Mother Tongue, Other Tongues

It has not been a very restful weekend. Friday was my only day off, and I used most of it to catch up in doing a lot of neglected little chores and DIY household tasks, which included an emergency plumbing fix. I still don't feel anywhere near being at the better/best state of my physical health yet. My stamina isn't lasting; getting exhausted too easily, and I'm still not getting any refreshing sleep. For this past week, after depressing and angering myself thoroughly with watching too much negative TV news, and other documentaries about some weighty issues, and whenever other frivolous game playing and diversions became too frustrating and boring, I've felt like I've come close to snapping.

Lately, because sickness and uncooperative weather has rendered me so physically inactive, I've been desperate to learn some new skills and tricks to at least keep my brain ticking and exercised by processing some kind of positive novelty. When self-improvement isn't coming quickly enough on the physical level, there are still realms in the mind to work on.

So then, my chosen method of healthful mental stimulation for the week was language acquisition*. I've been testing and drilling myself with an app on my iPhone called Duolingo. It is great for introductory learning of a new language. I've been concentrating on a couple of languages: German and Portuguese. Why German? Because I already know some basic vocabulary of it, and I'd like to progress beyond a beginner's comprehension level (and I know some Germans). Why Portuguese? Because it's just entirely new to me; plus it has enough noticeable cognates in it similar to French and Spanish (which I already know on intermediate levels) to help me grasp it, and feel around it, and intuitively test with it for creating phrases and sentences. Duolingo is great for Western European languages, but I'd like to see something equally compatible for learning non-Latin alphabet languages as easily, like Cyrillic alphabet languages (Russian, Ukrainian), and Kanji (Mandarin, Japanese).

Curiosity and novelty are not the only motivators. Logically, by learning a bit of these extra two languages, a door is a opened a crack to speak with about another additional 300 million people on this globe. For instance, with learning Portuguese, plus coupled with my Spanish, just about 93% of the continent of South America is then a bit more accessible linguistically to me. English, French, and Portuguese are the main colonial protocol languages used for much of Africa**. Learning more German would allow me to be more capable of living in a few of those 20 other countries that are compatible with my idea of progressive, civilized societies if, for some wild reason, I should ever somehow become uprooted, and have to move away from Canada.

I notice, and have to admit, that through my mistakes I'm seeing just how anchored my brain is in the English language, and how much more inflexible it seems to be at learning new ones as I age. Like perhaps for most Anglophones, it is a challenge for me to automatically assign grammatical gender on things. Also, I neither readily think of using accent marks, nor can I instantly twist my mind around figuring out which of all the extra verbal conjugations of these other languages to use correctly. Two articles, one definite and one indefinite (a/n, the) are sufficient for me, versus the five articles in French, six in both Spanish and Portuguese. There are yet comparatively more and complex article forms in the case of German, which are really staggering my mind as I study them.

Online translators have a purpose and place. I have used them to learn more words and grammar, but they are not perfect. Although it's increasingly convenient for me and other Anglophones, that the rest of the world is becoming so much more accommodating and interested/willing to learn and practice English, I also think that it's a bit of a loss as well in terms of finding equal ground in communicating with people. I generally think it's a mark of arrogance, and an attitude of superiority, to expect other people to learn and speak my language when I'm touring, or living as a guest, in their country.

I don't have great expectations about how proficient or fluent I'll be with these two, but gaining a little confidence in having at least some more literacy in getting around in nations with these languages is a bit more comforting. I only wish I had more of the means and opportunity to do so.

*- For me, the true reflection of "intelligence" is the ability to: think systematically and strategically; maintain, retain, and relate a lot of detail from memory; do creative improvisation, and organize. All of these abilities are enhanced and exercised when learning another language.

**- I'm not saying that I'm making a future big plan to ever go back to Latin America, or I'll be stricken with some urge to head to a continent as volatile as Africa is, but never say never.

Entering the Longest Month: Examining Wellness

I'm both disturbed and perturbed greatly about just how much these past few long weeks of idleness and illness have seemed to weaken me. I went running yesterday, the first time since the new year began. Through doing that, I discovered that I'm not 100% recovered from this stupid respiratory bug. My lungs and legs were totally trashed; even the steam bath afterward felt like it was killing me, and I'm still smarting from it all today. It's a shame too, because the nicer weather today would have made for a great day of skiing. As it is though, my current condition dictates that I need to use more time yet to sit still, rest, and heal. I may trek out to visit a bookstore, or the library, or stop for a tall pint somewhere later. But for now, being planted on my chesterfield, with my laptop and the remote control, a pile of books/other reading, some language learning apps, is about as exciting as this lazy Sunday morning is becoming so far. Ella has burrowed herself under my comforter and is snoozing beside me as I write. It's like she already knows that we're not going to be destined for a lot of activity today.

The 2013 Health and Wellness Expo is at Prairieland Park this afternoon. It's close and easily accessible; I could explore that. However, I don't feel like it's worth paying the high admission price for the short amount of time that I would be spending there though because, ironically, I don't feel well/energetic enough to hang around there all day. Noting this paradox pretty much sums up how depressed and under the weather I feel.

"We all believe silly things. What matters is how silly and how many." - Guy P. Harrison, author of the book, 50 Popular Beliefs That People Think Are True.

I also reminded myself that, just like any other trade show, it was more of a nucleus for marketing than for the vendors having real interest for actual "wellness", which made me all the more willing to avoid it. There are some honest, innovative, and practical prevention health oriented vendors and promoters set up there; but I think they are few amongst a whole lot of charlatans there as well trying to pitch their equivalent of snake oil, and other stuff that fits into the realm of pseudo-science and medical quackery. I was in no mood today to be further jaded; overtaxing my already highly skeptical attitude, or wasting any time being on alert status red for exercising caveat emptor in determining which of them were legit.

If I had the time and liberty to throw myself back into the role of a researcher, one thing that might be interesting to do with the people who come to such an event is to present a survey question for everyone to answer. The question would be: "What is your idea/definition of "wellness?" I'm sure the responses would be really varied, but also interesting. Wellness, for me, is a really vague term that I can't assign any one meaning to. All I know is that I seem to have a hell of a hard time trying to find it during the month of February: another reason that some of the answers might shock me seeing that this event is held at this time of the year, during the month that should be designated as National Depression Awareness month here in Canada.

I'd still love to hear answers to that topic question, I welcome listening/reading any that people have to offer.

My Two Cents about Currency

I'm cold-stricken again. I feel totally feeble and deflated of energy. Normally, I'd be trying to combat it with an aggressive treatment of Neo-Citron, but the problem is that its side effects* may be an interference for my procedure with my upcoming ophthalmic appointment. It's bad enough that I'm risking bursting blood vessels in my eyes now with all these violent fits of sneezing, which has happened to me in the past. For now, I'm just restricting myself to using patience, common sense, and the old-fashioned way to rid myself of this bug: rest, wholesome doses of vitamin C, and hot, steamy fluids (soup and tea). There was only enough vigor in me to run out briefly to fetch some of these basic remedies and necessities, and to walk the dog.


My last couple of pennies. I'll probably see if there is any
luck in them and use them for rubbing my scratch lotto tickets.

Today was also my first day of having to get used to making hard currency purchases rounded to the nearest nickel at the shops. I'm actually glad that the federal government and the Royal Canadian Mint saw fit to use the sensible measure to eliminate the circulation of the penny, but I confess that I will miss having them around. I don't have a simple explanation as to why. This has forced me to generally think about the psychology involved in exchanging hard currency.

I'm a consummate debit/credit card user now with most of my transactions. I walk home from work at night a lot, sometimes through and around a dodgy stretch of the neighbourhood. Perhaps mistakenly, I believe that having little or no cash on my person makes me feel like I'd be less of a victim, or I'd have a less severe violation if, God forbid, I ever was held up and robbed. The only reward someone might get if they ever did try to do it is maybe a free coffee from my Starbucks card: the only transaction card in my wallet that isn't PIN protected.

When I'm put in a spot of handling actual legal tender bills and coinage, it makes the acts of earning and spending, buying and selling a lot more visceral and less abstract**, like some real energy is being exchanged. Whenever I gift myself with buying something special, I weirdly feel even more appreciative of it, and even more thrilled and entertained when I spend actual cash for the sake of including something positive and enjoyable in my life. Being more estranged from that actual presence of physical currency now is undoubtedly changing my perception and attitude of it. Whenever actual cash is exchanged, I sometimes get a twinge of a feeling that there's some freedom to haggle a bit, and perhaps a little bit of a thrill of a delinquent hustle is involved somewhere. I believe more people than just myself have this same attitude. That may sound crazy, but OK, let's really test your own thoughts about a given scenario. What would be more of a thrill for you to do if you walked into a place to buy a big ticket item, let's say a car, that you were able to outright afford and pay for in full? Which of these options would you say would be more wildly fun and interesting to do?

Option A: (electronic transfer of funds from your bank)

1. Go to a dealership, respectably dressed, and refreshingly clean, as if to beg them to treat you with respect and dignity
2. Checking out your preferred model, with a polite, yet ho-hum discussion with a salesman about options,
3. You go back to his office, sitting there afterward flipping through page after page of gobble-de-gook of a sales agreement, getting perhaps further suckered into paying for more options before signing it.
4. You're feeling overwhelmed and confused by all the details in the paperwork you are processing, a.k.a. dazzled/blinded with bullshit
5. Ending the day there with an electronic transfer from your bank account and a handshake to close the deal.
6. If you do get the car, with so many clauses and stipulations in the paperwork and payment authorization, the control, power, and leverage in the negotiations seems to be in their hands, not yours.
7. If you don't end up buying anything, the whole event ends up feeling like a frustrating waste of your time.

Option B: (a whack load of cold, hard cash)

1. Go to a dealership, dressed like a total slob, disheveled, and unshaven, and see just much of a schmuck-loser the salesman is going to treat you like in the beginning. Take notice if and how much he is making it look like you are the incarnation of the biggest waste of time that he has ever had.
2. Check out your preferred model you saw advertised, and respectfully ask questions about the options you want. Be polite, and give him no cause to treat you with any further disrespect, but at the same time notice if he is actually listening to you. If he just disregards what you say, or just rolls his eyes in your presence, it's game on baby! Move to the next phase of the experiment.
3. When finished with this initial bit of the spiel, you then back go to his office with him, and as he starts, automatically, trying to check your credit rating, or assumes to start preparing a file for you for financing, then say: "I think I'll just pay cash for this." Then pull out a greasy looking brown paper bag from under your jacket, and start dumping out of it bundles of hundred dollar bills on his desk. Notice especially the radical and immediate shift into behaviour that reflects and denotes acceptance, approval and respect, despite the fact that you look like you slept in a dumpster. It's time to teach this fickle, shallow bastard a lesson. 
4. Count out an amount that's at least three grand less than the amount advertised (or what he's trying to press you for). Put that money back in the bag, close it and keep it on top of his desk. At this time, after a few moments of bewildered staring, he'll no doubt excuse himself, telling you to wait there while he "talks to his manager".
5. After he leaves the office, in secret, remove a sizable bundle from that bag, put the money bag back under your jacket. Pull out from your jacket another identical looking greasy looking brown paper bag filled with the same size and mass of old newspaper. Put that bundle of cash on top of it and close the bag, placing it on the same spot on his desk.
6. The salesman then returns, either to agree with or decline your offer. In either case, you tell him that you've reconsidered: you open the [newspaper] bag (in such a way that only you can see in it) and remove the wad of money and put it in your pocket, close it up, and then make it plain and clear to him that you'll now pay original offer minus whatever the amount was you just removed from the bag. Hell, make it even more interesting and tell him that you want him to throw in another extra couple of mid-scale additional options as well. If he starts blubbering in declining protest, that's when you get crazy on his ass and interrupt him, and boldly (and honestly) assert: "I don't care if you are willing to accept that as a deal or not! I'm planning to leave here without a bag! Whatever is left in that bag is all you are going to get . . .Work on it!"
7. He may stall a bit to call your bluff, or [pretend to] confab with his manager, but if he agrees, be gracious, well-mannered, and thankful (just switch and put the money bag back surreptitiously if that happens***). You sign your ownership papers, and you drive away in your new car as you watch him waving at you; grinning like a cat with a cream flavoured arsehole.
8. If he declines, you just throw up your hands and say: "Well, like I said, I'm leaving here without a bag, and whatever is left in that bag is yours." You then take (the newspaper filled) bag and place in on the showroom floor, dowse the bag with a vile of lighter fluid, set it on fire, and then say "There you go!", and start walking away; laughing and yelling "DANCE, MONKEY!", as you watch him trying to vigorously and desperately stamp out the flames in front of all his peers and co-workers, trying to rescue this fortune.****

So then, honestly, which car buying experience would you find more thrilling and interesting? I don't think you could even be human, or have a pulse, if you chose Option A. My point is that the critical element for making Option B so much more entertaining, and even conducive to getting a better price yourself with more options, is having actual hard currency at play, and the freedom to use a little creativity that electronic transfers and excessively worded sales contracts don't allow. You either got satisfied with a better car for cheaper, or had the pleasure of watching a greedy shithead walk on fire with Option B; so I bet you'd feel like a winner either way. A large amount of actual physical cash never loses its shock value either. Option B is the experiment that the eccentric and devious side of myself would love to make happen if I were rich enough, and knew I could manage to get away with such a stunt with impunity. Security cameras, and more stringent accounting regulations (to curb money laundering) around large cash transactions will probably keep Option B from ever becoming anything implementable, but it was fun as a thought experiment to pass a low-energy kind of day.

I wonder just how much wilder the scene could have been if I actually used Neo-Citron . . .


*- Increased fluid pressure in the eyeball, and blurred vision.
**- The lack of handling actual currency notes and coins, I think, is a big part of why many people are so oblivious about their spending habits, and becoming more prone to getting into serious debt.
***- I bring to your attention that this is strictly mind games, and putting up defense strategy against people who are already trying to dry-hole ream you the minute you walk through their door. . . I am not endorsing theft.
****- Not all car salesmen are pricks, I'd only save and use these tactics for one who evidently is. You aren't even being deceitful. You stated clearly that you are leaving without a bag (you either either leave without a bag of money, or you leave behind a bag of burning newspaper). It could be a useful technicality that could get you off the hook if you ever went to court after this ordeal.  

Groundhog Day, Taboo Night

I bought some kvass today at the Ukrainian import grocery store, and I'm enjoying some as I write this. I don't know what is different about this new brand*, but it seems to be both sticking my brain into overdrive, and making me a little more disinhibited in thinking.

If the cold snap we had, with wind chills dipping down to -48 degrees, had extended into today; and if any groundhog, like Wiarton Willie**, was a resident here in Saskatchewan, I'm imagining that the result after prodding the little bugger to give us a forecast would be just a scene of a furry little rodent arm sticking out from the burrow's entrance, just long enough to give everyone the finger, and then quickly disappearing; with no other trace of him to be seen again until well into mid-April (of perhaps next year).

Thankfully, for this Groundhog Day, it has finally become 25 degrees 'warmer' (the wind chill was still below -20). Groundhogs weren't poking their heads outside around here today, but at least the people finally were, most looking quite grateful for the reprieve. It was my day off, and being concordant with the spirit and theme of the movie, Groundhog Day, I have been desperate for anything radically different from what's coming to look like an infinite loop of cold mediocrity.
I couldn't think of anything else happening locally that was a more fitting way to get out to a social venue and celebrate the escape of such monotony than to explore Taboo 2013.

Taboo is the first consumer expo I got to check out for the year for this new trade show season. It's basically a forum for all things erotic, sensual, and generally anything else 420 friendly. Around this conservative town, this is the closest it gets (as far as I know) to being anything as sort of Mardi Gras-esque. Watching the dancers was the most entertaining part of the event for me. I have a new respect for the strength and grace involved in the art of pole-dancing. It was packed. I don't usually opt to go to such crowded venues, but this was different. I show up to such things to view and study them anthropologically: to basically people watch.

What really makes me happy and interested about such an event, besides seeing scores of beautiful women, is seeing all types of people, of all adult ages, come out of the woodwork, and enter this public place walking around there with a sense of being liberated and being real about what they enjoy and want to include in the most private aspect their lives; it's like you can see it in their eyes. The atmosphere is sort of rich with good karma when people are in a zone with the intent of finding, or learning about, something that's pleasurable for themselves and their loved ones. When people are leaving the useless emotions of guilt and shame at the door, being completely honest with themselves about what truly pleasures them on the level of bodily sensuality, delusions are shattered. I'm happy when I find and discover people genuinely being this honest about themselves. One would find more honest people at a event like this than they would in a church, or any other religious congregation***. When delusions about living are stripped away, we approach enlightenment. This is what Zen teaches me****.

After being there, I realize that this is the first time in a long time that I've sensed that kind of air of positivity. I'm wishing now that this event occurred more than just once a year.

Adding this thought latently: if I were the groundhog responsible for forecasting the climate of others' negativity, I'd be seeing lots of ominous shadows. Hunkering down somewhere, away from it all for the next six weeks, seems pretty much like the more attractive option right now.

* Perhaps it was brewed from rye grown around Chernobyl, that was tainted with some sort of radioactive ergot spores, that made some super-potent residue LSD. Just a theory.
** Canada's version of Punxsutawney Phil
*** It's been my experience that the more people are tuned into religion, the more likely they are to slander and back-stab me.
**** I forget the name of the monk involved in a Zen story I heard, but the story goes as such: there was once a Zen Buddhist monk in feudal Japan who was approached by the abbot of his monastery, who heard testimomy from reliable sources that this monk often caroused, and took carnal pleasures with consorts and other servants. When the abbot confronted him about his conduct, the monk's open and honest retort was something like this: "Enjoying the company of, embracing, and making love to a beautiful woman . . . how can anyone ever think that this is the gateway to hell?" 

Coldsnap, Cold Old Eyes

Wake up, Dad! Outside, outside! Let's go outside!

The stuff that went on throughout this week was almost enough to make me freak out. The exhaustion and insomnia have been also wearing my patience thin. I'd rather not make any bigger drama about it, but most of the problems were a direct result of the arctic air mass that we have been in the grip in for over a week now.



But Ella baby . . .it's -45 out there
with the wind chill.

It's not just cold, it has become psyche-crippling cold. I consider myself to be a reasonably cold-tolerant person, but I I've been feeling like I've been taxed to new limits with it. It's becoming heartbreaking to wake up on each of these mornings to watch my dog's enthusiasm for greeting the day getting instantly crushed once she senses the harsh reality of the weather outside.

I've been getting bored too easily. The measly bit of time off that I've been getting during these bone-chilling days has been squandered on watching some movies, reviewing my paperwork, messing around with new apps on Windows 8, and playing numerous rounds of online backgammon. It's all I'll probably be able to afford to do given that I've had a whack-load of new expenses that appeared at the most inconvenient time, and some more that I may yet be destined for.



Thanks for that lousy news, Dad!
. . . so it's a room full of turds then?



The most daring venture I've done all week was heading downtown for a consultation session about getting LASIK done on my eyes, with the hope of throwing off the fetters of glasses and contact lens for good. The session turned out to be only a disappointing revelation about more complications I'm having with my eye health. It's a dilemma that has been eating at me: whether or not to proceed with it. I'm still eligible for the procedure, but it may be just an exercise of futility given what I could be due for in the long run, which would render a zero sum outcome at such great expense.  I need the final say so from the doctor who will be doing the work, but as it is for now, the risk versus reward balance doesn't work out well enough for me.

I'm glad that I didn't ruin my eyes any worse that day. Dilation drops were given to me for one of the tests, essentially freezing my eyes so that the pupils stayed open. Not only were my eyes unable to react and focus to light, but they had no ability to react and adjust to a sub -40 wind slapping against them when I was coming home. I arrived home, almost blind, feeling like a popsicle was driven into each of my eye sockets.

January has been one long, bitter month. I'm a little more relieved in knowing that this is the last bloody day of it. Only two or so months of winter left to endure.





First Night Shift of 2013: Post Game Beer

"A day without sunshine is like. . . well, you know, night." - The words of wisdom found on the underside of a bottle cap from a bottle of Hoptical Illusion Almost Pale Ale*
 

I'm utterly amazed and shocked right now that my brain still has the capacity to string/wire/connect together enough neurons in a series, to allow me to write this entry. I've only had two hours, within a period of thirty-four, of sleep so far. I'm trying to find the right words for all the anger and frustration, but it's hopeless. My effort to make it home in time before sunrise was all in vain. I'll only add that in the future, it would probably be in my best interest use every valid and legal measure available to get out of this bi-fortnightly fiasco. I might even have to go so far as to start watching out for this particular moon phase, or run into some bunker somewhere whenever this kind of Monday night comes along again. The shift itself went reasonably well. What I'm more pissed off about is the wretched chain of events prior and after the shift. I won't go into any great detail; I'll just say that within that time the matters involved: -42 C below wind chill, my car stalling, a sadistic dental hygienist**, 15 extra kilometres worth of walking, an idiotic CAA customer service rep, my neighbour's stupid car alarm, and a subsequent migraine, and the entanglement of all these events that are so bothersome that I'm resorting to something from a source with such a bizarre appellation as "Flying Monkeys" to pacify and sedate myself. I also have this to use (11 Tricks for Perfect Sleep)from my author-buddy, Tim Ferriss, who describes my particular form of insomnia to a tee.

Anyway, this particular beer I'm sampling seems to be extra endowed and bittered with some intense notes of dry finishing hops. Hops have the compound Humulone (alpha-lupunic acid), which has anti-viral properties, serves as a nerve and gastric tonic, and has sedative/hypnotic properties.

"He who drinks beer sleeps well. He who sleeps well cannot sin. He who does not sin goes to heaven. Amen." - Monk, Name unknown 

Ross Murray, writer for the Montreal Gazette once said: "Listening to someone who brews their own beer is like listening to a religious fanatic talk about the day he saw the light." He is, to a degree, quite right; it's only the state of exhaustion I'm in right now that keeps me from expounding more about it, or else I'd be in total beer snob mode right now. I'll simply end off with sharing my favourite beer-related limerick:

On the chest of a barmaid in Sale
Were tattooed the prices of ale,
And on her behind
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in Braille.
-Anonymous  

* - Enjoy the free advertising plug there Flying Monkeys Craft Brewery (Where Normal is Weird). . . You're welcome!
**- I actually now believe that it's quite possible to get lobotomized through the probing around the nerves of one's molars and gingiva with a pointy sharp metal instrument.

Reformatting, Re-Thinking Singlehood

The weather continues to be inclement, out of phase with my time off, and less than ideal for doing any skiing. It's been close to -40 outside with the wind chill factor this morning, and it's not going to change into anything much better throughout the day. I do welcome the chance to sit down and relax for a change. I've exhausted myself during my "days off", using all my valuable daylight hours for running around doing shopping for necessities, home upkeep projects, and cleaning. One of the very long tasks between household chores was updating my laptop's operating system. This is the first chance I've had to explore and play around on it.






My office whiteboard. Some days, it's like a big, ugly,
overbearing, 2-dimensional 'wife': always looming and nagging
 non-stop at me with reminders and "honey do" lists

This is my first entry made with using Windows 8. So far, I'm both impressed and overwhelmed with the functionality and the new dimensions of accessibility with the apps available. It's somewhat more user friendly for a laptop track pad than Windows 7 was. The only thing that annoys me about it is the slow start up time, and getting the "corner" features to pop up properly. I only installed it on my laptop. I'm doubting if it would be worth the time and effort to stick it on my aging desktop unit: I'll be replacing or eliminating that thing entirely before wasting time doing any more hard/software upgrades on it.

The other leisurely thing I did today was peruse this weekend's edition of the Sunday Phoenix. The article that captured my attention was a cover story about singlehood. I used to be down about being single earlier in my life, but now after some time and seeing a few more of the dynamics of other people, and big mistakes I would have avoided, I'm all the more happier about being so, or at least making a better peace about it. It's now comforting to know that I'm not truly such an oddball after all: preferring not to be burdened with marriage. I'm just one who is hip with the growing trend of the times. I was dumbstruck to read that 40% of the population of Montreal lives as singles, and the city of Stockholm has 60% of its people living alone. The social trend of single living is so common and prevalent there that their government is accommodating for it by building places equipped with single suites with communal kitchens and laundries. It kind of makes me even more curious and wanting to visit Sweden. Maybe I'd feel a little more normal and accepted there. Even though the thought of sharing my kitchen with someone else is irksome to me, depriving me of more of a sense of "home space"; perhaps infringing on my sense of order and privacy*, I'd still like to observe how the model of this type of living situation actually functions. If it indeed works, it would be something that should be opted here for sharing with the workplace as it is now, in terms of something both accessible and practical.

My laptop. The sweet little mistress, who's trying on a sexy
little update, who's tempting me to do all sorts of fun and naughty
things with her. Definitely more fun than the whiteboard.

It's shameful to say that I still find too many stupid people around here who treat me like a friggin' anomaly or outcast, because I'm not, nor have ever been, "fortunate" enough to be permanently partnered with someone. I'll even dare to go so far to say, to some degree, that there is even prejudice and bigotry working against me. The worst judgements, criticisms, and reactions, I find, are made by people who (typically):

• have been married longer than they have been single
• who don't know anything else but to be coupled, or a parent of children
• were too coddled, smothered and spoiled themselves as children, and constantly dependant on a parent or other authority figure
• don't know how to enjoy their own solitude, and instead have a strong need to wiggle into the lives of other people, and usually/eventually end up being an obnoxious pain in the ass to others around them
• are too delusional to know when their own marriage/relationship isn't working for them, and still keep whipping that dead horse rather than trying to find a sensible way to settle things with better options of counselling, separation, or divorce
• are ultra-religious or ethno-centric idiots who think it's some duty and obligation to marry, rather than daring to even think of it as being a choice. The last person who cast such a judgement on me was an immigrant from another culture where arranged marriages** are the rule rather than the exception. Once they learned my status, being at my age, they looked at me aghast, like I was some freak of nature that shouldn't even be alive.
• are otherwise, I would guess by their attitude and behaviour, just too goddamned stupid to know how to live on their own independently.

Totally unrelated bit of stuff here. . . It's the Cool Infographic of the Day: Nation Population/Migration Chart. It's only here because I'm a nerd for international demographics. Given what I just mentioned, I might someday be registered as one of those skinny little lines flowing from Canada to Sweden.

*- To have such insecurity and angst about losing these things has probably been already rendered pointless. Swedish companies, like IKEA, have no doubt foresaw this trend coming already through their research, and probably have been at the forefront of pre-designing everything accordingly for it for the rest of the century in terms of architecture, environment, furnishings, and decorum.
**-.Domestic violence statistics show cultures with arranged marriages as having some of the highest rates of spousal abuse. There is no arguing with me (one who has worked in a sexual assault and crisis centre) about this.