DAY 3: I’m a  recovering addict, trying my best not to sound like an evangelist. It’s a tough ask, some days, especially when the weight of evidence shows how gullible I was. Companies are to blame for feeding addiction, and in due course one can only hope common sense will prevail… but don’t bet on that. However, if as individuals we are unable to discern truth in our own shortcomings and failings, all is lost.

This, in a certain light, utterly is confirmation bias at work. Someone else (as a result of my flagrant disregard of The Community) is already indignantly decrying this attack on freedom of choice, and that’s absolutely fine. However, if you continue to throw money at companies whose entire modus operandi is to get you to do just that, stop complaining they don’t cater to your tastes. That’s when you take your money away and go elsewhere. No really, that’s how it should work.

If it doesn’t…? Who has the problem here, exactly?

I do love my gaming friends. Some have moved on, others staunchly remain wedded to their MMO’s of choice and all of them wear gaming as a badge of honour. It is how you know if someone’s gonna grasp your point of view or not: meeting gamers makes a ton of metaphors applicable in any conversation. It’s the difference between awkward and relaxed, almost instantly.

Currently I have a History of the Internet poetry collection under submission and once it is summarily rejected (because half the references will be lost on people judging) I will go about getting it published myself. This is what I am. Like it or not, good or bad, there is never the means to separate gamer from woman. It’s why indignation rises over cheap stereotyping, that this same stupid, pointless rhetoric hasn’t gone away for the 40 years I’ve played.

This whole ridiculous argument isn’t about women being good at games, it’s about women being good at ANYTHING and part of me wants that association to be 360 No Scoped back into the 8 bit age. I don’t fucking care how good or bad I am, I deserve the right to play unchallenged.

This is a fundamental problem with Humanity that really should have been fixed by now.

Rejecting a space which is specifically designated as one in which performers may do as they wish is artistically limiting, Kanye.

You need to listen to more people, mate.

The Ninth Wave

GENUINE WARNING: This post is going to make many of you uncomfortable. It’s explicitly about the issues I’m experiencing with the Menopause, and is worth repeating only for the fact that I never realised just how horrendous it was going to be. BE AWARE THEREFORE, there is massive squick ahead.

If it wasn’t bad enough that my daughter decided to gift me the vomiting bug late in the week, I also began to menstruate. Except this isn’t like any kind of ‘period’ I have ever experienced before. As a guide, I’m normally quite regular and fairly heavy in my blood loss, mostly because (I assume) of having carried two kids plus a C-section scar from one of them. The last time I actually had a menstrual episode was late November, leading me to realise that those hot flushes and hormonal swings really were the signals that menopause is real and happening. I’d been spotting for about a fortnight, trying to bleed but singularly failing, and I’d kind of assumed that I was done in that department. I was wrong.

Boy, was I ever wrong.


The weekend was, to be honest, an utter fucking nightmare. Any hope of a romantic celebration of 29 years together with my husband on Sunday had evaporated by Saturday afternoon, after I’d worked my way through 20 sanitary towels in less than 24 hours. I was light-headed and nauseous, and it had nothing to do with my stomach issue, which had finally vanished. As a guide I probably wear a packet of product (if that) and have been using a Mooncup as an environmentally-healthy alternative where possible. This time around my Mooncup couldn’t cope, and the flow was horribly and continuously unrelenting. Needless to say my husband was an absolute fucking saint and by teatime yesterday, *finally* my body decided it was done. I’d estimate I’ve probably bled four to six times heavier than I have at any point in my life, and I was probably more dehydrated at the end of Sunday night than I’d been after the vomiting.

Amazingly, the Internet was remarkably helpful: I did briefly think that maybe I was haemorrhaging about 3 am on Saturday morning, having gotten out of bed too fast before summarily falling over and right on top of my husband who, like a trooper just slept right through it. Mostly, I am grateful for being able to read up about this stuff when nobody I know is experiencing anything like this to either talk to about. I thought that maybe it might not be a subject for a blog post either, but I can still recall with abject clarity how much menstruation and sexuality generally was taboo even when I was young. An awful lot has changed in 30 years, and it occurs to me that stigma only happens when you allow it. This process has happened for thousands of years and yet nobody talks about it, because it effectively marks the end of a woman’s usefulness. If you cannot carry a child, then to some you become something less worthwhile. Which is so fucking stupid it’s ridiculous.

The Red Curtain

Without putting too fine a point on it, and so I don’t overegg my personal pudding, this is the most comfortable I’ve ever felt with sexuality, my own body and how I use it since I first experienced arousal. The removal of fertility does not and should not mark the end of a woman’s ability to do ANYTHING in that regard, and treating her otherwise? Stop it. Just don’t go there, because it’s a fallacy. Okay, the journey is painful and at least in this case debilitating, but now this has happened once I’m ready for it. There will be much crossing of everything that this is an isolated incident, but part of me thinks it won’t be and if there’s a repeat I’ll seek some medical advice going forward. Fortunately for me both kids were away this weekend and my husband has bent over backwards not only to make me feel loved, but to make clear that he understands what’s going on.

I’m just looking forward to returning to some semblance of normality, and not having to sleep on the toilet.