I’m a Hockey Player, Not a Figure Skater

I once again forgot what day it was. I whipped up a few pages of this last week, but never posted because the week was so busy. Every time I had a few minutes to just sit down, I didn’t want to spend them doing things that required thinking. Sorry to the fans, but hey, it was Christmas. Consider that my holiday break. 

I’m going to keep what I wrote last week, and just edit it a bit to fit within the timeline and stuff, plus I’ll add some more about what happened this past week. It was a lot, all of which I’ll doubt I’ll fully expand on, but still prepare for a long one.

Without further ado, the blog:

I may have projected too close to the sun. Projected as in /ˈpräˌjek(t)/ – ed, as in I may have been overambitious with my projects. But what’s new?

Last week, my secret project consumed most of my time, along with my work projects. I am a bit tired of making Instagram reels. But it’s okay, it’s over now, and my secret project has ended up cool… I think.

I haven’t worked much on THE F1 video, but I think I’ll aim to finish the slides this upcoming week. I believe that is possible and therefore it is. I think I could at least start the script for that, too. My goal for the video is to be informative and entertaining, which means being a lot of info, condensed into not a lot of time, so it’s not too long and boring. Sounds easy enough but, as we know, I like to talk a lot, especially about F1, and my ramblings about F1 are often nonsensical and never-ending, so it’s been somewhat of a challenge to restrain myself. Nonetheless, it will be done.

The White Boy Awards are coming soon! I finished the survey, and sent that out already, so hopefully I’ll be able to record the ceremony soonish.

My fanfic has been put on pause, sadly. I want to finish my other projects before I go back to writing because when I write a story like that I tend to be all-consumed by it. There is much to do on the schedule, so I cannot allow that to happen at this moment. So sorry to the fans. Also! I’m still awaiting my damn email. AO3, please. Please, AO3, let me make an account. No, no, perhaps this is best. This way I have one less direction from my other projects. GOD but I miss Jacob. Let me see my boy again. (No one has taken him from me.) Please, I beg you. (In fact, I am the one who has hidden him from myself.) Please. (He’s right there.)

Sometimes I feel like I should have more friends because that’s what watching ensemble TV has taught me, and because every other freakin’ person has, like, 20-person friend groups. I might talk about this more later on in this post, but for now know that (most of the time) I am perfectly happy with the friend group I have now. I feel blessed, even.

Okay, enough of that mushy stuff. Can we talk about ice skating? Let’s talk about ice skating.

Guys… Ice skating forced me to think about my identity! Y’know I feel bad because I feel like all I do here is say that I can’t talk about something then go on to talk about it vaguely… but it’s gonna happen again because this is absolutely not a fully fleshed thought, but it’s one worth mentioning, I think. Here it goes.

I like hockey, I think. I’m not too sure because I am yet to actually sit down and watch a full game. Well, technically I’ve gone to hockey games, but I do not remember those. I was piccolo. In recent times, I have, however, had a few YouTube-watching stints consisting of hockey compilations, and I occasionally bump into the RPF (real person fiction) side of hockey, so I feel based on that I know enough to say I like hockey… probably.

Hockey is likely going to be the next sport I get into. This year I fucking MOVED into F1, and I got a bit into American football. I learned the basics and kept up decently enough with the Bears. They suck! Anyways, I think hockey is logically the next move. Allow me to explain why.

In my time becoming a sports fan, I have realized a couple things about sports, sports fans, and myself.

First, being passionate about sports is cool. I used to think it was lame because HOW could someone get so torn up about something so fundamentally stupid? Not stupid like jock = dumb dumb, but stupid like pointless. Bitch, you made the competition up! Why are you getting worked over it? But now I realize that being passionate about sports is equivalent to any other passion. Stupid? Yes. But I mean, you tell me how my doll collection is smart. Some passions may have more use than others, but bringing joy is kind of the bottom line of them. Therefore, be passionate about sports. It’s cool. 

It’s also fun as hell. The competition may have been made up, but it’s real now and so is the monkey part of my brain that just wants to destroy destroy destroy. I am the Romans watching gladiators fight for my pleasure.

Speaking of fighting for my pleasure, I like the aggression part of some sports. In football, aggression is obvious. For F1, the aggression comes in the form of dangerous driving and behind-the-scenes drama. I hear that hockey is similar to both of them with fighting that happens on and off ice. There’s no dangerous driving, though. Unless the zamboni driver decides to get wild.

When I went ice skating with my friends, I noticed myself copying the hockey players more than the figure skaters. It seems that hockey skating is more similar to roller skating, which I am comfortable with, so it was more my speed. Speaking of speed, whenever I went fast, and did that hunched-over, bent-knees maneuver—well, I haven’t roller skated in a while, but it reminded me of that feeling. Untouchable. Unstoppable. Free.

But then I looked around me. And saw the girls my age in their tight, fashionable clothes, with their light, perfect hair and fair skin, doing their twirls before returning to their boyfriends who could pass for their twins. I saw a high school hockey team full of the same face copy and pasted onto the same pale, tall and skinny body; a sea of different shades of brown mop hair. I saw who the world wanted me to be, and I saw who I was not.

There are other fans like me—funny dorks, people of color, and queer people—but in terms of fan content, you’re most likely to see the Sports Bro or Thirsty Girl gaze. Which, hey, sometimes I am an annoying gatekeeper, and yeah, I do thirst for the driver, who wouldn’t? But at the end of the day, I am not like them. I am not straight. I am not white. So even occasionally interacting with that type of content feels a bit off. And having it constantly shoved down my throat makes me feel… I don’t know… Alone, unloveable, and dysphoric.

It’s difficult to exist somewhere where there is basically no one else like you. It’s weird basically being a part of the Boy’s Club, though never being fully allowed in. Over time, it hurts to see romance stories where the lead never looks like you. You start thinking… Maybe I should change. The boys will never accept me, so maybe I should try to be more girly. Maybe I should go blonde and wear blue contacts. Maybe I should change my name. Maybe if I was white things would be easier. Maybe if I was straight things would be easier. Maybe if I was different more people would like me. Maybe if I wasn’t me someone would love me. Maybe.

And it hurts because you don’t want to have those thoughts. And you don’t have them very often, but sometimes you are sick of being in the middle—of always having to be the oddball out. Not quite this, but not quite that. But pretending to only be either is just that—pretending. You are the grey space. The one people can never see.

Football isn’t as cishet white as F1, but it is incredibly American, which is to say conservative, but I don’t really participate in fan culture around that, so I manage. Hockey is just as cishet white as F1, I hear, though I know it must be gay-ish too given the RPF reputation it has, so I’m sure I could find a way to make that enjoyable. Where there’s a will, there’s a gay or whatever.

Last week, I finished House!!! I don’t know what to do with my life now. B.H. and A.H.. Before House and After House. Yup.

HOUSE SEASON 8 SPOILERS:

Season eight sucked. Unfortunately. As mentioned in the previous post, two lead characters left and we got to randos to replace them. The final arc that led to the finale felt rushed and a bit out of left field, but maybe a part of that was on purpose?

Wilson getting cancer is ironic as hell. It makes the whole story a tragedy. Goddamn. He’s an incredibly kind and intelligent oncologist—the head of the department for Christ’s sake—and he gets terminal cancer. Him, and not his horribly mean and reckless best friend. Him. Wow.

I liked how Hilson the arc was. It was very much gay, but I don’t mind viewing it as two very close friends who are insane with and about each other. Ultimately, their relationship is one for the ages, whether it be romantic, sexual, platonic, familial or whatever. Hilson forever. Them riding into the sunset together was definitely the right ending. They started the show together, so it’s satisfying that they end it together, too.

House faking his death feels in character, but I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t expecting his death at all, but when it “happened”, I believed it since the show is unafraid to kill major characters. That reveal was great, though. Wilson talking (truthful) shit about him at his funeral, only for him to text him “SHUT UP YOU IDIOT”… it just makes sense for them. House faked his death, thus ruining his career, his relationships, and his life, while also making him a runaway fugitive, all to be there for Wilson’s last five months—I expect nothing less from him. It’s a perfect mix of character growth (being selfless) and correct characterization (doing insane things (for Wilson)). I approve.

Though I liked how it ended, the finale episode itself was meh. I enjoyed the return of all these characters, that was great to see, though I wish so bad Cuddy was there. However, it felt a bit overplayed. We’ve seen this gag before, give us something new. But after eight glorious seasons, what else is there? So I don’t mind it too much.

END OF SPOILERS:

Overall, House was a fantastic show full of engaging plotlines and an array of interesting characters. I highly recommend it.

My Christmas week started with my mom, my brother, and I seeing Les Misérables. It was WONDERFUL!!!!!!!!! I’ve been wanting to see the show since I first became an avid theater fan because duh. It’s Les Mis. But I only recently became a true fan thanks to my brother. If you want a more detailed description about why the students are rioting in Les Mis, I suggest you get a brother who’s in high school AP Euro. He’ll tell you everything and more.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I love megamusicals so much. Les Mis is one the founding fathers of them, so of course I had a blast watching. It was the show I cried most at. I believe these are the songs I cried at: “Valjean’s Soliloquy” (ending), “I Dreamed a Dream”, “Fantine’s Death”, “Do You Hear The People Sing?”, “One Day More” (sobbed), “On My Own”, “The Second Attack” (sobbed), and “Epilogue”. Okay, that is way too many times. Surely I didn’t cry that much, did I? Did I????

Jean Valjean is my favorite character. “One Day More” is my favorite song to listen to on the soundtrack, though “Master of the House” is becoming a comfortable second, I can’t lie! It’s catchy! And despite it being my favorite song, I can’t confidently say it was my favorite part. I’ve had a really hard time establishing my favorite part actually. I love the whole first act, honestly, and the second act has some great parts, too! Especially the beginning for both, I think. The prologue???? Yeahhhh. Eating it. Nom nom nom.

The weather is daunting. I fear it will never snow again. I hold on to hope that one day the capitalist billionaires who dictate our lives will soon realize they can’t milk us of all our money if we’re all burned to a crisp, but dear lordy is it getting frightening out here. It’s okay to have worries. It’s okay to be scared. If I’m not, then I’m just accepting the twisted fate they have imposed upon me. But what about Dinosaur Philosophy? Does that have space for hope? Can I focus on my survival while hoping for a day where I don’t have to? Ugh. I’m getting too deep for my liking.

But I’m about to get deeper! About something else. Something stupider.

I dyed my hair today. The goal was caramel, to get a break from the constant upkeep that colored hair requires. Half of the goal was accomplished.

I have ended up straight up brown. Technically, it has some reddish undertone, but not one as apparent to my liking. I look so… normal. I don’t really like it.

It’s different from what it used to be, that’s for sure! But it’s so………… normal. I don’t know how else to explain it. All I see when I look at it is a person I am not. I see who the world wants me to be. I can’t be that person. I can’t.

I said something earlier. I said, “ I finally had a Christmas where I didn’t feel so strange.” I’m not sure if you caught it, but I said “so”, meaning I did feel a bit strange, for the same old reason of black-sheepism. I bring it up now because it feels as though my black wool was dyed white.

I feel like an alternate version of myself. This is who I’d be if I never outgrew the spot in my family. This is who I’d be if I figure skated. If I read F1 driver x reader fanfics. If I wrote a fanfic about Bella and Edward instead of Jacob and Edward. Or better yet, if I didn’t know about fanfiction at all. If I didn’t make Google slideshows about stuff I liked. If I didn’t have a blog. If I was just fucking normal. This is who I’d be if I wasn’t me.

My hair is pretty. It’s nice, I know. It’s just I’m not sure “pretty” was ever the highest of priorities. Especially when it suppresses everything else about me. My hairdresser straightened it, too, so I truly look like a whole different person right now, and I feel so off. I look like the ghost of someone I killed years ago. I feel like I was reanimated, but brought back wrong. 

I’ve heard people with tattoos say that their tattoos have always been a part of them, they just needed to reveal them to the world. It’s sort of like that one Michaelangel quote. “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Quirky hair was like that for me. And I just smothered the angel in concrete.

Before I got my hair done, when I was thinking I was going to get caramel, I was panicking that this was going to happen—that I was going to look, and perhaps become, so very normal—and telling my therapist about it. She suggested that it was fine to look normal, but still be weird. I guess I could experiment with that for a bit. My style has been subtle recently. Perhaps it’s time I exude my weirdness in other ways.

It’ll be okay. I just need to get used to it, and see it in with my natural poofiness, and style it in fun ways. It’ll be fine. You know, I guess this was bound to happen my go-with-the-glow attitude. The YOLO lifestyle does not equate consistently good outcomes.

I did say half of my goal was accomplished. I no longer have to deal with the colored-hair upkeep, so at least there’s that positive.