr workplace obligated to move Persons B-Z? If Person A is in the military, must Persons B-Z be provided housing on base? If Persons B-Z are not American citizens, can Person A marry them all and obtain a green card for each of them? May Persons A-Z file joint income tax?

  7. How does death work? Who inherits? (Small legal aside: if you're married without children, and you just want your spouse to get everything, that's what happens now anyway, will or no. In fact, you may not write your spouse out of your will.) If the decedent's property is liquid, is it split equally amongst all spouses? If it is not (e.g. a car, a house, jewelry), to whom does it go? If the decedent paid into Social Security, to whom does the Social Security money go?


I'm really just scratching the surface here. Every time I think about this, I have a new question.

Answering any -- ANY -- of these questions with, "Well, the law doesn't have to have a default answer to this. People should just work out whatever," shows a complete lack of understanding of a) how the law works, and b) how people work. You think every person in this country has a will? My parents, who are well-educated and well-off, still have a will that says, "If the undersigned should have a second child," and my sister is turning 24 any minute now.
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Current Music:Selah (Lauryn Hill)
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Time:08:22 pm
Current Mood:melancholymelancholy
Today I saw a video on Facebook of my little cousin playing violin and I almost cried. I haven't seen her in over a year -- her parents elected not to come down for the wedding -- and I'm not sure she remembers me at all. That goes double for her little sister. Honestly, I'd be surprised if they did.

I've always been stumped on the "how to keep in touch with faraway kids" question. One of my really sharp memories as a kid is how much I hated talking on the phone with relatives. They'd get me on the phone and start peppering me with dumb questions, and I never knew how to really be a part of the conversation. (I still feel this way, somewhat. Phones are awkward. I'd much rather see relatives in person.) I decided early on never to be that grown-up.

When she was a baby, I wrote emails to a Gmail her parents opened up for her (not sure what happened to those emails). When she got to be a little older, I would sometimes write her paper letters. But that was back when I would see her in person pretty reliably. If I wrote her now . . . I just don't know.

I guess the real question is, how do you keep in touch with faraway kids when you don't really have a good relationship with their parents? Is it even possible? It's not like I have a bad relationship with her parents, I just . . . don't have much of one at all. There's a lot of history there, and it hurts and it sucks and I'm not going to get into it here, but that's the state of things.

Now that I'm talking this out -- out loud, in a sense -- I'm thinking I should write her a letter. She's old enough to read it herself. I'll have to be a little careful about what I say. I have no idea what her parents told her about my wedding, if anything -- I mean, did they show her pictures from Facebook? Or did they just not mention it at all, because they wanted to avoid questions about why they didn't go? So I wonder if I should mention it at all. No, I think I should, just not say anything like, "We missed you."

I also have the ugly, creeping suspicion that if I do write her, I won't hear back. I used to babysit for three great kids, and for a period of time I wrote back and forth to them. (Actually, I should start that up again, too.) They were the most enthusiastic correspondents you could hope for -- they wrote me the sweetest letters, and always talked about what we'd all do when I came to visit them in Pennsylvania. But I spent multiple hours a week with them every week for the better part of a year; we have a really solid relationship. I visited them when I was home for Christmas this year, and they were happy to see me, even though I hadn't seen them for maybe two years, and the oldest is 16 (!!!!!!) now. (My god. My god. My GOD.) Anyway. (MY GOD.)

But you know what? It's worth a try. I am going to shut this laptop, find some paper, and try. And while I'm at it, I'll write my babysitting charges. All those kids deserve some epistolary love.

Huh, I'm glad I wrote this out, or I would've just been mentally wringing my hands all evening.
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Current Music:I'll Be Waiting (Adele)
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Time:11:42 pm
Current Mood:confusedconfused
Now that I'm a married feminist, I've suddenly become aware of a set of attitudes I must admit I find rather strange: the minority of feminists who want to abolish marriage.

About a month ago, Feministing linked to a blog entry by a marriage counselor who basically said, "Marriage is not for everyone, and we shouldn't have an automatic expectation of it being lifelong." (Who disagrees with that, anyway, besides fundies?) But Feministing's summary was something like, "Woo, marriage is dying!" Whowhatnow?

Today I was reading a Feministe thread on polygamy (and that's a whole 'nother discussion) and saw a lot of comments like:

I hope some day being married to someone is as fluid as say, being best friends with someone, and the traditional strictures have become so undermined that it's impossible for the government or church to even regulate it anymore.

I am not totally convinced that the government has a right to determine what marriage is and I am not even sure that the government should be in the marriage business.

The idea of scrapping institutional support for marriage is more something I consider an ideal, because I think it would maximize personal freedom.


I like to think of myself as "left of Pluto" (picked that one up from Van Jones, heart heart heart), but I just absolutely do not get this at all.

Please don't think I'm ignorant of the recent history of marriage. Yes, men owned women. Yeah, women gave up their rights. Yep, men as heads of households also had dictatorial control over children born to the marriage.

But the idea of coupling is way, way older than government, and marriage's more recent legal history has been all tangled up in protecting the vulnerable, i.e. women and children. See, for instance: child support, alimony, shared property, inheritance, and benefits for spouses of military members, police officers, and firefighters killed in the line of duty. Get rid of government recognition of marriage now, and you screw over women and kids, period.

I got married partly because it's What Is Done for middle-class white people, yes. But believe me when I say that legal protections were a huge aspect of my desire to get hitched. Here's a partial list of reasons:
  1. The house is in Flame's name, though we've lived here together since he bought the place. If something happens to him, I want to know I'll have a place to live.

  2. We plan on having kids, and we'll save a lot of money by having a family health insurance plan (versus one single and one family).

  3. As my husband, he'll have authority to make decisions about my medical care, particularly surrounding childbirth. Additionally, as my husband, the doctors and hospital have to provide interpreters for the whole pregnancy/birth process.

  4. If something happens to him, I'll be entitled to his life insurance, retirement savings, etc., to ameliorate the loss of income.

  5. If either of us elects to take a work assignment in another state or country, our employer has to relocate both of us.

Those are literally just the first five things that popped into my head. And they're all about keeping me safe -- sheltered, fed, employed, medically insured, and taken care of by the person I wish to make decisions in life-or-death situations. On my little micro level, most of them are reciprocal. But on the macro level, men are more likely to be property owners; they're more likely to have the assignments that take them to another part of the world; they have higher salaries and are more likely to have assets to pass along; they are more likely to be employed and thus have health insurance; etc., etc., etc. So on a cultural level, most of these protections end up protecting women way more often.

(Sidebar: let me make it clear that I believe any two consenting, unmarried, not-closely-related-by-blood adults should be able to enter into a marriage. And if you think about it, the queer population is especially vulnerable . . . but let's not turn this into a dissertation.)

So, let me be generous and assume that people are envisioning a future without sexism, and in that future, they think state-sponsored marriage should be abolished. I mean, it is slightly crazy to start thinking about all the things we'll do once sexism is dead, and "abolish marriage" doesn't even make my top 100. But, okay, for some people, I guess that's the thing they're most psyched about, for when sexism comes a'tumblin' down.

The problem for me is, it's approximately as possible for me to envision a world without sexism as it is for me to envision life on Mars. Am I going to sit here and defend our current notion of marriage in the hypothetical sexism-free world? No, it's a waste of time. By the time our culture rids itself of sexism (and racism and homophobia and transphobia and ableism and and and), it will not be our culture anymore. I have no idea what families will look like. I have no idea if this golden time will ever even happen.

"In an ideal world . . . ." Well, okay, maybe. But that's not our world. Nothing pisses me off quicker than leftist ideals perpetuated without regard for people's actual lives. You have to temper your starry worldview with a healthy dose of pragmatism, or you're not doing anyone any good.
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