White Male Perspective
Jan. 3rd, 2026 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
disappointed_lesbianI got a lot of sleep last night, so I was not surprised that I had a normal bowel movement this morning, no meds necessary. I was a bit surprised, however, that I had stomach cramps immediately afterwards. Strong ones. I've had them for over an hour now. I try to avoid taking meds for the cramps because of the side effects, but at this time I don't have the mental reserves to deal with the pain, certainly not for several more hours, which is how long they usually last. So I took half a dose of dicyclomine hoping that I get enough sleep again tonight such that my body can somewhat override the constipating effects.
I slept well last night because it wasn't cold. It seems like the things I do with melatonin and sleep hygiene don't matter, and that my insomnia is all down to temperature.
I'm done with Cell. Last night was the second time I read the author do a thing racists do: the non-white characters get referred to by race and/or ethnicity. The white characters are just people, but the non-white characters are Pakistani guy, etc. I really dislike quitting novels, especially if they aren't bad, but I'm no longer going to allow myself to be immersed in the white privileged psyche. It's a toxic, sickening place.
Anyways, the book isn't very good. After the spectacular beginning, the story became plodding. The dialogue has become comically unrealistic. The author has a slightly annoying habit of naming places, and, worse, highways, as if they are familiar to the reader. I read "highway 103;" I have no idea where that is. It may as well be a number randomly printed in the story. This tendency shows up throughout his body of work.
And the author continually refers to a fifteen-year-old girl as beautiful in Cell. It's creepy. It's not part of the plot. After the mayhem at the beginning of the story, the girl mentioned wanting to change out of her sweaty, blood-stained dress, and the main character (a guy) immediately thinks of this in sexual terms. Of course there's no such mention of the twelve-year-old boy's physical appearance, not so far anyhow. He's a newer character, but it's been quite a few mini-chapters since his introduction. I'm not sticking with this to verify, however.
This book was published in 2006. It's not old. King should know better. He's been writig for decades, thinking about characters for decades, he should be able to write better than this. I'm tired of white-privileged people lounging around in the depths of ignorance. I'm tired of men thinking that femalehood is all about looks and sexual appeal.
Now I have nothing to read in terms of fiction.
My pain has lessened while I've been composing this post. I feel less wound up now. But I think today will be another day that I put off my lifting workout. Yesterday, I was too weak; today pain has sapped my energy and motivation. I could lift later in the day, but I never feel like doing that. Morning is always the best time.
I would like to read more physics, but with pain and lack of sleep, it's so much more difficult to read than fiction.
I got back from the library about half an hour ago. I spent a lot of time looking for another novel even though I needed to eat and had a headache building. I settled on Bird Box, a short horror novel. I didn't read the entire synopsis on the back of the book; it says something about the past and the present entertwining in the plot, and I hate stories like that, so I may not even read this. My headache got worse, but it's not terrible. Actually, I'm quite miserable at the moment so maybe trying to read a bit would do me some good. I don't know how I'm to go on living when my own mind is not a safe space.
I read about thirty pages. It's good so far, good build-up. There's no description of what there is to be afraid of and it's not even clear that the main character knows. The only explanation is that the horror cannot be looked at or it'll drive one to violence and suicide. There's a dystopian feel to the story because the world seems to have been hollowed out by the deaths of the people who saw. The main character has for years been cooped up in a house with blanketed windows, going out only with a blindfold. Her young children have never seen the outdoors. And now she's trying to escape. All that in just thirty pages; a good beginning indeed.
I slept well last night because it wasn't cold. It seems like the things I do with melatonin and sleep hygiene don't matter, and that my insomnia is all down to temperature.
I'm done with Cell. Last night was the second time I read the author do a thing racists do: the non-white characters get referred to by race and/or ethnicity. The white characters are just people, but the non-white characters are Pakistani guy, etc. I really dislike quitting novels, especially if they aren't bad, but I'm no longer going to allow myself to be immersed in the white privileged psyche. It's a toxic, sickening place.
Anyways, the book isn't very good. After the spectacular beginning, the story became plodding. The dialogue has become comically unrealistic. The author has a slightly annoying habit of naming places, and, worse, highways, as if they are familiar to the reader. I read "highway 103;" I have no idea where that is. It may as well be a number randomly printed in the story. This tendency shows up throughout his body of work.
And the author continually refers to a fifteen-year-old girl as beautiful in Cell. It's creepy. It's not part of the plot. After the mayhem at the beginning of the story, the girl mentioned wanting to change out of her sweaty, blood-stained dress, and the main character (a guy) immediately thinks of this in sexual terms. Of course there's no such mention of the twelve-year-old boy's physical appearance, not so far anyhow. He's a newer character, but it's been quite a few mini-chapters since his introduction. I'm not sticking with this to verify, however.
This book was published in 2006. It's not old. King should know better. He's been writig for decades, thinking about characters for decades, he should be able to write better than this. I'm tired of white-privileged people lounging around in the depths of ignorance. I'm tired of men thinking that femalehood is all about looks and sexual appeal.
Now I have nothing to read in terms of fiction.
My pain has lessened while I've been composing this post. I feel less wound up now. But I think today will be another day that I put off my lifting workout. Yesterday, I was too weak; today pain has sapped my energy and motivation. I could lift later in the day, but I never feel like doing that. Morning is always the best time.
I would like to read more physics, but with pain and lack of sleep, it's so much more difficult to read than fiction.
I got back from the library about half an hour ago. I spent a lot of time looking for another novel even though I needed to eat and had a headache building. I settled on Bird Box, a short horror novel. I didn't read the entire synopsis on the back of the book; it says something about the past and the present entertwining in the plot, and I hate stories like that, so I may not even read this. My headache got worse, but it's not terrible. Actually, I'm quite miserable at the moment so maybe trying to read a bit would do me some good. I don't know how I'm to go on living when my own mind is not a safe space.
I read about thirty pages. It's good so far, good build-up. There's no description of what there is to be afraid of and it's not even clear that the main character knows. The only explanation is that the horror cannot be looked at or it'll drive one to violence and suicide. There's a dystopian feel to the story because the world seems to have been hollowed out by the deaths of the people who saw. The main character has for years been cooped up in a house with blanketed windows, going out only with a blindfold. Her young children have never seen the outdoors. And now she's trying to escape. All that in just thirty pages; a good beginning indeed.
