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? :-)

Throwing OUT the parental imperative

[written Oct 27 but not posted 'til today]

and so we are driven
over and over,
and on and on

by the unfinished business visited on us
by our parents.

They know not what they do,
nor did their parents,
nor their parents' parents before them.

So it goes, endlessly, a viciously unbroken chain
down the generations.

Sins visited on sons

resentments visited on daughters.

When, and HOW, does it stop?

Merely willing it does not seem to make it so –
the SOB is ELUSIVE, and escapes our grasp.

But we try.

To push it away, to resist. To be DIFFERENT
than they were.

To not make the same mistakes that they made.

And to stop passing along the pain.


***
People, mostly, seem unaware of what they do, or why

Oblivious to their deepest drives, they pursue their parents’ dreams for them
like blind, deaf and dumb robots

just following orders.


***
‘Forgiveness’ is not the answer.

RELEASE is.

As Vianne finally released her mother’s ashes to the sly north wind in Chocolat, so must I find a way to rid myself of the mantle of beliefs and burdens that my parents carried.

I must cast it away, into the hurricane winds of fate.

Let their unfinished business
remain THEIRS.

NOT mine.

***
Many a child
carries on her parent's business
long after the parent is dead
in hopes of currying the favor
that was never won in life,

It is like a curse
a geas
an ALBATROSS
around one's neck
from which one can never, fully, be free.

It is as if
when you were a brand, new, raw, lump of clay, fresh from the womb

they grabbed you up, slammed you to the ground and
PUNCHED you

leaving the indelible mark of their ANGRY FIST

as if to say,

“I was never free.

And so neither shall YOU escape, either.”

It is as if they are saying,

“As I have suffered, so shall you.”

***
I think I, all unwittingly,

got my revenge on my father, when,
as he lay dying, and was gasping his last breaths,

I said,
“It’s ok dad, it’s ok to go. It’s all right.”

And with what little breath he had remaining,
he made a feeble, what seemed like a terrified, anguished
cry, a sob, almost, wrenched from him, at that penultimate moment of his life -

like a seagull at a great distance.

I have always wondered what it meant.

And now I wonder: Did he see it, as long last

as our recognition

of freedom from his tyranny?

For *all* fathers, under patriarchy,
are tyrants,

no matter whether they wear a sheep’s clothing

or a wolf’s.

***
I think I had felt
that he was hanging on for our mother’s sake
because she NEEDED him so much.

But at long last, he could not hang on any longer.

I meant it as a blessing, a release,
a surcease of sorrow

into peace.

I hope he took it that way.

Hermit

It's funny, I've been more and more of a hermit, as I try to follow my 'gut' and let things fall away and trust (hope?) that somehow I will survive in spite of having less work and even *less* money.

That I will 'turn the corner' just at the right moment, and things will begin coming up roses. That if I just BELIEVE (and, of course, click my heels in my red ruby slippers :-) that it will ALL COME TOGETHER.

Now, I'm not saying I believe in magic.

Nor do I believe in positive thinking.

But I *do* believe in being yourself as hard as you can. Because, otherwise, what's the point? If you go through life trying to be someone other than who you *are*, you're DOOMED to misery. Or, at least, that's what *I* think.

But. Who is this *I* of whom I speak? I mean, *I*, on one day, might be this happy, cheerful, carefree, delightful, charming being who smiles at everyone and scatters fairydust upon one and all, and the world seems full of rainbows and unicorns and sparkle ponies.

And then: Gray, gloom, doom. Horrors! So much turns upon so little - one cog loses a tooth and the whole machine seizes up.

And yet, at the same time, I feel, often, like that cactus in the desert that blooms riotously with the tiniest drop of rain. Because my life has been so sere in certain ways, I bloom easily and quickly under the tender care of any random passerby.

So which is it?

The answer is: Both. I am mercurial, and fickle, and unpredictable. As are life, and the weather. Why expect *me* to remain unchanging when everything around me is like a roulette wheel, a kaleidoscope, an endless going-to-hell-in-a-bucket ride.

Why not just hang on and enjoy it?

***
Like today. After not having *touched* my fiddle in, oh, maybe a week? Two? I had a rehearsal this afternoon with a bunch of people I didn't know in a place I'd never been playing music I'd never seen (well, not *all* of it - some of the tunes were old familiars.)

Standard 'pro' gig, right? Everything's a crap shoot. You have no idea what's going to happen, and you hope for the best. And usually it works out fine, as long as none of the giant, competing egos in the room fall and CRUSH you to death.

So, speaking of egos, the lady who hired me for the gig is someone who annoys the living *crap* out of me, and for whom I have avoided playing, like the plague, lo these many years.

But this particular time the combination of factors was right: The timing (no other gigs that particular weekend); the money is marginal, but just barely adequate; it's a small ensemble; and the music and venue sounded interesting - a combination of old favorites and a few new works to back up a dance troupe. Never done something like that, and it's in a 'cool' part of town. Figured I'd be playing with a bunch of young, up-and-coming, wannabe hipsters who're trying to get in on the artsy scene.

So I drag my fanny up there, resisting all the way, still feeling funked out from caffeine and sugar and stress. And having to amp myself up for this after not having played for so long.

I get there, and sure enough: The room is practically *seething* with the energy of all these huge egos bashing off the walls. I want to lie down on the floor and just collapse, and not move. I can feel my energy draining away already.

So, I make a decision, though not really consciously (I see it more in retrospect): I will *not* let these people get to me. I will play the music *my* way, and be a good musician on *my* terms. I will absolutely *not* get sucked into the power and ego bullshit.

And it works! I think only because, out of the 8 or so people there, not including the dancer, at least two of the other players (interestingly, they were both men? Most of the friction was with the lady who hired me, and her daughter) seemed to be sort of 'on my side' - I kept making asides that kind of went opposite to what the 'dominators' were saying.

And even though I *thought* I was muttering them under my breath, people kept responding to what I was saying! So, it was as if I was actually *needed*, by the dynamic of the group, kind of like finding the right blend of ingredients for a stew (or possibly something more elegant :-)

In fact this was confirmed at the end, when somebody made a comment about appreciating me bringing my 'fiddlistic' viewpoint to the group, and I said, "I feel like I'm playing tug of war!" And the guy said, "Well, that means we need you even more!" (This was the composer guy saying this, who happened to also be one of the cellists.)

And I said, "Well, if I just suddenly *stop*, it's because I'm just taking a rest." And he laughed (slightly tensely - turns out he's the hiring lady's *son* [no nepotism *here*, no-sirree-Bob] and I think he felt a bit caught in the middle, but also seemed appreciative to not be the only one to have to stand up to his domineering mother. [ach, the feminist in me is saying, whose side are you *on* here, girl? confusing]) and said, "Tension and release." Which is, of course, the standard formula for all dynamic art forms - music, dance, movies, etc.

So I escaped with my life! And my ego was not steamrollered, I didn't have to shake it back into 3D shape like one of those Wile E. type characters in cartoons.

Whew.

Oh, so I'm just remembering the original thought that triggered all this:
(dagnab blooger - yes, BLOOGER, like BOOGER :-) - ATE a piece of my post! Will attempt to re-create.)

Periodically I wonder whether all this hermiting is doing me any good. Like, all this time I spend processing and 'learning' new ways of thinking and being and trying like *mad* to overwrite the old negative, destructive tape loops in my brain - is it *working*?

And today I say: Fuck YEAH, it's working! I mean, just LOOK at what I did today! That was un-fucking-beLIEVable! I mean, I stood up to them in ways that I'd *never* have done before, not where actual money and future (possible) reputation was at stake. I basically just said, fuck it - if I can't be myself at a gig like *this*? Then I don't want any part of this particular world any more. These people are just TOO fucking uptight, and, frankly, NON-MUSICAL for me. *I* get accused of 'thinking too much', but in fact I'm actually *quite* right-brained when it comes to music and art. I *think* I have the ability (most of the time) to *switch* between right- and left-brained thinking depending on the people and the situation. I mean, isn't that why we *have* both halves? Seems pretty silly to me that we each have these huge, giant crania (? singular?), but that most people only use *half* (or less?) of the supposed capacity they've got. Blargh.

So I just have to keep trusting my instincts. Yay, me! :-) Because, truly, what else can I *do*, as I said before? I *have* to be ME, just as hard as can. Because I really, truly believe there's no *point* otherwise.

I suppose the *obvious*, positive-thinking-spin answer to all this is, if you just be your*self*, then you'll piss off or drive away all those with whom you're *not* compatible, and anybody left standing (a kind of emotional version of musical chairs, maybe?) has *got* to be at least an approximation of a possible companion, compatriot, whatever.

So I'm goin' with it, fer now, less'n I think o' somethin' better.

Damocles, or: Fortunately, Unfortunately

Watching Lemony Snickets. I watched it once before, didn't make much of an impression, except that I loved the over-the-top stage sets (or whatever you call it in movies). (And decided Jim Carry was an obnoxious SOB, although, I have to admit, he's *insanely* [nyuk nyuk] perfect as the terryingly oppressive, cruel guardian to the children.)

So I've watched it 3 or 4 times in the last few days, wondering what draws me to it just now (other than the fact that nothing else that I've ordered has come in at the library :-).

I'm guessing that it's because the kids in the movie are so freakin' SMART! I feel just like them, though I have to say I relate a bit more to the boy than to the girl - he's a reader. Though she's an inventor, and I'm an inventor too, though more in the sense of having random, mad, wacky (and wonderful) ideas constantly, just with no particular inclination to follow them through. The ideas that I actually *make* are more like - toys, or 'creations' - things out of paper and string and fabric and whatever happens to be lying around. Something pretty to look at, that moves and changes color and flashes in the light, or plays with light and shadow. Sort of like moving artwork, like mobiles and such.

(Yes, I'm a parenthetical thinker. But I do - usually - *eventually* remember and/or wander back to the place/subject I started with. Though sometimes? not. :-)

***
So anyway. Damocles.

So I'm watching this movie for the nth time, and suddenly I notice that the boat dock where the kids land to stay with their Aunt Josephine (the 3rd in a series of unfortunate attempts at finding them a guardian) is called 'Damocles Dock'.

Curious, I google Damocles. The gist is, this king named Dionysius was a really wealthy dude, and had many followers. One day, overhearing a fellow named Damocles admiring the king's charmed life, Dionysius said to Damocles, "Well, how would you like to trade places for a day?"

So Damocles became king for a day, enjoying all the luxuries and privileges of the king.

As he sat down for the evening meal, and was lifting a goblet of wine to his lips, Damocles happened to glance upward and was shocked and horrified to see a huge sword hanging from the ceiling by a single horsehair, the blade nearly touching his head.

He exclaimed about it to the king, who said, "Well, this is what my life is like. At any moment someone, anyone, really, could decide to cut that thread and end my life. So, what do you think now? Do you still wish you could have my life?"

Damocles, of course, realized that things were not as magical and easy for the king as he had believed. So he went back to his own life and was ever grateful that he didn't live a life so fraught with peril as the king's.

(I'm paraphrasing from a version I got here: http://www dot inspirationalstories.com/0/2.html. Partly trying to get better at storytelling, and was also *trying* for a shorter version. Alas. Maybe next time :-)

***
So, in the movie (Lemony Snickets), Damocles Dock suggests impending doom or disaster. A warning.

But what it made me think about was how things can turn so quickly.

Like the book, "Fortunately, Unfortunately," we used to have when I was a kid. It went something like this:

"Fred (I can't remember the guy's name) was flying along in his airplane, having a lovely time.

"Unfortunately, the motor died, and the plane began to fall.

"Fortunately, Fred had a parachute.

"Unfortunately, the parachute wouldn't open.

"Fortunately, there was a haystack directly below where Fred was falling.

"Unfortunately, there was a pitchfork sticking up from the haystack!"

And the book goes on and on in this vein, I can't remember how it comes out - whether Fred is, in the end, fortunate, or unfortunate.

***
So all that was a windup to today's story.

I'm running out of steam, so I'll try to make it short.

My car got stuck, and a Good Samaritan came along and rescued me.  My car's still sitting where it stopped, but I got home, along with all my stuff, and am here typing on my computer in my warm, cozy room in my little house.

So.  I'm grateful for the person who helped me!  And am fully aware that THINGS CAN ALWAYS GET WORSE.

Instead of worrying about them?  I'm watching this movie.  Again.  Like a good little escapist :-)

Fall: A time of grieving, and letting go

According to Chinese notions of energy and the body, Fall is the time when old, unfinished emotional business comes to the surface and asks, yet again to be resolved. Grief, mainly - loss, remorse, etc. According to this belief system, the body parts most affected by unexpressed old grief are lungs and large intestine.

I'm re-watching Ice Age for the millionth time, and the scene where the little mammoth curls up under a snow-covered tree, lost, seeking shelter, and finds a mama possum hanging down, peering at her.

The mama possum takes her in (yeah, well, it's a *cartoon*. *I* didn't write the story!), and Ellie (the mammoth) becomes part of the possum family.

Knowing my downstairs neighbor was home, and hearing how quiet it is, I was aware that he'd hear me if I cried, and I felt embarrassed. So I cried a little, but not enough.

Minutes later, my throat started to feel sore.

So, I stopped the movie, thought about my plans for the afternoon - need to renew my vehicle tabs, but it's a long drive, I'm nearly out of gas, the one trip I *have* to make this weekend, for a rehearsal tomorrow, will still be in October. I can do it Monday, take the bus if I have to.

Plus it's pouring - the temperature's dropping like mad, I heard from someone yesterday that it's supposed to be a nasty winter this year, and today is the first day that it feels like winter (I think we go directly from summer to winter, we don't ever really seem to have much of a fall.)

And my neighbor gave my some money (for bills) today, and I thought, what if he's sick? Did he give me some germs along with the $$?

So then I thought: Stay home. Do whatever you have to do, but don't go out right now.

So I played back through the sad part, and cried, and immediately my throat felt better.

Amazing stuff, this energy medicine thinking. It makes it really clear (to *me*, at least) that the human organism makes no distinction between body and mind - that's an entirely artificial construct humans have created for some reason that currently escapes me. Kind of like a fad, I think - a long-playing obsession with the 'Age of Reason'. Well, turns out it's not as 'reason'able as we'd like to think.

Connections

I lose my sense of 'self' when I don't connect with another human in a pretty solid, real way EACH DAY. It can be as little as a meaningful email, or possibly a personal phone call (not business related).

It's as if - trying to find words - little hooks of human interaction pull me along, from one day to the next, and without them, I am lost. I forget who I am, where I am, what day it is. I lose my sense of self, of time and meaning.

And yet, human interaction, much of the time, exhausts rather than restores me, unless *I* am in control of how, when, where, with whom and for how long it happens.

So I am wondering:

Do children who don’t ‘attach’ as children (through no fault of their own, but because their *parents* don’t know how to parent properly) not develop the little ‘hooks’ that make people feel connected to each other?

Which is not to say that such a child could not *ever* develop that ability to connect.

But maybe it’s harder? And that the day-to-day, hour-to-hour, moment-to-moment connection with other humans is *just as important* for adults as it is for infants?

Only, in our culture, which is *full* of poorly attached people (product of isolationist Western child-rearing practices, among other things), nobody *notices*. Because it’s considered ‘normal’ to be so isolated and alone much of the time.

But really, it *isn’t* normal to be as isolated as many Americans are.

And those of us who didn’t have good, solid attachments in infancy simply don’t know how to do it.

So we sort of flail around with our little tentacles (hooks), trying to find something to hook to, but they don’t stick.

Because, never having experienced ‘continuity’ on a moment-to-moment, hour-to-hour basis as infants, we don’t ‘contain’, or have inside us, what that sense of continuity *feels* like.

I’ve read that we develop our ‘sense of self’ as infants from how well our parents respond to our needs – our cries for attention, food, care – and that we either become self-sufficient or learn a sort of helplessness (and all shades in between) depending on how responsive our parents were.

Not only do we develop the sense of ‘wanted’ and ‘lovable’ versus ‘unwanted’ and ‘unlovable’ from how we are treated, but we also develop our sense of competence based on *how well our needs were met*.

Much, if not most of this happens during that extended non-verbal phase, where most communication is via body language, touch and eye contact, before the age of two.

***
A baby with UNRESPONSIVE PARENTS learns that SHE DOES NOT GET TO CHOOSE

WHO she interacts with
or HOW
or WHEN
or WHERE.

She, in effect, LEARNS to have

NO BOUNDARIES.

***
Babies, ideally, are IN CONTROL of the interaction with the parents.

In other words, it is the BABY who teaches the PARENT what is needed, not the other way round.

A baby who does not have responsive parents DOES NOT GET WHAT SHE NEEDS.

So she learns a ‘broken’ pattern of interaction with others: Non-sensical.

The interaction does not make sense to her inner sense of ‘rightness’ that is (I believe) inborn in all (or at least most?) humans.

In other words: A baby does not have to be taught to flail her little arms – she just does it.

A baby does not have to be taught to scream when frightened or cry when hungry – she just does it.

Partly because these are the only ways she can communicate, at least in the beginning.

And a newborn has even fewer options – opening or closing the eyes; or possibly turning her head away from an unwanted stimulus.

***
My sense is that the isolation cycle is a vicious one - kind of like, "The rich get richer, the poor get poorer."

In other words, those who had good attachment as infants continue to have good attachment as adults; where those of us who had poor or possibly non-existent attachment as infants have a heckuva time with continuity as adults.

And it affects *everything*, not just relationships.

Because I think, at foundation, we almost *perceive* ourselves via our attachments and connections to others.

I can't seem to think of a better way to say that, it seems unclear, best I can do just now.

***
I guess I'm trying to say, it seems to me that the length of time between meaningful and substantive nteraction with another human in some way mimics? or mirrors? or recreates?

the sense one had as a child of
unpredictability
unreliability

Possibly. Not sure those are the right words.

*If* one's self-sense is, to large extent, dependent on reflections of the self from other humans (think about how much time we humans spend telling our stories to each other - mirroring, right?)

then lack of continuity becomes like trying to make sense of a very grainy picture with such low resolution that it just looks like a bunch of random, unrelated dots.

Need to grow UNIMPEDED in my own time and way

Life force.


Fear of ‘getting it wrong’

interferes with my growth

then I get ANGRY
to push away whatever is blocking me.

***
My eyes were pushing down on my STOMACH
so that I could not see
pain, shame, fear

It was keeping me from going after, and GETTING, what I wanted.

So now I let them relax (as much as I can :-)
and let it all come in.

Maybe when you 'push it down' to keep it out of consciousness
it gets stuck?
or, it fights with the energy that is 'good' and that is trying to
help you grow and be?

Maybe they are the same system. So, it can either flow WITH you, or AGAINST you. It would be like expecting a river to flow two directions simultaneously.

***
Maybe when I can no longer move forward on a particular thing, I need to learn to switch away more quickly to something else so that I don't experience frustration.

When I am faced by something that is too big for me to handle alone, my tendency is to want to curl up and hide.

This is because my parents never helped me with things.

So I would get overwhelmed, and feel ashamed and frightened that I couldn't handle something (too big for me) on my own.

So in addition to the pain and fear, and not being able to do the thing, I became ashamed and angry as well. At my inability, my powerlessness. How STUCK I became. I was painted into a corner by them, with NO WAY OUT. I was STUCK, so stuck, and NEEDED help.

But they would laugh at me, and ignore me, and make fun of me, and eventually I would just numb out so that I couldn't feel anything at all. I remember times where I had completely shut off the feeling in my body (when I was sick and had been lying around in bed for a while with nobody checking on me, even though there were people home) and I felt like my body was dead, with my brain trapped inside. It was so heavy, like lead weights. And I couldn't FEEL anything. That's when I had the dreams about the people in glass, aquarium-like cases who just floated there, not dead, but totally unmoving, not responding to the outside world in any way.

I think it is good that even my subconscious knew it was THEM that was the problem, not me. THEY were the ones who were unfeeling and unkind, unthinking, unknowing, unresponsive and DEAD. Dead to the life and love in me, dead to my needs and feelings.

But I resisted them, and did NOT let them kill me too with their fears and whatever it was that made them that way in the first place. I would NOT let myself become like them. I would never give up; I would RESIST.

I feel as if I have spent my whole life looking for ANTIDOTE to this emotional poison: In books and movies, stories, mainly. Because there people tell what they REALLY want, instead of pretending that everything is ok just the way it is. And paintings, too. The truth comes out, leaks out the sides, in full view but still 'secret'. That is why 'art' is so powerful: It is the way the voiceless speak.

all that said (referring to previous post)

I do think that there's some relationship between all this and hyper-awareness as a defense. But I'm less concerned with an analytical untangling of same (though I still sometimes enjoy doing that) these days, and more inclined to simply notice the ways in which my BODY is telling me that something's out of whack or unbalanced. Shortest distance kind of a thing, I'd say - the analytical route is what you have to use when your connection to your body's mind has been nearly severed; when you're more connected to your body's direct messages, you don't NEED the analysis. I *think* :-)

***
In a world where men expect us to be what THEY need us to be (to support their continued domination) instead of what WE need to be (to not be DOMINATED), it's not surprising that the brain has to do some creative re-wiring in order to FUNCTION. Reminds me of the saying that Ginger Rogers could do everything Fred Astaire could, except she had to do it, "in high heels and backwards."

HAH! No WONDER we're smarter than they are - we HAVE to be to survive the FUCKED UP WORLD men have created.

brain dominance.

A 'friend' (?) accused me yesterday of being too 'left-brained'.

"You think too much," he said. How many times have I been accused of THAT in my life??? And ONLY by men. I'm trying to think if a woman has ever accused me of this. Nope, pretty sure not.

So: It's a POWER and CONTROL issue.

Women who are left brain dominant are NOT AS EASY TO CONTROL in a left-brain dominated world.

They're drawn to me; and simultaneously repelled. They LOVE that I actually UNDERSTAND their 'male' world better than their wives/girlfriends/mothers/sisters.

And yet, at the same time, they expect me to GIVE UP that power so that THEY won't be threatened by me. Because, don't you know, that's a woman's PRIME job in this BOY'S CLUB of a world: To NEVER make a man feel INFERIOR to you. Not even by simply EXISTING as a MORE INTELLIGENT HUMAN THAN HE IS. (I'm trying to think of men who don't fit this pattern, who seem to be OK with me being smarter than them, or who even (gasp!) APPRECIATE it. There are two who were absolutely open about it, and they were both Canadian. Hm. Statistically insignificant, but I have more than once wondered if I ought to be looking for my 'partner' north of the border?)

Makes me think of my father (again). And why I would be drawn to this current 'friend' just now.

***
I'm just reading about eye/brain dominance, and am being told by my friend Google that I'm 'mixed dominance' (right-handed, left eye dominant), which 'could be a problem'.

Now, I PERSONALLY think it just means that I'm BLOODY FUCKING BRILLIANT, and that my BRILLIANT brain has come up with this MASTERFUL solution for ME, personally, to survive in this fucked up, mixed-message, double-standard world that women in a boy's club have to deal with.

So I'm trying to think how this works: If I'm right-handed, that does *indeed* suggest left-brain dominance.

But - most of the 'brain dominance' tests I've taken come up with me being right-brain dominant.

So did I develop the left brain as a defense against my father's cruelty, and against CRUEL, SADISTIC men in general.

The answer to that would be: A resounding YES.

One such male once said to me something to the effect that I was, "Hip to his trip," which was why he couldn't (wouldn't?) hang with me. He couldn't "pull anything over on me."

Well, I just have to keep looking for a man (and WOMEN friends, as well) who actually WANT an equal partner. Unfortunately, the ones still standing at this late stage in life (like an emotional version of musical chairs) are generally the LOSERS. Which means they want to WIN if they try again. Or else, they're so CLUELESS about what's going on with them that they're like giant babies - they just want you to TAKE CARE OF THEM. Gah.

***
Interesting link on handedness and dominance of various body parts:
http://pages.prodigy.net/unohu/dominance.htm

An excerpt from this page about *nostril* unilaterality (!):

"Relative nostril efficiency (nasal cycle) is related to hemispheric EEG differences and performance on cognitive tasks. We investigated how unilateral forced nostril breathing influences spatial and verbal performance. Right-handed males and females performed both tasks under either left-nostril, right-nostril, or free-breathing conditions. Unilateral breathing affects performance differently in males and females. It influences male performance ipsilaterally on both tasks: Their spatial performance is better during right-nostril breathing, and their verbal performance is better during left-nostril breathing. Unilateral breathing influences female performance contralaterally, but only on the spatial task: Their spatial performance is better during left-nostril breathing. These differences within and between sexes may exist because unilateral nostril breathing differentially activates the two hemispheres and thereby facilitates performance, or because attempts of the brain to control the nasal cycle unilaterally interfere with performance."

Also, this on a possible developmental 'cause' (?) of mixed dominance:

Things to Avoid
Problems with Dominance
Developmental Causes

"We are finding that the too early and too complicated activities which are demanded from the senses today cause many children who are right-handed to use their left eye when looking at objects rather than their right eye. This is termed a cross dominance between the eye and hand, displacing the normal laterality of the body.Then, too, there are the growing numbers of children who use the left hand while retaining the dominance of the right eye."

I'm not at all convinced that this is a 'problem', especially when I came across the notion that women (at least among sharpshooters, whose issues with eye dominance came up most frequently in my google searches) are quite often cross-dominant.

I suspect that women (and perhaps ALL people who develop cross-dominance?) develop cross-dominance as a way to cope with the MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE (that is, cognitive dissonance-inducing) EXPECTATIONS and DEMANDS of being a woman in a man's world.

That is, if your behavior is continually being trained to go against your actual NATURE, and when you are being held to TWO OPPOSITE STANDARDS simultaneously (that is, being CRITICISED for being 'overly emotional' at the very same time that you are EXPECTED to eschew such 'unpleasant' emotions as anger (hm, the primary emotion of POWER and DOMINANCE - funny, that, eh? NOT.)

So, I expect that women born into a left-brain-dominated world and trained by a left-brain-dominated system (namely, any traditional public school system), find themselves at odds with the SIMULTANEOUS expectation by their culture that they CHOOSE between a) female and b) male ways of behaving.

The problem is that these definitions are almost entirely artificial, power-based constructs used to create hierarchies of SOCIAL DOMINANCE. And women KNOW this, at some level, whether they ever CONSCIOUSLY recognize it or not.

So they compensate (unconscsiously) by being MOSTLY left-brain, but the left eye gives away the fact that they've had to sacrifice MASSIVE quantities of - but wait a minute. Men may be more 'efficient' at a single-focused task because they are able to COMPLETELY IGNORE all other external input.

But is this a GOOD thing? I can imagine MANY situations in which a man's 'ability' to block out 'unwanted' or 'distracting' input to be to his severe DETRIMENT, up to and including DEATH.

***
A quote that I like (bolds mine):

The whole field of left-right specialisation has been received some very vocal criticism.

"Brain scientists will tell you that the idea of a rigid divide is a popular myth. They even have a word for the public's enthusiasm for the subject: 'dichotomania'. Like 'modern phrenology' the word is a put-down, intended to imply that the real situation is far too complex for simple conclusions to be drawn."

***
From another site, http://www.giftedchildren.org.nz/forum/read.php?f=8&i=751&t=129, a reader comment that I REALLY LIKE and that makes sense to me:

I wouldn't be concerned over mixed dominance or crossed dominance - that's just the way you're wired and as far as I know there is little you can do about and no need to anyway.

I'm an optometrist who also happens to be cross dominant.

You are correct in thinking that it is usual for the eye and hand to match in dominance.
Typically I find the children who are cross dominant have often skipped a step in the developmental sequence of creeping-crawling-walking when I understand that dominance and laterality are developed. As an example I never crawled, I shuffled round on my bottom and then walked.

A high proportion of the children that we test with learning difficulties do seem to be cross dominant BUT being cross dominant doesn't mean you have learning difficulties.

Learning was never an issue for me but I have rotten hand-eye coordination and as a consequence I'm useless at sport. I never understood why until I learnt about dominance at university. However, again there seem to be no hard and fast rules about how this affects people. I have met cross-dominant kids who are very good at sport.

Earlier in this thread is a reference to children being patched to correct dominance. This is incorrect. Patching is used to help the development of vision in an eye that has for some reason been deprived of visual stimulus. It is intended to improve vision not change dominance. It should never be done without the supervision of an eyecare professional.

I've not come across anyone in the industry that attempts to change eye dominance or any evidence to suggest that you should. Knowing that you have mixed dominance can help you better understand the way you function though.

And another (long) comment that I like, from the same site:

"I was concerned because my right-handed, left-eyed child is a great artist and almost visually gifted. I believe those gifts come from the right side of the brain and I suppose his left eye helps him access it. However, it may also cause his slow processing."

Processing Speed is based on specific tasks being timed - tasks that tend to disadvantage Visual Spatial individuals .... and as I understand it, the calculation is quite heavily weighted when it comes to calculating the over all score.

What it CANNOT possibly do is actually measure any given individuals processing speed - in order to do that it would have to take into account what information (or volume of information) any individual brain is "working with" at any given point in time - these timed tests do not do that - they simply measure the time it takes to get to what point on a specific task - not the information the brain is working with to do that.

That is all well and dandy for someone who only retains information for a short time in order to actively work on a task but the results for those who accumulate information over long periods of time and need to "sift" through it .... nor will it produce an accurate result for those who need to "translate information" into an "internal code" and back again.

Contrary to the popular notion of "left/right brain" - I am convinced that Spatial processing is "centred" at the BACK of the brain and the brain is actually wired for both left and right to work together far more "holistically" than the "normal" brain .... creative logic and logical creativity - both and neither.

As the brain "warms up" - it does so from the back forward on both sides of the brain ... with the front of the brain taking the longest to become "fully active". It would interest me greatly to learn the difference between dominance in the "normal" population and dominance in the spatial ... I would expect both lack of established dominance and stronger mixed dominance to be more common amongst the spatial for physiological reasons.

Of course, I am, once again - basing this on a "model" of the "spatial brain" that is effectively a product of my own imagination - without any other "scientific evidence" to back me up on this .... but it would make logical sense and explain a great deal.

Assuming my original theory holds correct (VS and GT both resulting from a significant deviation from the norm with regard to development of the central nervous system) then it also stands to reason that along with the more obvious neurological and cognitive differences - the fundamental "mechanics" would likely be different also.

Perhaps the fact that, at 40 years old, I still have no natural sense of "left/right" influences my imagination somewhat - but even so, that would make logical sense - if my brain is not "divided" in accordance with "left" or "right" hemispheres as conventional belief dictates (which seems to be more an interpretation of how it APPEARS than anything else) - then one pretty natural outcome of that would be to have difficulty learning left from right. Its not a "general directional issue" - forwards and backwards, up and down are not affected in the same way.

Maybe - just maybe there is a hell of a lot more to the saying "eyes in the back of the head" than most people realise .... I am inclined to believe there is.

***
Another link that, with selective reading, yields some interesting ideas (especially like the READER COMMENTS) :
http://www.singsurf.org/brain/rightbrain.php
***
And yet ANOTHER interesting comment from the comment thread of singsurf:

I believe your all missing out on some key factors, that will help all who want it. The majority of comments are only in reference to mostly Mental assertiveness. How about the Physical side, while being in this out of balance state lets take the majority of our population (Left brain) 99.99% of all left brain dominate people are weak on there right side, simple muscle testing will prove this. So with this imbalance, how would the Right side of our body measure up. If we were to measure the leg length of both side, would we not be shorter on our right side. Now If non-relieved stress is the enviormental problem, and that most people are stuck in Flight or Flight stress response that inhibits the body's own ability to heal within. This ongoing, and unrelieved stress is what disease, and most disorders stem from. To rub more salt in this open wound, we give doctors the license to prescribe symptom relief while the core issue is slowly degenerating our life's energy. I have been involved for 2 years with a process called ALPHABIOTICS. This simple technique balances the body with a pattern interrupt (like rebooting a computer) instantly stronger on both sides and my stress has minimized greatly. Since doing this, my personal health has greatly improved and many changes have occurred to my overall benefit.

The Alphabioitics site the commenter refers to is here:
http://alphabioticsinternational.com/WordStress.aspx

As always, TAKE WHAT YOU NEED AND LEAVE THE REST! The info about stress on the linked page is pretty common-sensical (at least to *me*), but the author is another somebody trying to package and market basic common sense as some kind of high'n'mighty voodoo. Capitalism, blech. Snake oil everywhere you look.

A quackwatch-ish site (The Iron Skeptic) that has an article on Alphabiotics, http://www.theironskeptic.com/articles/alphabiotics/alphabiotics.htm, and a quote therefrom (bolds mine):

The Alphabiotics website is chock full of information, unfortunately, none of it states precisely what Alphabiotics are. They go on and on and on about the benefits, though: from Alphabiotic sessions one can expect to feel better, think better, achieve inner peace, have a tighter connection to their inner source of power, and take advantage of the body’s natural capacity for wellness. Sounds good! I could use all of those things. Except the tightening of my inner power source. That sounds unpleasant.

But how exactly do Alphabioticists achieve these results? Well, on their website they’re clear to state several dozen times that Alphabiotics are not a “treatment” and cannot be used as medicine: they’re a way of life. A way of life that apparently requires “…a gentle, though unique, movement of the head [that] is accomplished in less than fifteen seconds” whilst one sits on the “Alphabiotic couch.”

Ok, random inspiration particle (thanks, T. Pratchett) lodges in my cranium:
What if the 'imbalance' occurs at birth, or possibly from spinal trauma *during* birth, while infant is caught in birth canal?

I was 36 hours being born - my image is both that mom's body showed she didn't really want me - her muscles fought my birth - and I, at the same time, was in a 'climber's' pose, braced in a chimney-style death-grip to keep from being born into such a hostile environment.

So the random thought: What if, by being sort of 're-born' by somebody who somehow 'gets' and/or intuits the scars from your 'birth trauma', is able to help you be 're-born' in such a way that all this is healed? Or, at least your body has an opportunity to FEEL what a non-traumatized state is like. Then of course you have to understand all the OTHER ways in which OTHER behaviors/events/life things EXACERBATE the 'problem'.

Your FEELINGS do not HURT other people.

It is not necessary to protect other people from your FEELINGS.
Your feelings are NOT 'bad' or 'wrong'.

There are, almost certainly, more and less EFFECTIVE ways to EXPRESS what you're feeling, in order to get your NEEDS met.

The fact that
THEY DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO or HEAR
what you want to say
doesn’t mean that
WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY is WRONG or BAD.

***
So, here's where the anger comes in: You feel SILENCED by people who try to shut you down. You experience BEING SILENCED as being expected to hide, or otherwise NEGATE an essential part of YOU. You don't want to have to be SILENT about what you feel, think or need any more than you want to CUT OFF AN ARM OR LEG.

The ANGER tells you that a BOUNDARY HAS BEEN VIOLATED.

The way to USE the anger is to INSIST that people RESPECT and LISTEN TO your needs and feelings.

People who DO NOT RESPECT YOUR NEEDS AND FEELINGS are NOT friends, and they do NOT love or care about you, REGARDLESS of what they may say to the contrary. Because they're busy protecting their SELF IMAGE, not their relationship with YOU.

be not a mindless cog

"A progressive is just a pig with lipstick."

staying the course

I think ‘therapists’ often become yet another substitute for intimacy, rather than a stepping stone. I think the MOST a GOOD therapist really has to offer is a sympathetic ear. Which is something ANY person could offer, if only we were all taught how to do this. The idea that we should pay some random stranger an exorbitant fee to be sat in a chair and treated like small children AGAIN is too much for me to stomach. The power imbalance inherent in the relationship may actually be the most damaging and destructive part of it, I think.

I must armor myself against this person. He’s very insidious, very persuasive. He reminds me of – someplace I really don’t want to go, ever again. Snakes slithering, that sort of thing. Actually feel my skin crawling. He’s not ‘the devil’, just someone I would have a hard time resisting because he’s an expert GASLIGHTER. Which is something EVERY SINGLE PERSON in my family has pulled on me at some point, knowingly or unknowingly.

Grasshopper, you CAN choose to simply not see him. Your spidey sense is tingling – don’t let him GUILT you into this. That’s what the word ‘arrogant’ did – he’s an expert manipulator, a CLASSIC narcissist.

And despite your empathy for the pain all such people suffer, you must NOT sacrifice yourself for him, or any other like him.

You must keep looking for what YOU need.

He is too wily an opponent for you – your little sword is still tiny, and, while very sharp, not effective against such monsters as these.

You must simply walk away.

Men like this simply derail your life. And not in a good way – they’re the emotionally equivalent of a football tackle, who tries to knock your feet out from under you and keep you off balance. The tricky part is that they do it with WORDS instead of actions, so it’s a bit harder to catch them at it.

And I don’t want to have to WORK that hard. In fact, I don’t HAVE to.

I choose the EASY path.

the language of love

I feel like, growing up, I didn’t *learn* the language of love – I learned the language of DESTRUCTION.

Of search and destroy; of maim and batter; of belittle and demean. Of how to make the other guy feel like shit about himself in one easy lesson, with a glance or a backhander or an underhanded dig. (sports refs.)

Sarcasm; bullying. ‘Teasing’, so-called, that drew blood, and left a scarred and emotionally crippled victim in its wake, while the perpetrator laughed his way to the bank. Literally. People who THRIVED, who GREW and FED on your pain and suffering, your misery, your fear. You needed SO BADLY to have someone to trust...

It just occurred to me, that *I* was, for many years, in fact for most of my life, the ONLY ONE in that family who could be trusted to not do something dirty, or mean, or cruel, or vicious, or backstabbing.

And rather than fucking APPRECIATING me for my kindness, consideration, empathy and caring, they fucking MOCKED me. They saw it as a WEAKNESS, as something to be pitied and treated with CONTEMPT.

Wow. I can’t believe I never saw that before. I mean, I think I’ve *seen* it, but never quite from that particular angle.

***
my father spurned my love, scorned it, until he was in such a strait (on his deathbed, literally) that he finally reached out to me, knowing, somehow, that I was the only person in the family who could help him.

But by this time it was too late – the damage was done, I was so deeply, passionately ANGRY with him for what an ASSHOLE he’d been to me my whole life that I couldn’t give him a thing. It was all I could do to speak to him with a civil tongue, though I knew he was hurting, physically, suffering. He was so CRUEL. So VICIOUS. So incredibly, painfully, unkind. If he’d been a stupid man, maybe I could have forgiven him. But he knew perfectly well the damage he was doing - he was doing the emotional equivalent of pulling wings off flies.

practicing centeredness

I think I saw that guy I've been talking about at the restaurant last night. I was sitting on the side of the bar, and there was a really pretty girl sitting on the far side of the central well. I was looking at her, wondering what she had to do to make her hair look so nice, and glanced over at a guy sitting next to her. At first I didn't really notice him, I was more thinking about how easy guys have it, and how little they have to do to be considered 'nice looking'.  I was sort of comparing her hair and his hair, wondering if he had any idea how much work she probably has to do to look like that, and suddenly I noticed, "hey, isn't that motorcycle boy?"

I instantly felt extremely self-conscious - I hadn't showered in days, and had just been for a really long walk and was still wearing my slightly grungy old shorts and my rattiest pair of tennis shoes.  My hair was still somehow looking halfway decent, but I was afraid to expose the bottom half of me, being so fashion-impaired in that highly fashion-conscious place.

In fact, this particular place is PARTICULARLY annoying, because the women who work there, and the women patrons, all (or most) seem to practice that hyper-affectedly 'casual' look that is so NOT casual at ALL.

The amount of time and energy you have to spend to get that perfectly 'effortless' look is PHENOMENAL.  And it may be fairly straightforward once you work out a routine, but there is no possible WAY that the women can look THAT MUCH BETTER than their male counterparts in the same age range without a SIGNIFICANT amount of effort.

After that, needless to say, I dashed home and changed into my jeans and black shoes, which, though ratty and old and dirty too, have it ALL over my previous attire for style points.  (Yikes, I can't even believe I'm saying or thinking all this.  The harsh reality of 'feminism' in this here so-called modern, 'progressive' [yeah, *right*] world.)

So then I went out again to do some quick grocery shopping at Freddie's, and found myself getting a *lot* of attention.

What is it?  What's the formula?  It seems like on the days I don't give a shit, *that's* when I get the most attention - or, I should say, positive attention (and sometimes unwanted attention) from men, and negative attention from women who seem to be irritated that I am 'successful' at attracting male attention (yargh) in spite of my obviously minimal efforts. (And then there are the women who *aren't* bothered, thank god. Because otherwise the world just becomes too crazy to bear. You feel like you're competing with absolutely EVERYBODY in some way or other, and it's exhausting.)

There was one guy (I must be really ready to fall in love again :-) who I saw as I was passing the aisle he was standing in, I kind of glanced over as I was passing by with my cart, and he looked at me, this kind of inquiring look?  And I smiled, not expecting to see anybody there, especially not this really good-looking young guy looking straight at me.

After my experience with motorcycle boy, I was feeling a little shy, not wanting to be led down the garden path again.  I mean, I realize there are men who are attracted to older women, and I'm definitely (as the last few weeks show) occasionally attracted to significantly younger men.

But I was nervous about it last night - when I got to the checkout place, I was almost done and I glanced around and saw red-shirt boy right behind me, and he again looked at me, again, questioningly.  He looked at me several times, and it was all I could do not to wiggle in glee!  Why do I feel like I'm still in high school?  It feels almost as if this few years of non-involvement with men has given me a new lease on life, almost as if I've hit the reset button and gone back in time (knock on wood!) and am getting a 'second chance' to do things 'right' (for a given definition of 'right', namely, *my* definition :-).

In fact, when I went to the clinic the other day (thought I'd gotten a piece of Cracker Jack in my lung, which was a whole 'NOTHER story which I may tell at some point - major panic, walked to the fire station at roughly 11 pm-ish, called 911 about two hours later with weakness, numbness, and generally just not sure I was getting enough oxygen.)

Short version, I went to the walk-in cheap clinic the next day to see if I could get an x-ray (which I did, the doctor was very helpful and sympathetic), and the boy who did my 'check in', taking my blood pressure and all that, said something about my blood pressure being pretty good for someone my size.

I said, "What do you mean?"

He said, "Well, you know, you're kind of petite?  Like a teenager?"

This kid had to be just barely 20 or so, so it was interesting to have him make this comment.  He seemed nervous, so I tried to put him at ease by asking him how long he'd been doing this work.  "Five months," he said proudly.  He was a cute kid, and obviously trying really hard to do his job right.  I also wondered if *I* made him nervous, the skinny white lady who 'looks like a teenager' - he was black, so maybe there are some stereotypes from the other side?  I'm sure there must be, I just don't know what they are.

And also, the population served by that clinic is mostly latino, with a few asians

Can I help it if my life didn't go in the same order/sequence as everybody else's? No.

***
Oh, and that's not even the weirdest part of the evening: I stopped at the 7-11 to get ice on the way home, and on my way out I shoved the door open really hard with my foot because I had my hands full, and, I admit, because I just like doing it - it makes me feel powerful. Because I CAN :-)

Anyway, there was this fat guy coming toward me on the sidewalk when I did it, and he got kind of a surprised look, like he was trying to figure out if I was being aggressive?  But I just ignored him, I actually didn't see him til after I'd already opened the door.

And then there was this other car that had either just pulled up or was parking when I got out the door, and I had the impression of someone looking at me.

I walked to my car at the other end of the parking lot, and as I turned to unlock the door, there was this (dare I say it?  Gorgeous?) transvestite guy getting out of his car and he looked RIGHT AT ME. Several times, even looking at me over his shoulder as he was walking into the store. By this time I was in my car and feeling so giddy from the weird encounters that I kind of shuddered and let out a yell through the sun roof. I'm sure the guys getting gas were wondering what the heck *that* was all about. Consider it a wolf howl, guys :-) (The transvestite was wearing a blonde wig and knee-high boots, and a fairly conservative outfit, sort of like some version of a 60s, stereotyped secretary?  Not sure how to describe it, never seen one quite like that before.  And I also just watch Kinky Boots again recently, so that was fresh in my mind, too. I *love* the black guy who plays the lead in that movie, he is absolutely GORGEOUS.)

I think I must still be finding things out about who I am, based on things *other* people seem to see in me that I can't (yet?) see in myself. It's like I supressed those things for a long time, and now they're beginning to feel safe to come out and play (wicked grin :-) 

I'm also noticing there seems to be some kind of trend going on here with meeting people in parking lots, of all places. Three times in a month? After very little action in quite a long time? *I* think that counts as a 'trend'. :-)

finding my center

Noticing when I feel 'off balance' after interacting with someone.

Looking for people around whom I feel safe, secure, solid.  Where trust feels APPROPRIATE.  Where I can move from a place of feeling poised and ready for ACTION :-)