parent(s) unresponsive to child's emotional distress

Beating this drum again - I think neither of my parents could handle my emotional needs, right from the get go. They both 'abandoned' me repeatedly, I'm guessing *most* of the time. I was left to depend on my own emotional resources long before I had any such resources whatsoever. The bullshit idea that an infant can 'self soothe' reflects a failure on the part of parents to grasp the most basic essentials of child development.

The human brain learns and develops its 'patterns' based on the quality of its interactions with other humans. Plain and simple, no ifs, ands or buts. If a child doesn't get what she *needs* from her parents? Then she learns that her needs don't matter. Straight up, no bullshit. It's not a matter of 'deciding' to simply overcome adversity; a child who doesn't receive the emotional support she *needs* is, quite literally, disempowered.

I think, as a child, I became a 'goody-two-shoes', a pleaser, a 'teacher's pet', because I was absolutely terrified of getting in trouble.

My parents' perpetual scowls of disapproval, of which I now believe they were entirely unaware, frightened me. I felt that I could never please them.

And so, in self defense, I *never* lied (having no confidence that I could get away with it); I *immediately* confessed all sins, so as to get any 'punishment' over with as quickly as possile (I *hated* waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

I became a 'know-it-all', partly because this was the *one* thing that *did* seem to win any approval from my parents. Although, even *this* backfired, because if I was perceived as trying to 'one up' my parents (rather than just simply trying to 'jump' high enough to win anything remotely resembling positive feedback), I was shamed, humiliated, smashed down in the mud. Or, worse? *Accused* of having foul motives, of trying to make the parent in question look or feel bad about her/himself. Gah.

parent doesn't want to deal with child's emotional needs

Child made to feel that her needs are burdensome to the parent. That her feelings actually *hurt* or *damage* the parent. That she must *protect* the parent from her needs and feelings.

no shame, please

Excellent article on shame:
http://www.james-l-drush.com/jd/shame.htm

Excerpt ['grain of salt' note to self: The 'spiritual suicide' stuff seems a bit over the top.]:

Shame is accepted as a necessary element in a society that wishes to control its population. This idea is based on the philosophical belief that children and adults need outside forces to regulate their actions. Studies on shame have usually focused on the difference between "healthy, necessary" shame and "unhealthy, debilitating" shame. These studies do not question the legitimacy of the cultural belief that social control of the individual and the use of shame as a control are necessary. I find the acceptance and use of shame as a necessary component to control society to be rooted in the addictive paradigm. In this paradigm, which was described by Anne Wilson Schaef, all of Western society operates additively. That is, our culture is founded on a hierarchical, control-driven world view in which the primary principle is that humans must be molded away from their natural instincts. This molding away from natural instincts occurs through disassociation.

What is not commonly recognized is that the act of disassociation is abusive. This is equally true at the individual, family or system level. We can see that disassociation on the individual level often leads to not knowing what is good for you and what is harmful. Disassociation can be seen in blackouts, accidents, addictive behaviors, and other dysfunctional behavior. Dissociation from the larger system means disconnection from nature and the world at large. When individuals and groups are disconnected from nature and themselves, they are incapable of discerning what is good for the system. This lack of discernment has fed, among other things, into the plunder and rape of the environment in most industrial societies.

Healing: get needs met. Maslow.

An article on Maslow's hierarchy, The Causes of Aggression - Unfulfilled Human Needs and Desires:
http://www.isil.org/resources/lit/causes-aggression.html

Quote (bolds mine):

Neurosis consists of irrational thoughts and acts that cause significant harm to one's self or others. But what causes neurosis?

The humanistic psychologist Abraham Maslow gave a great answer. He argued that the standard for proper human behavior should not be some statistical average of how people actually behave, but rather how the best, happiest, most productive, most creative, and most fulfilled human beings act – people such as Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein. In other words, Maslow argues that the standard for mental health should be human beings at their best. Maslow called these exemplary people "self-actualizers" or "the growing tip" of the human race.

Comparing self-actualizers to less-fulfilled, less-creative, and less-happy people, Maslow found that most neurosis is caused by the frustration of basic human needs.

A basic, as opposed to a derived need, is an innate and fundamental biological or psychological requirement for human well-being. In "Toward a Psychology of Being" (1962), Maslow listed five basic criteria which established a hierarchy of needs:

1. Its absence breeds illness.

2. Its presence prevents illness.

3. Its restoration cures illness.

4. Under certain, free-choice situations, it is preferred by the deprived person over other satisfactions.

5. It is found to be inactive, at a low ebb, or functionally absent in the "healthy person" because it is a fulfilled need and thus no longer a strong motivating force.

Maslow held there were seven basic levels of human needs:

1. Physiological needs such as air, food, sleep, shelter, and sex;

2. Safety needs, including security, order and stability;

3. Belongingness and love;

4. Esteem needs, the need for a stable, firmly-based, high level of self-respect;

5. Self-actualization, the desire to become everything that one is capable of becoming;

6. The desire to know and understand;

7. Aesthetic needs, the need for beauty in one's life.

Aggression, Maslow maintained, is principally a result of the frustration of basic needs. In other words, aggression is not an essential part of human nature, but rather a reaction to circumstances in which essential requirements of our nature are unfulfilled.

Realization

or: Making that which is IMAGINED?

Real.

incubate

***
Creative woman’s muse



***
Women ‘waste time’ taking care of other people

Forget them.

Be like a man: Focus solely on yourself and YOUR needs.


***
2nd --> 3rd chakra

Realization

Making ideas REAL.


flow
whole-brain thinking

input side
output side

men eat up all the resources – resource HOGS

***

women in PUER cultures are expected to

walk one pace behind and to the left

to subsume their needs to the needs of others

to NEVER ‘overshadow’ anyone, especially MEN

to forgo their own ego needs in the interest of

PROPPING UP THE EGOS OF OTHERS


FUCK THAT SHIT.

***

You must look for a man who

ADMIRES
you.

***
keep me warm.

incubate me.

safety, security, home.

incubate.

***
♥ represents an older, darker, more primitive side of humanity

trying to come forward and
be integrated

light
dark
shadow

anima
animus
daemon (GC did *not* originate this – it’s a very ancient concept. Idiots who claim ‘new worlds’ that are already fully occupied – puer. child. unfinished biz.

***
Totally focused in *his* head all the time (GC guy.

why do they all bow down to him
graven image
false god

sacrifice

***
There is something
missing
from him

a succubus
he is

drinks from

souls

work of others

he takes credit

he’s a
shaper?

but

bothers me

can’t quite grab

father

quintessential patriarchal bullshit

mouth sucking lemons

sour

why?

***
something a little girl possesses

at the cusp

that men try to

possess?

life force
power

unharnessed

tapping in?

***
‘they’ --> phys strength, but

no

spine?

character?

gutless.

What is it? Emasculation.

But – reframe the word.

It is not the MALEness that is removed

but the HUMANITY.

Ah. Men are separated from all that the 12-year-old girl represents: A whole human.

***
but instead of
stepping back
riding HER cape
letting HER lead

Lemony too. parts. sand, grains thereof.

***
***
sweetness.
Water Bearer.
cup overfloweth.
joy! :-)

***
ah. and thus men's obsession
with that which is cut from them:
the 'whole' being
represented
in the young girl.

No *wonder* the 'merkan obs with youth and beauty. They never got to *have* it.

***
so we each
eternally seek
the half that was cut away
by society’s (?)
sharp
scalpel
in youth

heal.

As long as

NEED
is equated with
WEAKNESS –

there will be no healing.

Let your needs be seen.

*Golden Compass

more on suppression of emotion

The Suppression of Emotion: Absolute Violation of Basic Human Rights
http://socyberty.com/men/the-suppression-of-emotion-absolute-violation-of-basic-human-rights/


This next one I sort of hate, because it's so trite, but I think it's at least partially true. I hate the Mars/Venus aspect of it, the 'us/them' mentality that is *so* destructive to all relationships. But here's the link anyway:

Marriage counseling: Men for Beginners
http://www.therelationshipgym.com/newsletters/marriage-counselling-men-for-beginners.htm

A snippet (bolds mine):

"It means he’s unhappy.

Men are different from women; I’ve resisted this truth for many years but it’s true. As a result of working with so many couples and my marriage counseling training it’s become undeniable. We do things differently, particularly around the area of feelings. Men are trained to be ashamed of their feelings from a very early age. We learn quickly that tears are not something we shed if we have any other option. We know that big boys don’t cry, and that message started very early for us. We are often shamed publicly for crying and shame is something we resist feeling at any cost.

Have you ever noticed that there isn’t a clearly defined male character in society? In some way, we invest most of our energy in NOT acting like a woman. Men have no idea how to get along with each other and our male intimacy often comes about by punching each other in the arm and other types of play fighting. Unless we’re drunk of course in which case some of us become ridiculously affectionate, which is so sad given how unattractive we are in that state."

Particularly painful to read, and be reminded yet again of, the idea that so-called 'masculinity' is no more than a *negation* of all that is female, feminine, womanly.

Have to ask my friend how he can turn *that* into a positive. Challenge his thinking without 'challenging' him...

Re-reading this, I'm reminded of something he said about his father, about how they never used to get along, but now, as he's gotten older, he finds they're able to communicate better. "We're not so quick to jump on each other," he said, or something like it. Paraphrasing further: "We've learned to ask for clarification before assuming the other guy *meant* to piss us off."

I like that. I have so much to learn from him, and so much to *teach*, as well. Gah. If only we could be to*gether*, and really *find out*. Really *know*. But - he's on a 'finding himself' journey? as well, only his involves long stretches on the road. Guess we'll see what happens next.

Uncertainty

[where this starts out and where it ends up - well, thinking aloud again. A mental and emotional slalom ride. Started with the title as 'disappointment', but by the end of it? I seem to have worked my way back to hope again.]

Anger, frustration, rage at being let down AGAIN.

He is NOT what I want.

I am ANGRY.

That it is SO FUCKING DIFFICULT to find a man who actually WANTS an EQUAL relationship.

I think I believed, in my gut, that he really wants equality because of how it FELT to me. I ignored his words, because they didn’t match my experience. I even *said* this to him – that his words didn’t match what I was feeling when we were together. His response? “You mean, I’m not a very good man.” I felt flummoxed, befuddled, wanted to reach out touch him, and simultaneously felt this giant rift open between us that I can never cross.

He is too – what – stuck? I don’t know. Ingrained.

But I’m not *sure* of this. The beer seems like a sign, a crack in the levee that’s holding back all those dammed-up fears, feelings, thoughts, doubts.

*I* can’t do anything about this. I fear, after today’s conversation with him, that he’ll just take it out on me. I’ve tried so hard to go carefully, respectfully, not step on his toes – just as he has done with me.

But today, I slipped a bit, without realizing it. And I think he ‘retaliated’ – not really intentionally, sort of almost reflexively, an automatic defense mechanism. Like the article linked in the previous post.

***
Seesaw, vacillation, back and forth – the ‘dance of intimacy,’ I’ve heard it called. Deciding whether we *really* like each other or not, whether it has any future.

“So how would you describe this ‘relationship’?” he asked.

“Ephemeral,” I said.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Um – sort of like – well, ghostly? maybe? only not exactly. More like, not very solid.”

“Ethereal?” he suggested.

“Yeah, that could work,” I replied. “Elusive, hard to grasp, get hold of.”

“Imaginary, almost?”

“Yes,” I said, sadly, wistfully, acknowledging that was *exactly* the word I’d been thinking but didn’t want to say.

The thing is, in such a short time, we’ve talked about *everything*. There is an openness, an honesty, a transparency that I’ve never experienced. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I actually am experiencing some level of emotional intimacy with a man? Maybe that’s it.

Yay! :-) Happiness.

Maybe it’s because it *is* so short, brief, ephemeral? that it seems necessary to grab on, hold tight, make the most of it. Because soon, it, and he, will be gone. Already he eludes me – I can’t quite remember what he looks like. We schemed a bit today to see if we could get together this weekend – he’s actually in one place for a few days – but he couldn’t see his way clear to driving the company truck all this way back to where I am, and flying me up there just seemed – well, we decided not to.

But at least it felt like *we* decided – we actually talked it over, and negotiated, and worked it back and forth, til it became clear that what we wanted was almost, but not quite, in reach.

It’s not really just about money – I think, he’s not sure of me. And I’m not sure of him. And of course it’s all bassackwards, anyway, trying to find out so much about each other in a short time, much of it over the phone. Though I have to admit, it’s been *far* more satisfying than any other time I’ve found myself in remotely similar situations.

I think *I*, at least, had a clarity this time that I’ve never had before. Not only who *I* am, but what I *want* seems to be coming into clearer and clearer focus. I think I’m learning to let go more, and to simply ‘ride the wave’, letting things be what they are. And to reach for what I want, including – him. He said, “Don’t ever lose that.” Meaning, the reaching for what I want thing. I almost cried when he said that – it’s something I’ve worked so hard for, and to have him recognize, so simply, how powerful and important it is – well, *that* was powerful, in itself. He has given me so much, seemingly without effort, without knowing? And yet, he surprises me. Constantly. Just when I think I’ve got him ‘pigeonholed’, he throws me a curve. I *like* that about him :-)

Roots of violence? and the artificial gender divide.

I’ve heard it argued that the unnatural, black-and-white, enforced division of women and men into strict gender categories is essential to the perpetuation of the patriarchal power differential.

Think about, “We’re going to make a lady out of you (or 'make a man out of him').”

What is that but a blatant, overt admission that we are *not* innately different, but must be actively *made* so? Our differences are *created*, if not from whole cloth, at least from the equivalent of a sow’s ear – often brutally, with a fist if necessary.

What purpose does it serve?

Perhaps, once the first seeds of greed sprouted (was there ever a time when greed didn’t exist?) the violence necessary to maintain the power differentials inherent in the accumulation of vast material resources became a self-perpetuating, chicken-egg cycle: Some guy hoards a bunch of stuff; some other guy beats the crap out of him to take it away. First guy gets a friend who wants a share of the loot, and the two of them hammer Second Guy and take it away from him.

And so it begins – Cain and Abel, back and forth, the never-ending, tit-for-tat, schoolyard bully thing. Which quite quickly escalates to massive ‘get even’ vendettas, into the vortex of which entire nations are drawn. Inexorably, by the promise of, “I’m going to get *my* share.” The pirate’s code all over again: “Take what you can; give nothing back.” The roots of war are basically nothing more than ‘getting even’ and ‘showing them who’s boss.’

But there are two different motives revealed by those last two statements, it seems to me.

One is the desire for material goods, wealth and power; the other is – what – a need to ‘save face’? To show that one cannot be beaten.

I came across an interesting article on shame and the roots of violence and possibly even war here:

War and Emotions: Hypermasculine Violence as a Social System
http://www.soc.ucsb.edu/faculty/scheff/51.html

Small quote from there (bolds mine):

Social occasions are seen as opportunities for one to test one’s own character as compared to the other person or persons. The hypermasculine pattern promotes competition, rather than connection between individuals. It is not just asocial, but anti-social. This is one of the ideas crucial to the understanding of unnecessary conflict: the cult of masculinity promotes individuality at the cost of community.

So much of my writing here/’work’ has to do with resolving the effects of interpersonal emotional violence (bullying) and greed on the part of various of my family members, and other people I’ve interacted with throughout life. It’s a recurring, and apparently inevitable? theme.

Meeting this new fellow makes me think about this further.

When he and I have been together, I feel an equality, a fairness, an even-handedness that I’ve never before experienced with a man. I *feel* respected; lifted up; even royal, majestic. Like a queen. It’s a fabulous experience.

And yet, on our first ‘date’, while we were sitting in his truck for 45 minutes or so waiting for a concert to begin, he told me, among other things, about one of his previous marriages (he’s been married twice, he says. And I have no reason, at *this* point, to disbelieve him – but I’m reserving ‘judgment’ til ‘all the evidence is in’? or something. Trusting my gut.)

Anyway, he said, outright, ‘the man should be the head’.

I looked at him, astonished. I thought he was joking, at first.

When I realized he was serious, I thought, well, maybe I can finally begin to understand some of this ‘backward’ thinking that still seems to permeate so much of our patriarchal culture. Religion and patriarchy – same root, intertwined.

So I listened, keeping my mouth shut. For some reason, the way he’d treated me up to then made me feel that I owed him the same respect, even if I didn’t agree with what he was saying. I felt that his – generosity? of spirit – made me *want* to listen, to open my mind, my heart, my eyes to this person. He seemed so – vulnerable, yet so fierce at the same time. And, really, quite confused, as I got to know him a bit better. A guy who has to drown his synapses in beer for half of any given day *must* be escaping something. Or so *I* figure.

The link between the beginning of this post and this fella is muddy at best, but I’m trying to see if I can tease out why my mind puts them together.

He *talked* about being ‘aggressive’, and the ‘man as head’ thing also strikes me as a pretty basic power play.

When he said it, I replied “I will never walk one pace behind and to the left of *anybody*. I absolutely refuse to be ‘second fiddle’.”

He nodded, and seemed to accept this, and I thought, well, that’s *that*. End of any future possibilities for ‘us’. And we’ve hardly got halfway through a first date!

Somehow the religion/shame/violence/aggression thing all tangles together, and the linked article seems to provide a thread to grab at, to possibly pull it apart and see what causes what. Maybe see a way *out* of the tangle? An alternative, for men who ‘think’ this way?

Another (? possibly ?) related link:

Roots of War and Peace

Started down this path with googling something like, "Men are trained to ignore and/or block out their feelings."

Becoming fierce

When our *protectors* are fierce in watching over us, lifting us up to overcome obstacles and making sure we have what we need, *we* grow fierce and strong in turn, healthy in spirit as well as in body and mind.

‘Protectors’ who are, on the other hand, weak? timid? uncertain? and ineffective in offering us safety and succor, *build in* to us a (seemingly?) ‘innate’ ‘weakness’ that can be difficult to overcome in later life.

But not impossible.

***
I’m trying to practice finding the middle ground, the balance point. Wu wei, again.

One way to do this (for *me*) is to do the first thing that comes to mind, as a – counterbalance? – to the idea that I ‘overthink’ things.

***
Compassion vs. ?
Kindness vs. ?

Self respect vs.?

gratitude

Thank you, universe. And the people in it.

Stories

I’ve been trying to get her to tell me more about my past, to make sense of things, while there’s still time. She’s 74, and she’s the only one who *knows* all those things about me.

I said something about that to her this morning (omitting, of course, the part about her being 74 – that was, of course, implied, and didn’t need to be said. Apparently.)

When we talked a few weeks back and I was saying something about how hard it was, and *is*, for me to find people that I related to, she said something like, “Yes, I knew that when you were a little girl.” Or, possibly, “I could see that when you were a little girl.” Something to that effect.

Anyway, today I asked her about it. She resisted, at first, fearing further recriminations from me about some *further* way in which she and dad had failed me.

But I got her to talk about it.

“You were so bright, and I went to all kinds of meetings at the school to try to see what to do with you,” she said.

I asked her how she knew I was so bright.

She said, as if it was obvious, “You were speaking in full paragraphs – with a southern drawl! – at the age of two!” (We lived down south for a while, right about when I started talking.)

“Dad was afraid you’d be like these two neighbor girls who still wouldn’t leave their mother’s house at the age of twenty,” she said.

“Why did he think *that*??” I asked, incredulous.

“Well, you were so quiet – so self-contained, and reserved. And you were so completely unaggressive. We talked about it a lot, and we decided it would be better if you were around ordinary kids, rather than being in some kind of special school.”

“Ok, mom, I’m going to try to say this in a way that isn’t intended to make you feel bad – you’ve made it clear that you tried your best, and that dad was very young and inexperienced.”

“But I just want you to know, from the perspective of 40-some years later? I would have been *way* better off to have kids like me as friends. I would have felt *way* less isolated. I was a very lonely child, you know.”

“I know,” she said.

Not too late?

I said that to her this morning. She thought it was going to lead to something she didn’t want to talk about, but I just said, “You know how you said you’re sorry you couldn’t be the mother I needed you to be? Well, it’s not too late to change that. There’s still time. And it would make a *huge* difference in my life if you did.”

Well, guess what? Today, she put some money in my checking account.

After that early morning phone call, I called her again later, out of desperation, knowing it was going to get really, really cold tonight. I’m low on food, low on money, car’s got something going wrong with it and there’s no *way* I’m taking it out in this weather only to add a stranded car and a tow fee to my already overwhelming list.

I said, ”If anybody’s coming by this way, I could use some extra blankets.”

She said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Pushing a little harder in my frustration at her seeming lack of concern, I said, “Otherwise, your daughter might end up like one of those little birds you find on the sidewalk in the morning, with its little toes curled up.”

“Frozen,” she said.

“Dead,” said I. I started crying, the abandonment fear grabbing my gut again.

She said, “I’ll put some money in your checking account so you can pay for heat, and then when the snow clears up a bit, we’ll get you some blankets.”

She finally, *finally*, asked me some actual *questions*, and seemed to understand where I was at. I told her about the unpaid bills, the badly insulated house, what I’d done to try to make things better. About the sheets of plexiglas I’d bought last winter as makeshift ‘storm windows’ to try to avoid going through all that again.

My resources for getting things done have been so slim – I got a friend to take me and the plexiglas to a hardware store to be cut to size (I got them at an architectural salvage yard for cheap, but they had to be cut down to fit). But when I got to the point of trying to install them, I realized I’d forgotten to allow for the blinds – so the plexi sheets were almost an inch too big in one direction, and, being ¼” thick, there was no give anywhere.

I told her all these things, and she already knows about the car, and I said, “I’m ...just, just...” she said, “Overwhelmed.”

The relief is almost unbearable. I have to keep *moving*, *act* on having this money, before something *else* happens. Even though what I *really* feel like is just going to sleep. Must be what a person with hypothermia gets like – they just can’t really think straight any more.

illusions

Why are some people allowed to *keep* their illusions, to cherish them, to *live* by them, even?

While others of us have our illusions continually *shattered*, crushed, destroyed – if not by others, then we are expected to do the devilish deed our*selves* – to trample them into a million shards, irreparable fragments, under our own feet?

how to be

I was *going* to say, ‘headstrong’, but find that word irritating, because of the connotation of it being a behavior attributable to someone who *shouldn’t* be – what – an upstart.

A built in power differential.

He didn’t like the main character of GC, because she ‘didn’t do what she was told’.

I’m having the worst time reconciling how he *talks* about things, how he *describes* them, versus how he actually *behaves* when we’re together. It’s like two entirely different people, almost.

men and the need for power

freeing men from their crippling relationship with power and domination?

[I keep trying different 'titles' for this, possibly as a means to determine what exactly it is I'm doing and/or trying to do with ♥ ?]

Links:

Quotations of Anarchy, Heresy and Unconventional Thought:
http://www.mentalanarchy.com/quotes.html

Unshackling the mental chains (of Christianity):
http://new.exchristian.net/2010/11/unshackling-mental-chains.html

A man's biggest fear (that he won't admit):
http://www.jaysongaddis.com/2010/02/a-mans-biggest-fear/

The secret men won't admit

***
I'm watching the Golden Compass, second time in the last few days.

♥ recommended it, or so I thought - he asked me to watch TheSecret and (I *thought*) the Golden Compass, though it turned out I'd automatically translated "The Compass" into a title I was more familiar with.

Anyway, it turned out he *does* like The Golden Compass as well. We talked about it a bit, and I asked him why he liked it.

His understanding is that Asriel, one of the ‘heroes’ in the story, was standing up to the Magisterium, which he understood to represent The Establishment, or, in his words, “the government.”

I had googled around a bit the day before after watching GC the first time, based on some nigglings in the back of my brain about Azrael. What I’d come up with was that GC is a metaphor for the ongoing battle of free-thinkers against the church (in this case, the Catholic Church is represented by the Magisterium, according to one source I read.)

I told him that, and said, isn’t Azrael another name for the Angel of Death? He said, yes, not in the Bible, but in other – places.

The interesting thing about talking about this stuff with a guy who, except for the power of our physical time and the connection we had with other, I wouldn’t be speaking to at all. Because, on the *surface* we have not the smallest shred of common ground.

But – when I pointed out to him that he’s ‘not like that’, meaning, not like the description of ‘man as head’ and ‘powerful, dominating male’ and all that, he said, “You mean, I’m not very good at being a man.”

I was shocked. I quickly said, “No! I *like* you the way you are. You are kind, and generous, gentle, respectful. You are thoughtful and considerate, and careful in what you say and do.”

He sort of brushed that off, almost impatiently.

So today I’m watching the movie again, and trying to understand what it is, or why? so many men seem ‘cut off’ from themselves in this way. They hammer on themselves to be something they’re not, and suffer immensely for it. Lonely, isolated, afraid of their feelings, claiming to be ‘rational’ and ‘superior’, and yet? They’re like little boys trapped in their grown-up bodies.

More than once I’ve been drawn to a man like this – who seems so wounded and hurt, and yet, seems not to *know* how much pain he carries. Or, he knows it, but he won’t let me *help* him. Because he’s trapped, maybe? in this mindset where *he* must do it all, *he* must be ‘self sufficient.’

And if I ‘help’ in the time-honored, silent, unacknowledged ways that so many women are trained to do? I find my*self* becoming angry and resentful, that *I* am expected to ask for nothing, want nothing, *need* nothing, not even recognition at what a powerful healing I have worked for this person. Because, being a woman, that’s supposed to be reward enough in itself: To see the fruits of my labor. To be happy that the flower blooms.

Well, guess what? I don’t know about other women, but I sure as HELL don’t want to be the invisible ‘mother’ in the story. ‘Witch*’ I could maybe handle, because at least *there* there’s an acknowledgement of my power, a recognition that I’ve *done* something that *they* couldn’t do alone.

*’Witch’ in this context refers to Terry Pratchett’s witches, who do much of their work using only the magic of what he calls ‘headology’, which is a sufficiently in-depth understanding of the inner workings of the human psyche that, by applying a little ‘leverage’ in the right place at the right time, and, of course, ‘at the opportune moment,’ a *real* witch appears to ‘work magic’ by doing things others can’t, or don’t know how to, do.

This allows the recipient of said ‘magic’ to continue to believe in his *own* strength and powers, and not have his ‘pride’ (?) damaged by *needing* anything, Goddess forbid.

***
His words are so *completely* at odds with his actions. It’s like he’s got this absolutely *mad*, insane set of ‘rules’ in his head, that keep him from *seeing* who he actually *is*, what he *actually* believes. It’s like – a kind of brainwashing, only somebody’s got him trained to poison him*self*, every single day.

And yet, he drinks. He starts drinking sometime in the afternoon, maybe around 1? Or 3? or 5? depending on what time he gets ‘off’ for the day from his work or whatever. I notice that when we talk and I touch on something that gets too close to his

In a way he's like a child – uninformed, yet full of fierce and strongly-formed ideas and opinions.

I think his latest ‘revelation’, about 10 years ago, or so, he says? came from a time when he was struggling to ‘come into his own’ while married to a woman who – wouldn’t follow his dictates?

I think he’s struggling with the whole ‘man’ thing, but in *his* case religion has tangled it up for him even further – someone he trusted (and continues to trust?) put him along this path, and he hasn’t seen the conflicts, the inherent ways in which he’s tangled up with his own ‘beliefs’.

***
I remain convinced that he’s not ‘stupid’ – more just, sort of, ignorant? and maybe, a bit brain-washed, in the way that people from certain kinds of backgrounds sometimes seem to become?

His mind seems to work just fine, if a bit slowly sometimes, as long as it’s not running in the ‘Christianity’ groove he seems to have carved for himself.

I think what I love – like? about him best is his – fierceness? his tenacity. His *strength*, which is partly physical, but also – I don’t know. It’s a sort of solidity, a firmness, something I can really *push* against, and, while he *does* give way and is flexible? he doesn’t sort of go all ‘mushy’ like men I’ve been with in the past.

It’s kind of a mental thing. I don’t know how to describe it. He’s very fierce in his

I guess I *like* that he actually *believes* in *some*thing. So many men seem to have *no* - mental grounding? principles? beliefs? whatso*ever*. They’re like little game pieces that slide around on the board to – shifting with the wind, blowing this way and that. Unpredictable, no telling *which* way they’ll go in a pinch, under pressure.

***
Somebody referred to Progressives as ‘pigs in lipstick.’

I’ve come to feel this way about so-called ‘progressive’ men – they’re just like the Promise Keepers, but they’re stealthy about it instead of being open. They like to *think* of themselves as fair, open-minded, etc., but when it comes down to it? Most of them, really, are *not*. They *still* want a woman who will ‘walk one pace behind and to the left.’ They want to have their cake and eat it too – to be *perceived* as ‘good guys’, while still basically being assholes.

The thing about ♥ ? He’s *not* an asshole. Though I’m quite sure he has the capacity to be ... sad face.

Why is that so many men seem to need something like ‘the fear of god’ to get them to act like decent human beings???

***
It’s a sort of madness, really – this *insistence* by people who really have no business being ‘in charge’ that they *must* be in charge. People who couldn’t – mentally speaking – hit the ‘broad side of a barn’.

I know it sounds cruel – but perhaps what he needs is a firm, gentle but loving hand to guide him? Perhaps his mother saw this long ago,when he was a child? and sort of ’implanted’ the biblical teachings as a sort of – wind-up morality? That would keep him from going to far astray.

Unfortunately it’s likely to cause the machine to come completely unglued at some point – or to just make this one man unnecessarily unhappy? Or not. He doesn’t *seem* miserable, just lonely. But he’s very open about it – doesn’t make any pretense that he’s anything other than what he seems. He’s just got bitten by the ‘positive thinking’ bug at a time when he really needed *some*thing to help pull him out of the morass. Which morass he may have more or less been ‘pushed’ into by the shaming of religious thinking? More noodling is necessary on this, methinks :-)

***
All right, I realize that ‘firm hand’ thing comes across as – condescending? Perhaps he just needs to be with someone who’s as sure of herself as he is, yet also – flexible? Who accepts him as he is, without trying to change him, remaining open to his ideas, and encouraging him, but still remaining *her*self?

Sounds like I'm prescribing a mother.

synchronicity

He said, "Maybe you just needed your alternator replaced."

And I said, "Maybe, but I *got* a whole heck of a lot *more* than that :-)"

Silence on his end. I pictured him smiling, surprised and pleased.

Why is he so sure he has so little to offer?

***
It *did* seem sort of funny, that it was my *alternator* that he replaced, and at the same time *he*, himself, had such a 'power'ful effect on me (nyuk nyuk :-).

Because it seemed, in a way, that he 'started my engine', and the alternator serves that same function, of generating power. Cool! :-)

Day before yesterday I was running as fast as I could from the 'other shoe dropping' feeling. Drank a six pack of Coke; watched *four* movies! Had a really angsty dream. Went and played some music with somebody new last night (a woman);
this morning? Woke up, not refreshed, but - calm? Peaceful?

He hasn't abandoned me!

***
Not like my mother, who *did* abandon me, repeatedly, any time I showed signs of needing something she didn’t want to give me, or wanted my independence. She *resented* it, fiercely – it was as if I was supposed to sacrifice *my* freedom so that *she* could feel safe. And yet, at the same time, *she* was never there for *me* when I needed her.

***
Actually, I think he’s waiting to see if I like him for *him*, and not just for what he *does* for me. I think the whole thing about understanding how he feels about God and the bible is more about understanding *him* than that he needs me to be the same as him. I think, in the past, finding someone who *believed* similar things has been the closest he’s ever gotten to feeling ‘understood’. But now, he has a chance to actually be *understood* (maybe? with me?) and I get the sense that he’s poised to forget about the whole God thing (not his feelings, but the need for whoever he’s with to feel the same way. Possibly.)

I keep having this image of it being like this box that I’m pushing along the road, that just sits there, waiting for me to come back and push it some more. It doesn’t go anywhere, it just waits there, patiently, without expectation (but possibly the tiniest, glowing spark of hope?) that I’ll come back and push it some more. I keep expecting the box to sprout wheels and suddenly morph into this amazing race car, a la Calvin and Hobbes. :-)

It's almost like, in a way, *he's* waiting for that equivalent 'alternator' to come along and start *his* engine.

Thinking here of how, when we last parted, he said, "Give me a hug!" I leaped up and wrapped myself around him, and he laughed and kissed me, and we got in our separate cars and drove off, him right behind me in his big truck, hot on my heels, me waving out my sun roof and him honking in return. He followed close behind me, pulling up in the next lane, me slowing down so he could catch me and we could wave at each other one more time before the road split and we went our separate ways. I blew him a kiss, he waved a hunk of salmon jerky that we’d just bought at the fish shop, a huge stack of it to get him to Montana.

I need to feed him, and keep feeding him. It’s like that hungry baby feeling I used to always have? Only, it’s as if, by feeding *him*, I feed my*self*. I mean, I get so much *back* when I ‘take care’ of him – he becomes so insanely generous, so free. It’s like tending to this plant that rewards you with this munificent bounty of lush, gorgeous, heavenly-scented blossoms that take your breath away.

***
***
It’s sort of like, I know I’m getting what I *need* by the results, the effects – I feel happy! I wake up clear headed, my motor humming. And I think: I need to feed him. I need to give him as much as he gives me.

The thing is, he doesn’t *demand*. He just says what he (thinks?) he wants, and I give it to him. And then, he gives me what *I* want. Like magic :-)

***
A girl who spends her childhood populating her own universe from her imagination via books finds that the real world pales by comparison. People are dull, flat, boring. As they were when she was an infant, which was why she sought other stimulus? They simply didn’t *engage* her the way her seeking psyche needed to be engaged.

left brain right brain link harvest today:

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=evolutionary-origins-of-your-right-and-left-brain#comments

One on horses and how their brain hemispheres (may?) operate independently as a survival adaptation, i.e., 'sleeping with one eye open', or 'why a horse can sleep standing up':

http://mb-soft.com/public2/horseszz.html

http://discovermagazine.com/2009/may/15-big-similarities-and-quirky-differences-between-our-left-and-right-brains

Limbic system, center of emotions:
http://www.healing-arts.org/n-r-limbic.htm

creating a working model of the universe in one’s head

we are all in an ongoing process of
creating a working model of the universe in our heads

so that we can each function
the way we need to.


posit:
[yes, department of redundancy department - I *realize* I'm repeating myself. That's how it works, how I learn, how I grow, how I implement new ideas and put them in place.]

we are *all* in a lifelong, ongoing process of creating and endlessly refining a universe (in our heads) that

satisfies our needs
explains what’s happening to us and around us

that, quite simply, makes *sense* of things for us.

We’re making a map, a set of directions, a field guide, a compendium, a *collection* of ideas, thoughts, images, that allow us to *function* in this life.

calming the baby

It's amazing - I spent all afternoon frantically trying to calm this little girl (inside me) with distraction and caffeine.

I could not hold her (self hugs don't work, remember?) and I couldn't call him again, because - well, I couldn't.

I've already, in the short time I've known him, done all the classic things that 'drive men away', and yet? He hasn't budged an inch. In fact, each time it feels like we're closer. At least, from *my* side of things.

And he keeps telling me more things about himself, things I'd never guess. He's a little hair-trigger on assuming I'll think the worst of him, or that I'll judge him, or dismiss as trivial something he finds important.

But I keep re-assuring him that it's ok, that I'm *interested*. Because I *am*.

When you keep getting what you *need* from somebody, when they *give* you freely what you ask for? It makes you *want* to give them everything you can in return. Or, at least, that's what's happening with *him*, for me.

***
It's as if *he* keeps expecting the other shoe to drop - odd to be on the other side of that for a change, with someone I find so *insanely* attractive. And not just physically - he's so different fromt the 'city boys' - unsophisticated, simple, direct. A very powerful combination for me. :-)

letting go

or trying to.

The thing is, *trying* doesn't work. It goes at its own pace, regardless of what I do. When circumstances are right? It just flows. When they're not? It doesn't.

I drank at least four Cokes today, and am sound asleep. I ran the heat high and watched three movies.

I can only process as fast as I can process. And if I need him ♥ around (even if only on the phone) to do the work? Then I'm limited by that too.

Although we had an amazing conversation today. Very open and freeing. He keeps insisting that I say exactly what I'm thinking any time I hesitate or seem unsure. I keep telling him that some of these things I've never talked about, and so haven't necessarily the 'right' words.

***
Quote from Carolyn Myss:

"The lesson of the second chakra is to learn to interact consciously with others: to form unions with people who support our development and to release relationships that handicap our growth."

overcoming my father's puritanical injunctions against

pure, unfettered

joy
delight
wonder

To have someone to *play* with! Freely! Without constraint. This he resisted with all his might. The pain of the Puritans passed down through one generation after the next, undiluted, as a pure, viral strain, infecting one poor soul after the next with their dour, grim, bleak attachment to misery and hardship. For an agnostic, he sure had the 'rain-on-your-parade' routine down pat.

***

in my mind

I fly with him, to places I cannot go alone (in this boys' club of a world.)

But - when I told him I wanted to see what he did? He eagerly drove me right out there to the tracks and spent a dedicated half hour driving me around showing me the trains, walking me through all the details of what he'd worked on and how things fit together, making sure I understood before moving on to the next thing.

His patience is incredible - I've never experienced anything like it.

It's funny - he lets me right in to these places where I've always felt I *belonged*, but could never get *in*. He opens doors for me effortlessly, freely, like it costs him nothing.

And it doesn't *feel* like it costs him anything - he seems to get great joy out of sharing it all with me.

It's like upside-down world - all the so-called progressive men I've known all my life? With them it's all hot air and bullshit, all about appearance and image and *seeming* to be a good guy. Yet, where the rubber meets the road? The one who *actually* lets me in where I've always wanted to go is a guy who talks like something out of some old-time bible story.

But he's not like that, really.

He even said, when we talked today (for almost two hours!) "So you're sayin' (in his Okie accent :-) my actions is louder than my words."

"Well, yeah," I said. "I mean, what I *experience* with you just isn't described by the words you say."

I asked him if he felt the need to be in charge with me, and he said, "No, you told me right up front that you were your own woman, and I respect that."

Yes, I'm puzzled, and delighted, and - both :-)

puzzling

He puts his faith

in places I would never trust.

His boss; his god.

But I don't see what he sees, I'm not part of that world of men - made for men, by men, to suit mens' needs and wants.

It's a boys' club, and I'm eternally on the outside. As are all women. Even the token, honorary ones, which sometimes includes me. I find myself 'one of the boys' in order to be *allowed* in, temporarily, as long as I *never* bother them with any 'girl' problems.

Sigh.

I'm trying to fit the pieces together into a picture that makes some kind of sense to me.

It's rough going.

It's like I've been looking for something all my life, and all of a sudden I *have* it.

It doesn't *look* like what I thought I was looking for, on the surface; and yet? All the signs and portents point to it. And I'm not talking about runes or whatever - they're like those - whaddyoucall'ems - archetypal images.

Like dragons. He says his chinese sign is the dragon; I've always loved dragons, and at one time thought they symbolized *me*, and have even collected images of them, over time.

But now *he* is here, and the piece suddenly *fits*. It makes sense. Before it was just this piece of the puzzle lying there on the side of the table, I didn't know what to do with it, didn't know where, or *if*, it fit into my puzzle at all.

And it may be that, depending on what puzzle pieces you *get* in life, you can make different pictures. But you *can't* make any picture you *want*, just the ones you have pieces for.

Is that true? Hang it out there in the breeze for a while and see what blows back to me.

modern christianity

as an extension of ancient pagan rituals? 'The Book' as a way to hand down ancient wisdom to the 'unwashed masses' who otherwise might not heed, or benefit from, millenia of human experience?

Hm. Maybe I don't really need to 'explain' it at all?

Think Contact, or this ridiculous movie I'm watching right now, called New in Town, with Renee Zellweger.

There's a scene going on where the townfolk are caroling through the streets, picking up people along the way, carrying lighted candles and singing, to gather around a lit christmas tree in the center of the square.

I'm crying, and what am I crying *for*?

For that sense of unity, of shared purpose, of *belonging* somewhere, of fitting in and being cared for and nurtured and wanted, in *spite* of my rough edges, in *spite* of not believing the same things these other folks believe.

It's real, and heartfelt, and *solid*, in a way that no amount of money or prestige or status can be.

It's not even about respect - it's about love.

And lest you think I've gone all mushy-minded and religious on you - well, I haven't. I've just fallen in love. And am open to the influences associated with that :-)

So maybe I *am* a little soft in the head, at the moment. It's ok. Refer to the previous statement about 'open minds' and whatnot. It actually feels *good* to have someone in my life who makes me *want* to open myself to all the possibilities. It's freeing, somehow.

Now if I could just trust, and let go. The fear still lives in my belly, that there will be no one there to catch me when I fall. My family, I have to thank for this feeling.

So: Time to create a *new* one. Of which, perhaps? he ♥ is a part.

other people

and our connections with them

are the only things that really matters in this world.

Without that, none of the rest of it makes any sense.

do men who lean on god

do so because

they believe there's no one else to lean on?

you tell me I think too much :-)

And yet, in this case? I'm doing what every fiber of my being is telling me to do: Maintain this connection with you.

My mind is opening, and it feels good :-) Just like that blasted parachute in the saying, "A mind is like a parachute..."

reaction setting in

I don't want to go down the whole abandonment road again.

I don't know what I'm doing, but part of me seems to be blotting him ^♥ out of my mind.

Protective mechanism, I guess. Self preservation. I simply can't *afford* to invest emotional energy into someone I can't SEE. It's like I've al*ready* pressed him between the pages of my mind. In fact, I began the process when I took his photo. Maybe that's why it made him uncomfortable? Like hanging a deer head on your wall.

Yet, if he was *here*?

Who knows. I hate this guesswork thing, this feeling like I'm supposed to somehow *know*, in advance, how everything is going to go! Like *I'm* responsible, single-handedly.

Argh. I *swore* I wouldn't overthink this, and just let my feelings be my guide.

But when the feelings have no - instigator, except memory, which tends (in my experience) to be selective and sometimes seems to, almost randomly, magnify or diminish certain details -

Well. Can I accentuate the positive?

Sweetheart, dearest grasshopper, you can do whatEVER you want. It's your life, your mind, your heart, your world. He enters and leaves it as he chooses. So far, you've made all the moves. You've led, he's followed (though he claims to want to be the 'head'. Very confusing.)

On the *surface*, it *sounds* like many a previous.

But it FEELS different. I don't feel all angsty, or sad, or *any*thing, really, except just missing him and wishing I could be with him again.

And in the absence of that? I want *some*one to be with. Not just anyone, but where all those feelings are still in place.

guess I'm not off the hook

with the guilt thing as easily as all that.

All day I've been thinking about calling him ♥ or, on and off all day; at a certain point, I began to feel guilty for *not* calling him. As if I'd made a *commitment* to him, simply by setting the pattern of calling him every day for a week. As if *I* were solely responsible, and it was *my* fault if the 'relationship' failed.

Ringing any bells, yet, grasshopper? Echoes of practically *every* relationship heretofore in your life, of any serious significance? Starting with the 'rents, continuing with at least one of the bro's, aunts, uncles, grandparents, you name it.

Now of course there *have* been exceptions, but I never fall in *love* with them - no, it's not 'love' unless I have to *chase after him*. Argh.

So. Now I lay me down to sleep, and charge the *other guy* my GUILT to keep.

Hah! Put THAT in yer terbaccy smoker an' puff upon it.

***
Now, mind you, I'm not *blaming* myself. Merely attempting to *notice* a pattern.

And leap the sides of this mile-high groove that done wore itself into my psyche!

***
Actually, there *is* a difference this time. It may be an inch-worm-ish kind of difference, but nonetheless: I think I see *light* at the end of this here tunnel! And no, it's *not* an oncoming train, y'all pessimistic types!

***
But: I *want* to speak to him! To *heck* with all these silly rules. I think I'll call him tomorrow. :-)

when you are continually inundated

with one message

the same message

day in

day out


it is nearly impossible for the brain to even *grasp*, imagine, any alternative.

Bombarded. 24/7

Or, conversely:

Perhaps the mind/soul, starved for sustenance, LEAPS viscerally. Religion, for example, provides succor to the soul-sick, the life-weary.

I am just trying to understand. Still seeking that Theory of Everything, or whatever the heck it's called.

***
Am watching Wonderful World with Matthew Broderick. Very painful, very bitter.

Mentions game theory. Am googling about that as I watch the movie.

Interesting variant (or clone?) of Abundance Theory, at first glance.

(Guy at the library said, today, "It's all good." How I would *dearly* love to strangle, throttle and/or beat about the head and neck all brain-washed IDIOTS who spout this mindless tripe.

It is fucking DEMONSTRABLY *NOT* all good, you fucking moron!

But I settled for merely saying, calmly, "I wouldn't go that far. But I'm glad it's working for you." Then walked away.)

***

The sticking point, aka: Guilt

Second chakra.

This blob around my midsection, that I pat, and talk to, and wonder if it's a - something? That needs to be re-born? Or what. And not knowing, just - not knowing.

But the dream last night, and him ♥, and a movie I just watched - well, it all stirs together in my subconscious and

SETS ME FREE!

Yay! Finally!

***
You see, I think it all started with my mother.

I always thought there was something going on with her, something she was sad about, something she felt bad about. Or, maybe, *many* things?

I always felt I was supposed to take care of her, protect her.

It almost felt like my dad *charged* me with this duty, in some way - so that he wouldn't have to do all of it alone? Possibly. Because she needed a *lot* of protecting, at least in the beginning. Very fragile.

But *I*, because smart, maybe? Was seen as tough and strong, or, at least, as having no *excuse* for *not* being tough and strong. Because I was smart, see? So I was *obligated* to use this 'gift' for the well-being? or something - of the people around me.

Sigh. Argh.

***
For the millionth time I will say: The healing is EXPERIENTIAL.

Meaning, that we learn, or *heal*, from having a - counteractive? experience. One that 'overwrites' the previous experience, strongly enough to leave its own imprint in place of the old one.

***
So he held me. And didn't let go.

And even when he had to go? It didn't *feel* like a rejection - it felt like, "Now I have to move on, but I'm still thinking of you."

It's like, he's connected but he doesn't know it. His excitement, his enthusiasm every time at seeing me again, even if we'd been only a few hours apart.

And it *isn't* about sex. Because the last time he just wanted to sit, and talk, and touch, and enjoy each others' company.

***
And yet:

I have to eat. Every day.

And now that I know what it *feels* like, to *feel* full, to *feel* satiated, happy, brimming over with joy -

I need more. Because, like food? It burns off. The tank empties, and you have to fill it up again.

And though our phone conversation was lovely yesterday, it's not enough.

I NEED the physical, tangible presence of that other person. I can't survive on an IDEA. I am flesh and blood; so is he.

he said something about 'metaphysical' yesterday, and I said, "Well, sort of - no, not really. It's more of an actual, tangible, physical thing. It's a thing between two (or more) people. An *actual* thing, a *real* thing."

It's not metaphysical at all - that's what it *becomes* when people can't *get* the real, tangible, actual thing.

But God (forgive me, my ♥ ) and all other 'representations' are just that: Substitutes. Junk food for the soul.

clearing the jam

trying not to over think

driving myself to distraction since he ♥ left, trying to remember without ‘thinking too much’. Trying to fix him in my mind, to capture him indelibly, imprint him on my brain.

“Hey there,” he said, when I called yesterday.

I wanted to talk to him about an energy thing we’d been discussing (not to mention just wanting to hear his voice.)

I asked him how much time he had – two minutes? Five minutes? He’d said he was out on the tracks in his truck.

“However much time you want,” he said.

***
Last night around 10:30 a fierce wind blew a line down somewhere (or perhaps a tree fell) and took out our power.

I was grateful, really – I’d been on such an endless round of nervous energy, living on my nerves, as the Brits say, that I’d nearly exhausted myself.

But I couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t seem to let go.

I think what was happening was that I need to let him ♥ go, set him free.

In some way I don’t have words for.

Or, maybe it’s *me* I need to set free.

I’ve always felt that men and women are held to different rules – that women are expected to be – loyal? or something – more than men are. That men are free to wander, as they please, come and go in *all* realms of life. While women are expected to watch from the sidelines.

Well, I don’t play by those rules, and I never have. I play the way *I* want to.

And he ♥ accepted that.

So now, I owe him nothing, except whatever I owe him in my own mind.

And I don’t think *he* thinks I owe him a thing!

So it’s quite freeing, really.

Except – I don’t *want* to be free any more.

For once in my life, I *want* to be possessed, to be owned, to be wanted more than anyone else in the world.

To be the center of someone’s life and heart and universe, his being wrapped around mine, and mine around his.

I’ve never been ready to settle down before. I think it all comes from meeting the ‘right’ person – it’s experiential, really. Once it’s happened, you can’t go back.

He asked me, when we first met in the parking lot where I was trying to install my car battery, why I didn’t have a husband or boyfriend to do that for me.

I was flattered – the assumption that I was ‘marriage material’ is one that has, heretofore, escaped me.

So *that* was what caught my attention first: He outright *said* that he considered me marriageable. Which means *he* would consider it.

It’s not that no one’s ever said such a thing to me before, mind you, now that I come to think of it – it’s just that it never struck me as something I’d actually want to *do* with that particular person. In other words, it was never the right *one* saying those words.

Hm.

***
And then, after the power went out, I simply went to bed and slept, dreamlessly, I believe, until sometime in the wee hours when the lights came back on, and I was awakened briefly, but too tired to put out the overhead light which I’d accidentally left on.

I woke up a few hours later, tired still but revived from a powerful dream.

I dreamed that my brothers and my family wouldn’t help me, and in retaliation, I dumped my bully brother in the garbage can. Ooh, it was so WONDERFUL to see him lying there, trapped and helpless, unable to get out.

I began to suffocate him under all the garbage, someone was helping me, I’m not sure who.

When he began to grow weak and stop struggling, I let him go, and pulled him out a bit to see if he was still breathing.

I am becoming merciless, just like *they* are. Without pity. Without remorse.

And yet it is selective – I wouldn’t hurt him ♥ for anything in the world! But only because *he* is so careful with *me*.

You see, it is so *easy* to be careless, to cut someone and ‘leave them bleeding’.

And then the wound, if left untended, festers. And possibly becomes – what’s the word – not bilious – argh, can’t think of it.

Anyway, it turns all horrible and messy and poisons the person.

My ability to trust

that sweetness is available to me.


Life is full of sweetness.

It is also full of bitter, and sour.

Sometimes you can choose; other times, things just seem to come your way and sometimes, you get caught out. Or, maybe it's like that Spanish saying, "En boca cerrado no entran moscas." In other words, don't go around with your mouth hanging open (like some kind of dolt?) and maybe nothing will fly in there.

Tell people to BE NICE.

When that doesn't work? Walk away. Allow NOT that bitterness, that cruelty, that unthinking, thoughtless, mindless, numb inconsideration to tarnish or taint you in any way. Water offa duck.

People mostly seem to have NO IDEA what they need

nor do they seem to notice when they *get* what they need.

Which would be great, and natural, except that a huge percentage of people are operating under this massive delusion that they NEED NOTHING.

I want to SMACK them.

But I won't :-)

I finally found me

a lonesome cowboy. I roped him and threw him over my saddle and rode off into the ... well, anyway, it was *something* like that. :-)

***
He's an Okie, works on trains.

When he first told me he was an Okie, I thought he was being clever, telling me he was a wanderer who went wherever there was work.

In fact, he *does* go wherever there's work, all over the country. Drives his big white mobile mechanic's rig here, there and everywhere. Spends his life in motels, pubs and alongside railroad tracks.

Turns out, I think, he was testing me - seeing if I'd reject him immediately for being a hick. Quite the contrary, I'd say - he turned my head to such an extent that I just followed him right to his truck and gave him my phone number.

And came back to my car later (after hunting down a part at the junkyard with mom) to find a note from *him* on my windshield.

Imagine me grinning so wide my face about splits in half right aboutcheer :-)

He fixed my car for me - first time a guy's ever done that for me. Or, at least, the first time I've ever had a 'boyfriend' type of guy do that, the other times were friends, and in most cases I was up to my elbows in grease right next to them.

In this case, for the first time in my life, I just stood by. I might as well have had a lace hanky, I felt like a GIRL!

I think that captures it. I have never been with a man who made me feel that way - like he could just lift me up and carry me off and I would be completely incapable of resisting.

But the thing is, as soon as you pull away, he lets go - and then when you come back he enfolds you, wraps you up in his arms like - well, I can't tell where he starts and I let off. I think I said this before.

My knees actually *do* get weak when I think about it. It's an actual, genuine, real phenomenon. I've had the hots for guys before, but this is in a different league - so visceral I feel like I hardly have any brain at all, I'm just one gigantic pheromone. Yeah, romantic, huh?

Romance has nothing to do with it. This is the raw, fundamental stuff - dirt and blood and guts and - LIFE. At its most essential.

While he was fixing my car I managed to resist just standing there gawking at him, though one time I did ask him a really dumb question, and he gave me this *look* with those bright blue eyes (what is it about blue eyes, anyway?) and I swear it went right through me. I can't explain it, but I swear I felt my ovaries TWITCH.

There was one time when I came to check how he was doing on the car, and he had his eyes closed with his head kind of turned to the side, facing me, he was totally focused on what his hands were doing, doing it entirely by feel.

He never cursed once, or even expressed much in the way of frustration, even when one of the stubborn old hoses wouldn't come loose. He just kept going, stopping to rest his hands when he needed to.

:-)

Maybe it's just a timing thing, and my body is so ripe and ready to have a child that I'm just flinging myself

No.

This is different.

It's not love, and it's not lust. It's more visceral than either of those things, and it's GREAT! I need a different word for it.

***
He's religious, and I'm not.

He believes that the man is supposed to be in charge; I told him I'd never be anybody's caboose, I'd never walk one pace behind and to the left of ANYbody. That I'd never be second fiddle, that I want a relationship that's like binary stars - I'm *no*body's satellite.

However.

He took me wherever I wanted to go.

He stood there and held my fiddle and pack and umbrella, all these things dwarfed by his huge hands (mechanic's hands, beautiful, strong hands)

Ok, so I'm a *little* bit in love. It's all right, I think I'll survive it. :-)

When I came out of rehearsal on Saturday a little earlier than expected, I called to see where he was at.

"Sitting here waiting for you," he said.

No games, nothing. Just straight up.

He is so FREAKING polite, I don't know whether it's the classic southern manners or just him, or maybe a little of both, but when we were at a restaurant having breakfast - well, let's just say, he's not crude and rude like most men. Even in private. It's not just a public show.

And he *notices* things. He pays attention, to little details, About EVERYTHING.

After he fixed my car, he seemed to be looking for something else to do - he checked my oil, my air filter, gave me some advice on a belt I was worried about. Helped me clean up, checked my car three times with the (voltmeter?) Stood there and waited while I drove around the block and came back. (Alternator, though with his accent it comes out "alt'nator".)

And the politeness. I mean, it's not that kind of artificial, social politeness - he genuinely *means* it. He's genuinely sorry if he offends somebody, and wants to make amends, immediately.

It's like he ties himself in knots to be helpful. But it's not awkward like that makes it sound - it's just, he's not terribly sure of himself. I *think*. I mean, he outright said, when we first talked on the phone after we first met, that he'd had some 'self esteem problems' in the past.

This is skipping around -

After dinner Saturday, I didn't want to just go home (it was at *least* an hour's drive from the motel he was staying at to where he picked me up), but he's not a city boy (actively dislikes the city), so I racked my brain for something he might enjoy. I offered him a choice between going dancing (he said he used to know how to two-step) or a cafe where a singer I'd been wanting to hear was playing.

He said, "Let's go to the cafe - I don't really care about dancing, and if it'll help you do something you need to do..."

I've never understood the idea of "letting the man feel like he's in charge" - I've always thought it was purest bullshit, and have never had and *slightest* desire to fill that role for any man.

But.

He was *so* generous, *so* kind, thoughtful, patient, undemanding.

I felt all the old anger at previous men - my father, brother, uncles, grandfathers, co-workers, past boyfriends, random men in the universe at large - just melt away.

I FINALLY, for the first time in many, many years, RELAXED. Maybe not *completely* (after all, that tension and resentment was many years in the making), but I found myself being insanely CAREFUL with him - careful of what I said, careful not to offend him (such as cussing, though I slipped up a few times and he never said anything).

It's like a kind of mind control, this incredible patience. He's like a freaking ROCK, he's so solid.

And yet, he's not. He's vulnerable, and open, and I feel so protective of him. It's the damnedest thing. And dang me if it doesn't WORK - he gets to look and feel strong, all the while leaning on me in subtle and quiet ways.

In return he lifts me up and holds me in his strong arms and does things I cannot do for myself. I felt like a queen, like royalty.

***
It's simultaneously something I've never really believed existed, and yet I think I finally get it. He puts you at the center of his universe, there *are* no other women besides you. He does not in any way allow you to be shaken by a wandering eye or roving hand. He's solid.

Now, mind you, I've spent a grand total of, oh, 15 hours with this guy? Over the course of a few days. And in a few *more* days? He'll be gone, and I have no idea (at this point) whether I'll ever see him again.

The god thing, the 'man is the head of the household' thing, the Oklahoma thing - well, we haven't talked about it.

*I'm* the one who said (to *him*, after talking with him for about 45 minutes in his truck outside the cafe, while waiting for the singer's act to start), surf, baby surf - life's short and unpredictable, and, in the words of Ferris Bueller, "if you aren't careful, you could miss it."

***
I think this is also the first time I've been attracted to someone who's truly opposite. Though in some ways we're amazingly similar.

I don't know *what* to think, and soon he'll be gone.

I just want to gather as much of him in my memory as I can, like rose petals to press between pages of a book, of sweet peaches to can against the cold of winter - memories of warmth, sweetness, kindness, generosity, and strength.

I keep thinking of more little moments: When we were getting ready to go Sunday morning, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, putting his hair (shoulder length) in a ponytail. He shook it forward, still wet from his shower, like a woman would, except, not. Mmmmm.

***
He's so SIMPLE. And yet, not simple-minded, though he sometimes comes across that way. He just - doesn't seem to need much. He's pretty self-sufficient - when I came out from the shower, he was lying on the bed, fully dressed, arms behind his head, apparently contemplating nothing in particular, just lying there.

I knew he had to go to work, though he didn't say a thing about it, never rushed me, never said a word. Just got dressed and ready to go, and then laid on the bed.

He didn't seem patient, or impatient - he was just waiting, like I imagine an old Indian might wait, with no particular sense of urgency or hurry, just doing one thing after the next with this absolute calm.

I think that's what I really like about him, at certain moments, there's this utter *peacefulness* about him. Something self-contained.

And yet, he still *needs* me, or, somebody. So that self-containment doesn't come off as standoffish or aloof - just, self-contained. But then when he grabs onto me, it doesn't feel clingy - it's more like - roots, digging into the soil, seeking sustenance. It's like I'm the earth, and he needs me to grow into.

***
I felt like he was always testing me, to see what I'm made of. We're supposed to have lunch tomorrow (Tues), we'll see if he's done testing me yet.

So far he's let me make *all* the moves, though he hasn't resisted or rejected any of the moves I've made. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

***
His language is very old-fashioned, almost archaic sometimes. And yet, he like Guinness, and Fat Tire, and raspberry vinaigrette. (!)

Wonders never cease.

***
He wears jeans and a t-shirt and big heavy work boots, and listens to classical music.

[Sigh - Blooger ate a big chunk here]

like it never happened before. The magic of chemistry.

***
Also, just for the record? Hollywood movies are evil. I just watched a classic rom-com chick flick, and had to snap myself out of the haze of wishful thinking afterward.

Grasshopper, PULL yourSELF toGEther! (Whap, whap!) (shades of Edna Mode :-)

I'm trying really hard not to think too much, but rather to just go with it.

I'll keep you posted.

intuition

[Edited to add: This post feels really rambly and incoherent. Reminder to self: This is why my blog is subtitled "thinking out loud". Sometimes ideas come out clean and clear and all in one piece, like that rare time you crack a walnut and the nut comes out whole ... other times, I have to sort of 'pin' my ideas up there and *look* at them before I can decide if that's what I really think or mean to say. So here goes.]

Left brain thinkers don’t understand intuitive thinkers as well as intuitive thinkers understand left brain thinkers.

Is that right? Dunno. Let it sit for a while and *then* see what I think. :-) That’s how an intuitive thinker THINKS: By feel.

***
So I have this friend who says I ‘think too much,’ (actually, he’s only said it once – and I hope he never says it again!)

But anyway, my ‘thought’ on that today is:

What if, right brain thinkers arrive at things circuitously, indirectly and often without engaging any conscious ‘thinking’ whatsoever?

In other words, we *appear* to have these miraculous bursts of insight or ‘intuition’.

But really it’s not that at all – it’s just that we accumulate ‘knowledge’ differently.

For example, the very *same* friend who says I ‘think too much’ has *also* said, “You assimilate things very rapidly.”

Big smile! :-)

Yes, he’s right, I *do* assimilate things rapidly.

Which means: Things ‘hit’ me harder than people who assimilate things *less* rapidly.

Like, a particular piece of ‘information’ might hit a more impervious person’s mind a million times (yes, I exaggerate) before it actually penetrates (their thick skull – ooh, mean!) or, “sinks in”.

Whereas, with *me*, I ‘grasp’ individual bits of information fairly quickly, but it may take me longer to fit them into the overall picture.

And the other thing is, that kind of 'quickness' can be a two-edged sword.

For example, if I want to figure something out really fast, sometimes my brain will operate at lightning speed, almost faster that *I* can keep up with.

But other times that same 'lightning' absorption will mean a kind of hyper-sensitivity, in that I'm 'picking up' things that other seem not to notice.

So, some small and seemingly insignificant piece of 'information' will entirely escape one person, while *I*, on the other hand will be 'resonating' from this bit of 'data'. I'm not able (or seem not to be able) to 'block out' seemingly 'irrelevant' information the way a left-brainer does - it's almost as if *all* data is equally important to the right brain, and it sorts through priorities as it accumulates significant enough quantities to make a decision.

Not able to complete this thought just now, feels too tangly.

***
And also, here’s *another* way in which I think the ‘linear’ and the ‘circular’ or ‘meandering’ thinker differ: The meanderer (or, right brain thinker, as I believe myself to be) tends to sort of ‘accumulate’ a big pile of *stuff*, call it facts, information, ideas, what have you.

And then, like a steaming pile of fermenting, moldy compost, the idea *arises*, almost (apparently? or, to all appearances?) ‘spontaneously’. Just like a leftover weed seed might sprout in that selfsame pile of manure.

Whereas the linear thinker can only *see* or *perceive* one outcome, one path, one route, one possibility, and therefore makes his decisions quickly and easily, the meanderer tends to wander from one idea to the next, picking something up and putting it down, asking questions, gathering (apparently) ‘random’ information because, hey, you never know what might come in handy, right?

And out of the pile of apparently unrelated, sometimes useless-seeming ‘information’, suddenly the ‘solution’ or answer materializes (or so it seems), just as a plant may seem to magically appear out of an untended pile of dirt.

***
So. Have I downloaded all the current stack of ideas on this subject yet? Seems like something’s eluding me. Guess I’ll post this much and see if I can spot the escapee.

***
Oh.

So, the whole *point* of this was, to point out to my 'friend' that, hey, when I (a right-brain thinker) have to explain one of my fabulous flashes of intuitive brilliance to *you*, a left-brain thinker, I HAVE to hyper-engage (or 'overthink') with *my* left brain in order to put something that is BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS to *me* into language that *you* will understand.

Capisce?

Tortoise and hare.

***
This might explain why I'm so fond of metaphors - they capture the brilliance of the intuitive flash, while still (often, usually?) containing enough 'fact' to convey my meaning to the left-brain thinker.

I think.

In other words, the 'leap' that the intuitive thinker makes *doesn't make any sense* to the linear, left-brain thinker, because *he's* got to go at it one step at a time.

Whereas, for the *intuitive* thinker, the sudden leap happens *instantaneously*, and the steps that led up to it are [argh, blooger (not blogger :-) *ate* a fragment here] e' in this competition.

Wandering further and further afield, still not sure I've managed to make my 'point' yet. Gah.

'Nother one: The BOYZ

This'll need filling out later, mostly a placeholder for now.

The double-standard thing, where I'm supposed to be, SIMULTANEOUSLY,

this NEEDY, HELPLESS creature

And yet, AT ONE AND THE SAME TIME,

totally self sufficient and have it all together.

So, which is it? One, or the other.

NOT both. They're fucking MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, you FUCKING IDIOTS.

Guilt tripper, yeah!

I caught her, I caught her! YEAH! And I think it shocked and surprised her :-)

No more putting up with THAT shit!

"Don't try to guilt trip me for something *I* didn't do! It's NOT MY FAULT!"

And she recognized the unfairness of BLAMING me for something I had no control over and nothing to do with, that I didn't even KNOW about.

So she backed off, not quite apologizing (goddess *forbid*!), but at least seeing that she was OUT OF LINE.

***
So this is 'their' technique: (dysfunctional? passive aggressive? child of alcoholic? who knows.)

They:

Get you on the defensive.
Attack.
Keep you off balance.

Since *YOU* don't THINK this way, or ACT this way, you never catch on to their trick, they always catch you off guard.

Because *you're* always trying to be fair, and rational, as is your NATURAL way to be. To THINK, and to CONSIDER BOTH (or ALL) sides.

And THEN act, once you've thought it through.

These OTHER guys, on the other hand, just BELT in there without looking, without thinking, and then expect YOU to clean up the gigantic MESS that THEY've left behind.

***

NAIL

HAMMER

BAM!!!!!!!!

I can actually FEEL my head, neck and shoulders RELAX at not having to carry the WEIGHT of that unnecessary BULLSHIT.

I fucking CAUGHT the slippery little bugger!

YOUR
failure to COMMUNICATE

is

NOT
MY
FAULT!!!!!

I want to SCREAM this at the top of my LUNGS!

She TRIED to blame ME for HER mistakes. Make it MY fault that SHE was unreachable at the time she said she would be.


But I CAUGHT her!

And CALLED HER ON IT!

And gave it straight back:
"Don't try to make ME feel guilty for YOUR mistake!"

"YOU fucked up, NOT ME!

"And for ONCE, I fucking CAUGHT you at it!"

Her trick, which I *just now* spotted, when she's feeling frustrated or angry, is to TAKE IT OUT ON ME. Whether it's MY fault or not. Whether I had ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT WHATSOEVER, or not.

Jesus FUCKING christ.

The fucking SCAPEGOAT phenomenon, yet AGAIN.

Yes, I'm shouting. Through my keyboard.

:-)

***
The FUNNY thing is, she actually sounded SHEEPISH when I called her on it!

She said, well, now I can't do this, this and this.

I said, "I've called you FOURTEEN TIMES in the last 45 minutes trying to fucking COMMUNICATE with you so that THIS WOULDN'T HAPPEN!"

Her: "Well, I've been up a ladder and had my phone off."

Me: "THAT is not MY fault! Don't try to lay a GUILT TRIP on me for something I had nothing to do with!!!!"

Note to self:
*I* was trying to communicate! While YOU were busy just doing what YOU needed to do! And you weren't THINKING about ME at all, AS USUAL.

See, she tries to make it my FAULT.

Like there's any FAULT, or BLAME, necessary.

*I* was just trying to work something out that would work for BOTH of us, by using this so-called 'convenient' technology to HELP US FUCKING COMMUNICATE.

But INSTEAD, it wasted all the time I COULD have been spending doing what *I* needed to do to GET READY TO GO.

So she tries to put ME on the defensive -

I'm still trying to figure this out -

She takes HER uncomfortable feelings, and puts them on ME, and tries to make ME responsible for them.

Instead of ASKING outright for what SHE NEEDS, she just FAILS TO COMMUNICATE.

And then gets all UPSET when she can't get done what she needs to get done.

Something about power, perception of who has power and who doesn't, ways that 'powerless' people communicate. Or don't.

Or how they ('powerless' people) use NON COMMUNICATION to try to REGAIN some power. By simply being UNRESPONSIVE.

The thing is, they don't KNOW they're doing ANY of this stuff.

They just DO it, blindly and blithely, belting through life leaving a trail of baffled, befuddled and ANGRY people behind them.

GAH!

parents seem to have (little or) no grasp of

how their behavior and actions affect their children.

Many (parents) seem to act as if their children are gunny sacks to be hauled around and slung into corners, and until the kid reaches an age at which she can FIGHT BACK and begin to speak up for herself and LOOK OUT for HER OWN INTERESTS, parents treat us as if we're no more than an inconvenience to be dealt with in whatever way seems easiest at the moment.

Some articles I found today on that subject (of parental cluelessness):

one small piece of information shifts the whole picture - or, "fortunately, unfortunately"

Seismic shift to the landscape yesterday -

She* said that she called dad MANY times to come bail her out. Said she'd call him up MANY times and say, "Guess what?"

And he'd come and rescue her.

Now, god DAMN it - why didn't somebody tell me this YEARS ago?

All this time, I've felt so GUILTY about needing help, about not being TOTALLY, 100% SELF SUFFICIENT, and BUYING this fucking BULLSHIT LIE

where everybody pretends they did everything single-handedly.

BULLSHIT! I want to run around SCREAMING that at people at the top of my lungs.

EVERYBODY, without exception (which, of course, must include *me* - dang) does this.

They FALSELY ATTRIBUTE to themselves these oh-so-MAHVELOUS qualities, like little superheroes, when in FACT they're NOTHING OF THE SORT.

They're just little, ordinary people who fuck things up left right and center, but who, quite grandly, and possibly even GRANDIOSELY, take FULL CREDIT for each and every thing.

Can you say, pretending you live in a vacuum?

Can you say, YOU'RE FULL of SHIT???

I hope it's becoming perfectly clear how LIVID, FURIOUS and fucking incandescently RAGE-ful this behavior makes me. It makes me want to SMACK people, UPside the head, and then on their litte, stupid, supercilious, smarmy, IRRITATING fannies.

WHACK!!!!!! take THAT!!!!!!!

***
Ahhhh, feeling a bit better now :-)

***
Take yesterday, for example.

We're out there, freezing our ARSES off, in the cold, the wet.

Now, FORTUNATELY, my car had stalled out in a section of side street with no irritating little parking signs, so I wasn't immediately going to get towed.

Unfortunately, the car did NOT start right up.

Fortunately, I had a larger gas can that I brought from home this time.

Unfortunately, the stupid slippy slider thingy that you have to slide back while simultaneously bending the (not-so-bendy) nozzle and pushing it through the little flap in the gas tank to get the gas in SLIPPED and took a HUGE bite out of my knuckle and there I was, bleeding like a stuck pig all over the side of the car while breathing gas fumes and cursing the stupid idiots who design all such clever devices to require THREE hands instead of two. Sigh.

Fortunately, I did not bleed to death. :-) Also fortunately, I had her* there holding the umbrella, and she even (for once!) gave me a piece of useful advice! Actually, to be fair, she was *insanely* helpful all day long. For which I am grateful.

And the *funny* part is, I watcher her*, this 70-something-year-old woman, flirting SHAMElessly with every male passerby, and SHAMElessly enlisting help from all of them.

Now, I don't know where I got this idea that I have to do everything alone, I can only guess that
a) My family made me feel guilty any time I asked for help, by mocking, shaming and humiliating me and
b) I was more sensitive to these rejections than other people in my family are.

For example, yesterday mom asked for help a *bunch* of times, from all kinds of people. She seemed to just ASSUME that someone would jump right in there and help her. I don't know if it's some kind of 'old lady' cred, or what, but it was initially kind of embarassing. After I while I got over it and started to marvel at the efficaciousness of it, and then started to try to copy her.

The problem, for *me*, is that I hate dealing with the male ego bullshit that inevitably goes along with getting help from many (not all, but many) males.

The automatic assumption of, "Step aside, little lady, let me handle that for you."

Meanwhile failing to acknowledge that I *almost* had the problem solved already, and he was just stepping in at the last second so he could look like the hero. Really, I'd already *done* all the difficult groundwork, and he was basically stealing my thunder.

I don't know why she* isn't bothered by that - maybe if you don't know enough to do something yourself in the first place, you're less likely to feel affronted if somebody does it 'for' you.

In my case I was perfectly capable of finishing the job myself - mom's 'help' was more of the variety of 'let's see how many different ways I can get in your way and make you less efficient.'

Although it *was* nice to have her standing there, it's *much* less miserable to do *any* miserable job alone.

***
Mom couldn't deal with the sight of me bleeding all over the place, so when I finished putting the gas in, she wanted to go over to the machine shop, which
was right next to where I'd had to leave the car. Yay, universe! A big crane shop, with lots of cool, gigantic cranes like they use on construction sites.

So we went in, and they tried to find me a bandaid (these two, big, burly, guys covered in grease head to foot, I'm sure hadn't used a bandage themselves in *years*). The best they could come up with was a gauze pad to soak up the blood, which I accepted, gratefully and graciously, so that they wouldn't feel they'd been wasting their time.

***
Had mom jump the car ONE MORE TIME, and it sat there and ran fine. So, having had the car die half a dozen times with the previous attempts to start it, I backed up and just sort of rolled forward so that if it died again I wouldn't have this massive hassle with trying to push a dead car.

It went forward about 10 feet, sounding fine, then tapered off and died. Again.

So then I tried starting the car again, and it didn't even make a click.

Picture grasshopper with A VERY SAD FACE HERE. (Don't worry, I won't try to draw it this time :-)

***
I called to mom to come help me push it back into the parking place (it was sticking out into the road a bit), as I'd come to the conclusion that the next thing to do was to get a new battery.

Mom came over to push, and right then a young guy was walking by on the sidewalk and she asked him to help her. *I* thought she was rather peremptory about it, almost bossy, but the guy came right over to help.

We had to work it back and forth a bit, because when it stalled it had been rolling back toward the curb, and even though I cranked the wheel, the power steering doesn't work very well without the engine running, so it was up against the curb.

Then the guy in front of us moved his car, leaving me a perfect clear spot, and I asked if they could push me up there in case I had to leave it again, no one would be able to block me in as the spot was at the front of a section of curb.

***
So then we went to get the battery, and

Fortunately they had one. Fortunately, it was not terribly expensive, and the maternal unit agreed to buy it for me as an 'early Christmas present', because I was out of cash for the month, and wouldn't be getting more $$ for about a week. Had not, of course, anticipated this particular little mishap.

UNfortunately, the battery was too tall, and the hood wouldn't shut! :-(

Fortunately, the fabulous machine shop (the crane guys) had basically a full-on hardware store at their disposal, and I just walked over and asked the guy if they had a screw just like *this* one, only a 1/4 inch longer.

Lo and behold, he had it (drawers and drawers full of hardware! COOL!) and just handed it to me, along with a spare, plus washers -

"THANKS!" I exclaimed, gratefully. "Is that so I can drop one in the engine?"
"Yeah," he said, giving me what I *thought* was sort of a combination appreciative/admiring (for my fabulous intelligence, I assume :-) look, with a little bit of sheepishness, as if I'd caught him assuming I was an idiot. But I *didn't* feel that way, at all - they'd lent me a handful of wrenches and just let me go with them, apparently deciding that I seemed like I knew what I was doing.

(While we were trying to get the clamp over the top of the battery, a guy from the plumbing shop across the street came over and offered to help, as I was having trouble getting the thread to catch. I *almost* had it, and was almost kind of frustrated to not finish it myself - reference previous comments about 'stealing my thunder - but mom seemed to insist that I accept his offere of 'help'. It was such an easy job it hardly seemed like real 'help' at all, but - whatever. I guess I was happy to let him do it, as he had an actual ratchet set in his truck, where I'd just been using wrenches - I was afraid to ask to borrow ratchets, since I know they're more precious than wrenches. I figure I'd have better odds of actually *getting* what I asked for if I didn't ask for the moon.)

***
Got the new battery in the car, fired up like a champ. I was still wary, though, so pulled it off to the side to think. Decided I'd take it round the corner to the Schuck's - we had to go back there to give them my old battery and get the core deposit back, anyway - to do an alternator test. (During the course of the whole scenario, both a kid at Schucks and a*nother* guy from the plumbing shop made comments about possibly needing a new alternator. And I'd been thinking about it anyway, after all the jump starts, I wasn't *totally* convinced it was just the battery.)

So mom met me at the Schuck's, and sure enough, the alternator tested bad.

Now I have to scratch my head some more.

***
So the moral of the story is, don't *ever* take what your parents *say* as truth - just like anybody, they're liable to be guilty of stretching, exaggerating or purely mis-representing the 'truth' altogether.

Because even when people *know* what the actual 'truth' is, they still tend to twist and bend it to suit their purposes. We all want to come out smelling like roses, right?

It was interesting to SEE in action my mom's penchant for asking for help, openly and blatantly, and showing no slightest concern or remorse for what anybody thought of her. She seems to take it as just her RIGHT. Interesting.



*the woman who popped me out into this current iteration of beingness. There. Was that vague enough? :-)