C a r o l y n ' s D i a r y diary.carolyn.org
|be warned: this is my diary... clb||page 37|
I guess this morning that I really and truly have nothing to say. I stare at the screen after responding to several email which I let drop for a few days. Things flash around in my head - about needing something to respond to before having soemthing to say. I notice that this means I wish I had a goal or a purpose. My life's theme really. Without this, there is no perspective from which to carry opinions around. Aren't they necessary?
Talking with Peter and Richard the other day - at the same time over dinner (another cancelled event) - Peter took the opportunity to break into his own interests again. After not hearing about it for so long, it appeared interesting, and to Richard too although I don't know why. We talked academically almost about democracy and freedom. I thought hte whole thing although marginally interesting really didn't connect to anything I could care about. Without an opinion set of my own, I couldn't find a place to disagree or agree from. Devil's advocate is a boring position that any good arguer can take on. Useful in a way, I have come to believe that that choice though is destructive to the bigger picture. It might give one a position but that at the expense of the other party's work. They've put in time and energy to construct something viable, and when that is pummeled by cheap or evenwell thought out disagreement, something valued is lost - the value put on creative thought. I would rather have silence than the cheap dialogue found amongst the responders. And I hate silence truly.
What must I be hiding from if I hate silence? Pop psych analysis. :)
But moreinterstingly, I saw a movie called Bliss in which during a love scene between husband trying to heal wife and wife trying to learn to love, an image of rapist is thrust suddenly into the shot. A flashback from her perspective. I screamed. I reacted as if I had been shot.
I know I have never been raped or even pysically abused by anyone. I am not the sort of person people are tempted tobe that way with - if that is much of an explanation. Perhaps I am not the osrt of person who choses to be near abusers? Something. Anyhow... my reaction to that scene was much too strong. I knew what it felt like. I knew exactly what sort of pain was being described in this movie. The feeling of screaming supressed to the point of civility -a grey and cool civility that leaves little room for vibrancy or hope. Civility that keeps one from expressing real opinions.
I had a thought this morning, a recollection of a phone conversation. I was speaking inmy office to a friend. She spoke about how different organizaiton scan be compared with cults, and even confused with them. I responded just off thetop of my head that I had wondered about FSC. Could a business be a cult. In fact I do believe that every organization has certain qualities to it, and that these are shared with all cults too. The question becomes what extra things a cult has than a normal organization such as a business does not have. before I had more than the first sentence out of my mouth though, Richard piped in something ... I don't know exactly. It sounded like it had upset him that I spoke out lound an idea about cults and put FSC in the same sentence at all. His pristene word washing couldn't have been more obvious. And although I ignored him at the tie I thought, I realize now that in fact he had his way. I dropped the thought. I suppose writing it out here instead will only make him jump higher. Repressiondoesn't wrok well on me. It makes me angry. Did he have the freedom to ask me not to say that thing? Of course. What if however, he chooses to use this freedom constantly about an array of words and concepts? When does this become socialization, or repression, or the formation of cult-like brainwashing?
Why don't I express my real opinions out loud and in public anymore? I am afraid that I will be ostracized for them. In fact I will be by a segment of the people I meet. In fact, even more to the point, given my changing belief strucutre, over time I believe I would ostracize pretty well everyone. The way I think is not designed to fit into this society. Ina soceity where agreement fosters civility, I am likely to disagree in all the wrong times and places. I have been trained to,first by horrible parents, and the school system, and then by friends who belive that a good verbal wrestle is fun. What horrays.
I am not a happy friendly. And this will lead me to ostracization continually in little ways. Again I find that alone I will stay.
I should have been born a pigeon.
I haven't really learned anything new about myself in a long time. The days of being introspecitve seem to be over, and I muddle through a life designed by society to keep me in a plce out of harm. I am sure that I could rise to leader in the community. There is an upwards vaccuum there, as always, for me. I am sure that I could continue to accumulate the things needed for that while losing the things of value to do that. Simple give and take.
About me, I am stagnating simply because I have noone to talk with about what matters to me. Critical commentary, harsh misunderstanding, apparently according to Richard, fear, and all sorts of other reactions frompeople whose opinions might or might not matter - though they remain unexpressed.
I find myself sweating for no reason in a life of no reason. Really and truly I saw thousands of people yesterday and not a simgle one seemed interesting to me. Laughing, playing, expressing, acting out their private lives, their fantasies, even their unusual but public lives. Good and healthy fun, I'll grant, and even political statement. But where thought could prevail, nothing but surfaces express. Then again is a parade a time for thought or for the bodily rhythms that so many thousands enjoy? A parade, I found, is not a place for me. I found only a fear of being trampled there. Gentle trampling to be sure. It was funny to me that the curbside waiters were territorially angered when I stood in front of them as if to block their view. Anger at a parade of acceptance. Curious that the tribalisms are not risen above, ony deflected. I could have been punched in the nose for the sake of fairness. In front of "No Gay bashing" signs, a curb bashing. Not for me, I think.
I'm trying to decide what I ought to do. What with noone to talk with about anything that matters to me, I'll wander through stupid ideas. No understanding. Perhaps it is just too hot for me to think learly. It takes male arms to install air conditioners. And the male arms I know hate me. I wonder if anyone can imagine the level of animousity that surrounds me. As it should really. I hate pretty much everything finally. Hate and cry over. As hope is the most important feeling to me, and as I have no hope for anything valuable to accrue, I am left pinned to a closed door looking at hinges and handle without understanding. The door will open and mash me against th wall beside, and close again. Like a road runner episode run amok.
Can the thoughts of a person pull them out and push them into hell? I know this is true. I cannot care to pull myself out any longer. I've done it several times in serious ways, and the world consumes my own energies for I am not a how person in any sense. A friend worries about timeliness instead of what... Another about whether he ought to be nice... Another about ... well it goes on. People have their own interests, and as mine diverge more and more, I'll merely settle into the background noise, no longer a powerful voice. Instead, I will merely watch with large eyes while they hurt me.
It is not easy to be insane. For a long time I have not been, and now as the confusions come on again, as people shut me out and leave me to interpret data raw, to buy milk and eat peanut butter sandwiches - I understand them still - to carry the thoughts of a child into my mind where they can no longer hurt in loneliness, I cannot grasp the social maneuverings.
It is funny to me that both great successes and great failures take me out of he picture. Without more powerful storytellers around me, I can either take over the picture or slip into muindane space. We each take our own world view seriously regardless of any of its qualities.
I am surrounded now by the fear of those who have relied on me to be the strong person. Instead of comfort, I get fear broadcast back. Instead of empathy, for how could there be, I note only that they will still try to take. There is nothing there to take - there never was. A fear based universe - or fear based people who could relax into leaning on me for my strength. Where is there strength for me when I need it? A little at first and then more if it doesn't arrive. I should curl up in a corner until my own mind heals sufficiently to bring that new sparkle I need - and will never have again.
For I am old and set in my ways finally. And no one will feel right again. And no one will love who I am. No one is young enough.
And of course, I could continue this morbundity on and on. It feels a little satisfying to write, but leads exactly nowhere. That's the point. I need someone who could care to talk with, and that I cannot have ever again. Who I am has become too much. At least my hair is pretty still.
Things are untangling a little around me finally. Several thoughts.
But I am paraoid that my friends do not like me. Isn't that it? No. I know that I am a very difficult person. Coincidentally, my intrinsic value theory leads me to exacerbate the positives and negatives. People have to truly weigh whether it is worth knowing me or not. This is unusual. And I must try not to be abusive or self important. My system would break if I was.
Richard told me last night that he would try to be a friend to me. He has been having trouble wanting to. A system of pluses and minuses seemed to be out of balance to him in relating with me. Of course it would be given the plus list and the minus list. I won't detailthis, but with our different value systems, when I crash, he can't find it worth while being my friend. I see him as a terrific fair weather frined, and Peter as - past tense - a terrifid bad weather friend. That whole pattern must change though.
So am I paranoid? Insofar as I am simply not playing the same game, no. From the normal social person standard, perhaps. I know many see me so.
"you have intelligence, education ( I know about cmu ), and friends"...
"You are obviously a very successful woman with great intellectual depth."
"You are tremendously articulate"
I used to be a morning person. Mornings were when my parents were still asleep, and my sister. I could eat breakfast without sitting straight at the table, and read too. I could think my own thoughts in a space that normally was not mine, but theirs. Earlierand earlier I arose thoruhgout those years until 5 am was a friend. Most other kids I knew mastered the art of staying awake later and later for similar privacy issues. For me that led only to punishment, and mornings became prvaite, nights to be avoided. So here I am years later, and with the first doubt that this still works. Mornings now represent the time of day when I am supposed to gear up to be a social person. I am supposed to make my public self up and enter the world properly coated in attitudes and clothing. It comes as little surprise to me now to find that I hate mornings finally. While FSC is the most laid back and fun office in the city, it is still to me an office. For awhile I got up even eariler to be alone for several hours first. Now I am so miserable once I have to collect up coating ingredients that I just break into tears in the morning, every day. What could possibly make a public environment feel good to me on a regular basis.
I used to be a private person all the time. Now I am not. I is not supposed to be, and only the office holder, the coating is to be out. It isn't even about obligations, but about what works. It is not useful to be a private person in an office - a professional person cannot do things in the office holder position. A professional office holder ought to be there in order to be functional. Really what am I to do about that. Enjoyment in office holding would help. Ick. Enjoyment in anything would help really.
Back to the drawing board - sketch of what a person needs to be still intact.
It grows past morning, and where I am supposed to be cncerned about it being Canada Day, I only feel about Hong Kong's day ended.
["fg" is the UNIX shell command for bring up last job, and a job is something you are doing in the shell which might have been suspended. Typically I work with 7 or 8 suspended jobs, and flip through them as I become bored.]
Peace without html code in the way. I'm not focussed this morning. There isn't much to my thoughts now that they are emerging out of the darkness. Perhaps htat is all depression is, a timeout needed to think in. I used to think all the time, and now? I am a grey automaton. I simply let them know that I will only be doing things I enjoy for awhile. Does that scare you? I ask. What do I expect of the world anyway?
With a tradition of thinking early in the morning as I am doing now - a time when I am alone enough to steal the margins of contiguous minutes - I will try to do something useful in writing for ht erest of the day. What can that be? So backward focused I have been (ha), that I will push into 10 minutes from now: still writing probably. 40 minutes: walking to the office. 2 hours, 10 minutes: staring at computer screen looking at undesirable things to do in to do list. ten minutes later: doing a few of them. 4 hours 30 minutes: wishing I were at lunch while doing something. Hunger starts to set in to be ignored. 6 hours: meetings. 9 hours: visit with Hella and Peter. 13 hours: SCA pub with Kimberley.
Where is me in this?
Alright. A substitute - me will be between noon and 2, and I will take my Philip K. Dick book out to somewhere, and eat something healthy and read in peace. At 1:30 I'll be at the office, but in the studio where I will log on to the new computer down there to sneakily telnet here and write for 1/2 hour if I can. At 2 I will innocently go back to the office and act again like a submerged dolphin instead of a soaring eagle. I will not let the isolation and solitude of greyness get to me. If I ant company to do the horrible little things I must do all the time, I'll get some. Fuck suffering in solitude and isolation. Perhaps I'll do my work in the lobby so that people will interact with me instead of leaving me isolated in that office with Richard - alone and silent listen. So off I must to dry my hair, etc.
[The letters on my keyboard are mostly worn off from typing with long nails. I will have to be able to touch type pretty soon.]
........... a social lot of things have been happening. Another SCA pub night where I took Peter too, a visit with Hella and her sour cherry liqueur, trying out a more friendly approach in general (yuck), perhaps somethingthis evening, and a two day kayaking trip on the weekend with all sorts of folks from the office. I wonder if I ought to do that last. No electricity, and no privacy. It might exhaust me.
I think a lot about louise right now thinking to call her to talk to hope. I do hope for her. it is very late this morning for officey things and I make it no better lounging in my robe.
Of me. Does it make sense to turn away from the thoughts of everything, of society and mankind, and of the nature of the possible? Will concern about the flavour of a stew, or the artistry in honing social skills be as important? Can these things become the purpose of my life and leave me any reson to be at all? I have my doubts. I linger in the sense that becoming mundane - a funny turn of phrase really - will be a loss. In fact, I know it would be a loss. Perhaps I ought to ensure a stronger barrier in me to these things.
Wouldn't most people think to get more involved rather than less?
several attempts to look into the future bely the fact the now simply is always now. i'll be kayaking this weekend. half of the campers are horrified at the whole idea and the other half, thrilled. shall be interesting indeed.
rose petal pink. a call from louise unreturned. fleiss wet and friendly. a night alone in the dark and rainy night. a whisper in the future perhaps of something. and sheep playing on my screen. shall I go on?
friends humming tunes. and footsteps at the door. I will go now.
It's chilly out today - a wonderful relief for this winter lover. Perhap I ought to move even further north. The dry air entangles cat warmth with a smile. An echo of darker clouds in love covers brighter light. hold my breath for me.
After a movie with Kimberley and before that a day at the dreaded grey space, I slept well for a change. perhaps. castle walls surrounding proven territory others come to sniff. open arms and quiet thoughts to look at the opportunity of new warriors. friend or conartist.
happening slowly like leaves melting from bud into open hands. life unfurls too. left alone. wihtout knowing it, I am unaware of everything else int he universe. where are the seeds of thought, crytalline structures covering small genetics to make a thought. sparkle thought inside the mirror house of mind. and warm cat prints in the sand add surprise and a miau. butterscotch ferrets play hide and seek. where the rose petals that are still pink stand tall beside the thought holding out a kept promise - reminders of loyalty.
empty of imagery empty of memory empty? guess the happy chirpies are partying today. shall we leave them to their parades? the secret society of those who think thoughts ought to want to. an army of running shoe'd accountants glowing along the boardwalk greying the sea. do they want to think in their shoes of practicality?
Red pencilings in the margin holding perfction away with a broadsword. I'll swim into focus holding out for another try at life. Kayaks racing across the bay for sucor. I'll rest now.
Things stick in my mind beyond mantras. The power of knowledge toinfluence our behaviour is astounding. We hold ontight to what we want and other things filter in from culture and nature. Smoothing out the otherwise differences with similarities. Towards a better life I suppose. Where loyalty is not needed for lack of sharing goals anyway.
I don't suppose anyone will change much. Standards reign. I'll hazard a guess that there are internal pressure plates in some of us working against the surface. Pick me instead.
So many thoughts unorganized regurgitating things from everywhere. The disturbance of peaceful stagnation could be valuable. Could't it? [I cannot spell this morning - perhaps it is too cold in here, to too caffeine free.] Settling bets with evidence generated on the fly cannot be a scientific method. "several" typed several times awaiting a list that does not exist today. Where is the coherence of a particular view. Again I notice the discordance of having kayaked this weekend. I suppose I am retreating now to quiet. I shall not let that happen. I like the lack of stagnation. I like the perspective of me withouth the princess act on top. Is the only social alternative in being strong for others instead? Paddle or be paddled? I would respect a little less distinctiveness between the gendered creatures. Why does gender align with sex? Let's flip it all over to balance. Tough guys whine, and delicate women holdthings together. Why even this distinction? BS time again I think.
Why should I do things the way they are done? Such a simple question is rarely answered. Curious.
There was a time when the trees were blossoming and the birds flew with the mice, the deer hunted witht he lion. Substitute in here all of the mythical stories and their reasons for the fall, and you end up here and now. Or there abouts.
And we hover over the evolutionary swamp holding out a tin cup for refreshment, and ever so gradually change too. Our change is not only social and cultural. Beyond these misty phenotypical meanderings, we dip into the gene pool's variance not just by ranging afar. We look into the eyes of the deer and see our future. Brown eyed docility holding on tight to life. Vague feelings that there was a time once of defendable self-interest. Now is not then though and the future bodes further divergence from our heroic self image. God hero guide equal. And then we willwonder if we reallyought to have let the genetics run free.
Hold out the cup indeed drinking in the mountain's fresh emulsion. Carry away the new ideas embodied. Remember the rule - thou are permeable, but water-proof. Savour the taste holding it inside for just a moment. The subtleties are worth it.
So anyway, I went on this camping trip on the weekend. I feel I got to know little bits of people under stress and not much of who they would like to be instead. In it's elements, a creature is beautiful, and out of them often helpless. This was a tet of adaptability. Could you make sense of a different needs set rapidly. How long and did it take to fit in to a new situation, and how far could you get into it? Could you get to the point where it was pleasureable to be doing so? And this in comparision to how often you'd done it.
The tangling personalities around me leave little room to breathe. Whirlwinds of bad temper. What can I do to bring sweet calmness into my vacinity again.
There are stories in which the characters are swept up by events and flung around viciously. The final ending is not imaginable, foreseeable. Everyone begins to despair that the accumulating sense of defeat will wash over the world permanently. And then the storm breaks, just for a moment. Breaths are drawn in deeply from the cool and refreshing change, and the storm is weathered successfully, everything intact and some fundamental changes - needed change - in place with comfort.
I wish my storm would break for a moment. I think that being out of control like this is fun and dangerous. To be avoided.
I must run away now twoards the phone. Things need to be sorted out. Speaking wil not calm down the tempers though. In fact, I am likely to be quite hurt by the end of today. Why don't I just crawl back in unde the warm and soothing covers with a cat or two.
Into the thought zone away from connections to habits.
Do I really want to write? About things at work, yes. But I don't feel I should. So I'll try to hover around the edges just about me a little. Maybe this will work.
Running a company has interesting benefits and drawbacks. Do I save money or roll it back in for instance. When do I diversify my assets even if they ar beter invested in our efforts - diversification has a value too. Oh my.
I don't feel comfortable that way. Talking about these issues. So finally I have secrets I guess, corporate ones. Heh. A funny feeling.
But about me. What is that? Is it important anymore? I have indeed wandered into convention space. I am living a life of creative conformity. No longer attracted into the outskirts by the strong need of the outsider, I flit about on the inside. Credentials as solid as any you can imagine. I wanted this. I merely had to associate with the right people and do the right sorts of things. For awhile. Suddenly I am easily recognized as a person with whom good and reliable things are regular and encouraged.
On a kayak trip that I had planned on being the biggest lazy person, the anti-paddler, I towed another kayak, I surfed waves, and I navigated Carey and I across Goergian Bay. What the hell was that? WHich one of my views was wrong? SHould I have looked forward to being strong and reliable? SHould I have refused to do what seemed needed on the water? Is my fear of death so strong that I could not have helped being
later a saturday alone with pulp scifi and cats.
A Sunday morning cats waking me up to the bird song. What do I have to say anymore. Try to go deeper. Try to get into who I am. Why don't I want to write?
Peter is pissing me off really. He is holding one of his unarmed rebellions. Ever since I met him, he has preached about how to treat him. Everyone who knows him gets to receive the wisdom of the day. I'm tired of it. Funny thing is these days the wisdom is called business knowledge and competence, and I am still tired of being told to respect him. I am tired of it, and it lingers around me causing me to tire more and more. Funny thing is I never thought he lacked these wisdoms. His is a chip on choulder problem that I am tired of. Why don't I want to write? I haven't written about him ina long time, and I don't want to. But it is in the way in my thoughts in a way I wish would stop.
Athena is performing without him these days. His rebellion points at their band, their friendship, and their living together too. It points at me, at FSC, and at Richard. I am sure that it must point everywhere else too. "Doesn't play well with others?" Seems like it. His way or no way? Seems like that too.
Years of learning to bow down to a way of being not my own because he thought it was right. And years since then of living by myself, by my own standards. More and more so. To stop this now isn't intereting. It's annoying to be asked at all. He cannot expect me to want any of this, and yet he does. I am only disappointed - and a little bit annoyed.
Imagine a man disliking the normal gender games in society, so much so, that he leaves me feeling ugly and unwanted until I get other lovers just to feel that I am attractive. Imagine that this is all done without respect for feelings, and only for policy and principles. I believe that principles are very important tools in creating and maintaining self respect and dignity. They provide guidance in some situations. Used too tightly, they restrain behaviour though. They can be confused with other motives like having a chip on the shoulder for instance.
Imagine that man holding out principles with reasoned discipline, and in essence demanding that others adapt or adopt, or take a hike. Take away the the value that is created by this approach and what do you have.. a manner of cloning others' metaphysics. Leave in the value and you have the carrot and stick creating the cloning method.
But we all teach others. Interaction is fundamental, and when things interact they effect each other. Basic. Core. So why is one person's cloning methodology somewhat more of a burden than another's? Well, of course, it isn't really until you get to quantities that rule out other interactions entirely, or until you start on a world domination kick successfully, or until people die, or wilt, or mildew.
There is an effort, kind of a tensing of a disciplinary muscle, that contributes to results I can be proud of. I don't usually use this muscle. I think I don't want to be so proud or accomplished that my own sense of who I am goes away. I am comfortable with a certain rate in al things, and speed make me twitch a little in fear.
Sometimes though I'd rather speed up. The muscle tenses and I do something very wonderful. I wonder what will be next.
It's a hot day out. My room here grows wramer ever slowly with the smell of flowers drifting in on the heated air currents. A rich and rotting smell with perfume overlaid. Perhaps the rose petals.
Why don't we make things easy?
Why do we try to make things easy?
Looks like my mail is jammed up at Sprint thin morning. I'll go it alone today.
Went to a watery talk last night by a fellow who competedn against Richard for dead white male philosopher jobs several years ago. That guy got the job I guess. And yet his thoughts were surface. They didn't get into any of the issues he mentioned. He surfed thoughts, and not colourfully.
I responded to the vast array of intellectual laziness by telling him my bio instead of asking a question. It seemed just as out of place, and amused silly little me. I didn't play the game.
Do I ever? Must I? I think not. I believe games are for the weak at heart. Not the sort of games you play on your front porch at dusk with a board and peices, althought htis might be one of the crucial training grounds for game-think. I meant he kind of games we perceive being played between each other. We get to model and analysis whatgoes on in any terms we want. Games are the general form of the war metaphor so many use.
I told Peter I'd share stuf with him on a limited basis finally - this by telling him I give up. Funny. He didn't ask why. He ask what I give up. He accepted. A war metaphor. A hostage taking metaphor. How does he percieve it so. I used words that mocked the metaphor and didn't reveal my own. Why not? COming to terms?
Before phoning him, he was on the way to open the Sream in the Park poetry thing with her goddessness, something I spent the weekend talk9ng him into doing in spite of her whimsiness, 'cause it's a big event in these woods, I had talked with him for an hour or more that afternoon. I had let him know about all of hte resentments I have still towards him. After 10 or so years living with his private ideas of economy of exchange and value, I find it reprehensible that he deigns to follow me out into the real one and then asks me to treat him by those standards. I had spent years wishing away his private universe. I don't at all anymore after having travelled a million metaphorical miles away from these views. But his folowing me, his mimicking these behaviours... I really do not enjoy being copied. My goodness, no.
After phoning him, I found that the calmness, newly decided upon and practiced these past 4 days now, still lay within me. Funny that I couldn't sleep well at all last night. I guess i'll get used to being fucking sociable. Until then, hopefully sleep will come sometimes. It did always when I lived out who I am directly, but how uncivilized. Richard's new motto last week: no more tantrums. Worked.
Mantra: No more tantrums in or out.
As good as Prozac.
Must run to shower and etc. Meeting with entity - cybercafe #264 in this city. Should be mucho fun.
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