Go to today's entry first. Or start at the beginning. This is page 4 of my diary, and follows on the previous pages in some web-like sense. The other pages were full. So soon I need an index for my diary.
Temporary storage is indeed the place to hang out if you are to be information and not simply a part of the sunken hull of the iceberg. But what does this mean? Essentially, in the pyramidical structure of everything alive, we must struggle and fight to reach the top ahead of schedule. The vaccuum of death sucks only so fast, and some are not content to let the sifting happen of its own accord. This is the sadness of the children of some biblical character... (Abraham?).
As information gathers as lint in the cracks in our mind we gather strength from our technology but not wisdom. It is the travelling of noise that most seek, and with it come the ever-lasting effects of a more gruesome awareness - that of the plant. "Where is the sun today?" we might ask. "Will it rain?" "Shall I simply wither here?" And as noise is filtered into needed chemistry, daily requirements are filled .. all except those the shaman has to offer.
But the shaman is on strike, a product not of a wiser age, but rather of junk food consumption and rock stars. Ooops. Perhaps the shaman's visions really do simply reflect the all and the all wants badly to reflect itself in hedonistic fury. Even Narcissus didn't want the all in his every neuron.
And as the suspense grows widening the noise gap, we should all join hands. But we don't. As each has his own ego to express, the shaman takes it all in and reflects back our hungers. Finally. he wanted everyone to be the shaman... the anger of loneliness and disgust. Not surprised by this, I watch the lesson bear out in the lines of his once clear face, knowing that this is not the proper lesson. When the stories become the teller's hates, we will miss the real and true shamans.
I don't feel like writing.
In an attempt to be more interesting to the people around me, I have tried to be extroverted, poetic, sexy, etc. Now I will isolate myself again inan attempt to be once more only my own person. I really can't bear out the interaction effects around here. And since the main person here thinks that interaction effects are the cat's meow, I'm left without my closest friend -- i'd guess rather permanently. SOmehow, I'll learn to fix this. No wounds tearing through my internal organs, no higher pursuits fit for others and not me. Simply me.
Of course, "simply me" may not be so very interesting to me. Hmmmphf. miau I wonder what I would be like in a social vaccuum, or in a social noise tank?
I avoid recursiveness here. Sorry. I need a space about me. And this is it. Honest. [Sable just came in. She smells cold and of pine trees. "Meaaaauu," she says.]
So Peter has assisted our new roommate in filling out her social welfare forms. So that she can pay her share of the rent. Swell. Is being liked by someone sufficient? I know of cheaper prostitutes and cheaper gurus. Well, hopefully he's getting his value out of it. I suspect I won't live here much longer. (Especially if certain people ever do get around to reading my diary.) Who cares if I own the place too? That isn't as relevant as whether this environment is conducive to my future. He's an indulgent fanatic, and I am a weak introvert. I'll get out of this soon though.
After two days of complete silence (and alternate housing arrangements with friends), I phoned here yesterday to talk with him. I got a complaint that he had intended to write to me soon along with annoynace at messing up his plan. He claimed that what could be said in text wuld be cleareer and more to the point. No doubt... more to the points he only wants to make - no relevance to me and mime. A battle over whose theories best describe things - and predict them. can you say "we both studied too much philosophy of science". Popper and Hempel never foresaw the fanatical behaviour of grad students applying this to their own lives. This work was about the growth of scientific knowledge -- not about mystical journeys into one's own heart/mind. A tool is a tool (I've argued quite successfully given the premise that a cotton ball is a hammer), but some tools are not well-suited to the task. If htere is no better tool around, then go for it. Otherwise, have some dignity and learn how to use the new or more appropriate tools.
Homewreaking has always been a major taboo with me. Not so a number of other non-mono persons I know. And certainly not so with some mono persons I've met. Why? What is attractive in torturing someone who has stabilized with another -- torture by destabilization. Why would someone need control of others that much? Damn these questions don't have simple answers... and I know th ecomplex ones, in particualr and somewhat in general. These are some of my so-called theories about human nature.
FREE ASSOCIATION OF LOTS OF THOUGHTS THESE PAST FEW DAYS: [god, every time he sneaks past my door, I cringe, and as the tabacco smell wafts in after him, I cough silently to myself. Ah, he leaves to drive madam welfare case off to her babysitting job. Is it just me who thinks this is too high-school? No. His closer friends have all rebelled on him.. we sat over drinks last night in a happenen cool spot and discussed the warm fuzzies that arrive in his stomach whenever someone claims to cooperate. "I'm the most cooperate person he's ever met," I yell inwardly as they say this .. and no warm fuzzies -- because I do not yell about it. I anti-advertise my qualities. Many have informed me of this.] | [Advertising my Qualities: I'm beautiful in an exotic way. 5'10". Dark brown hair very long and wild usually. Nice figure. -20lbs and I'd be supermodel skinny - sometimes I wonder if I'd enjoy that. But I'm also 30, and previously not confident enough to really believe I could do such things. Now I know I can. I'd like to do Playboy just once in my life - nothing sexier than that I think. Oh .. those are the trivial physical things... ok. I have proved to the world I'm able to be intelligent in a boot-camp sorta way having done a Master's Degree in the male subjects in philosophy: logic, phil sci, and my own addition, linguistics (language acquisition). I'm brighter than almost everyone I've met - early evidence: I skipped twice in public school, and went off to university at 16. Still, I'm brighter than most and due to my wonderful ability to not be socialized easily, I disguise this fact well most of the time. My greatest skill is problem solving on the spot - without time lags. As soon as research is required, I've lost my edge. Real time is my edge. Like here.] | [Just answered the phone .. one of our apartments is up for rent next week and we get about 20 calls a day from the newspaper. We're not quite in the cool section of town and not qutie close enough to the subway .. to get people to easily and quickly go for apartments here. This was Peter's strategy - not unusual in our lives.. The strategy goes like this: Our effort and time is less hard to use then money is to get. This leads us to having a nice and "we could afford it without too much sweat" house but off the beaten track by only a few blocks - just enough blocks to double the effort in renting out apartments. And as we've owned this for 5 years now, that doubling is starting to look quite bad. Interesting, eh. If we'd up front spent 20-30K more (though if we'd had it, we would hace under Peter's strategy bought something else of more value rightont he cutting edge of effort vs niceness), we'd spend half as much on newspaper ads, we'd get 15% more rent for the same space, and it would take half as much landlord efforts (barring overflowed toilets). Given our desires and resources, I can understand that bartering time and effort for the lack of having to come with more money makes sense. But it does leave me wondering what a life based on higher needs and higher incomes would be like. Given that I'm the less accepting member of this no-longer team, perhaps the time and efforts cost me more than him. Perhaps not though. I still don't think I should have married a rich guy. For what its worth. In fact, I'm glad still not to have any marriedness at all - except the default common-law accidental marriage. Well my sister might have a better diamond ring collection, but happiness is a girl's best friend, it just that diamonds had a much more glamorous promoter. Heh. Still have I ended up with either?] | [I suspect happiness is there if I reach for it with desire amd without expectation. Will I ever do this? I still feel too ripped off.]
Now I'm way to hungry to write, and as my rice steams to edibleness, I merely idle away a few moments of no email.
Hot from the rice steamer. Still not ready... [The doorbell rings. Peter had set an appointment for noon which he is not here for. They leave.] [Sable curls up besides Moppins, and they both snooze. My kitten sleeps on a chair beside me exhausted froma long night of prowling to fight.]
An hour or so ago, just before sun break, the chorus of birds prompted Peter to awaken me, to listen. There were gulls in the distance and merry singing sparrows by the window. The sounds of the morning spring cardinal came from high atop a maple, and a crow cawed to meet up with the gull cries. There were starlings and blue jays yelling over nothing. A host of small local finches and many chicadees laid a base of chirping birds. This was a nice way to awaken. Thanks, Peter.
Now Dagney plucks at my window sill awaiting attentative door opening. She and I both know about the cat door in the back. She is clear that it is for cats - and hence not to be bothered with. They are such pretty creatures. My nickname in residence many years ago was luxury creature .. taking after my cats I guess. And though still true, I suspect that luxury isan attitude, not a financial position. And Dagney surely knows this too.
I saw Jefferson in Paris last night. The similarities between some of the characters' lives and mine made me cry - and not like a gull. [Dagney is growling at someone.] The portrayal was of a mild tragedy.
My ISP is being uncooperative at the moment. ... Just a sec ...
I'd like to invite lots of people to the next baseball game at the SkyDome. I'd like to invite them to come out to spectator-spectate -- after all baseball is a game of action and strategy, and the spectators get really involved in this. And they become the interesting things to watch!
While in Pittsburgh, I attended two remarkably comparable cultural events. The one was the Pittsburgh Symphony's Piano concert series. I ended up attending three of the performances, each with a different friend. The other was the ... hmmm.. what is that fellow's name? A base guitar playing fellow. Supposed to be the best. Ah... Eric Clapton. He played at the huge auditorium in downtown Pittsburgh.
These two events drew out entirely different classes of people in Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh at least is a very class structured city. There is a clear upper class, a middle class, lower classes, and poverty stricken under classes. There is also the democrat / republican split amongst the higher two tiers. Simply, the university type will likely be a democrat, and the business type a republican. And the exceptions try to advertise loudly so as not to be mistaken for that which they despise. I'm sure there must be a lower harmony that I cannot see behind these clear separations of persons. But, in my few months there, I didn't find it. As an anarchist myself (in the "I'm an individual and I will decide what I shall do, which includes socialization effects" sense), I found the american iconization of personalities a tad restraining, and very fascinating. The clonable fabric of that society, some might call friendly facsism while I'd call it the result of having too much hero worship, seems self-sustaining and even reproducing in part. Surely this is nothing to sneer at. (Unless in the way that Australians must surely sneer at the rabbit.)
However, even as these classes draw borders between their houses and their clothing and eating habits, and their education (perhaps their tax rate and health care receiving too?), they seem not to draw any distinctions in how much to admire the american culture as a whole. This was reflected in the types of persons at these two types of concerts I attended. The Clapton concert drew people who emerged in general from the middle and lower classes, and who were on average blue collar workers. They attended mostly in paired heterosexual couples. As a pair of cheap tickets went for $60 or so, this would be such a couples big event of the month, something that a babysitter was called in for, and that would have been talked about at the plant / hairdressers the day before with excitement. The average couple dressed in their newest blue jeans, a suede vest each - the woman's with long fringes - and stylized cowboy boots. The woman's bleached lighter hair was curled and sprayed and as wonderful as any country singers' look. The man would likely have a moustache.
The symphony drew many many regulars, and in the break they would circulate for half an hour in social glee. It was this half hour that drew them. Buffy knew Bonny's brother Gordo, and Mrs. Fissborn related tales of last evening's dinner party to her diamonded circle of wine sipping nightengales. Most of these upper class folk wore tailored business suites - the womens' with skirts - and modest but expensive heavy gold jewelry. The audience glittered as much as the hall. The women concerned themselves with the quaffed hair as much here as at the Clapton concert, but with these women the black roots didn't show, and the spray was clearly never removed. If one of them had a day job, it would have been a surprise to me. These people too arrived in hetersexual couplings primarily, although the average age was 20 years higher, and the skin better preserved. These were not blue collar workers. The audience contained a light seasoning of students and professorial types, but in large part consisted of the debutant crowd.
There was no surprise in finding that the different classes had different tastes. What interested me though was the discovery that they had different tastes about the same limited range of things. Each class was concerned with clothing .. to the point where uniforms emerged. The upper class formed a monolithic style of plastic perfection, while the blue collar types uniformly choose the blue jean and suede city cowboy look. And there seemd absolutely no difference physically between the two groups. Each person was likely to be overweight, without a suntan, puffy faced, and witha very proud bearing; shoulders held back and chest out. Why, I found myself wondering. Similarly, each class valued the social event surrounding music, and the rituals in paying homage to the musicians were identical. The collective demand for an encore piece, the clapping at the end of each song, the appreciative boredom / thrill facial expressions during the performance as each gave away his or her true feelings about the excuse / reason for the evening out. The rhythmic swelling and crashing applause really caught my attention as the patterns seemed complex and yet known to all, as if instructions had been included inthe program -- and the swellings and volume changes were the same at both venues. How could this be? I suspect that this was the first indication of the underlying harmony, understanding and agreement across classes and peoples, ages and genders, that I was to see in Pittsburgh.
American values, the american dream, the 10 personality types to choose from to be an american, the quarter of a billion desires to be a hero. No wonder Forrest Gump was such a goddamn hit.
In Canada, or at least in Ontario (to be fair), people attempt to homogenize their images to hide the amount of money in their pasts or their bank accounts. We all dress in pseudo-preppy / pseudo-yuppy / psuedo-hip clothes. We all try to look detached and cool, whether lazy or hyper, rich or poor, happy or morbid. With our health care system, the poor do not look less healthy than the wealthy. With our publically funded education, there are not Ivey league schools to be snobby about attending. And there are not borders around the neighbourhoods. In fact, we really don't have nieghbourhoods at all in the way that Pittsburgh did. Metro Toronto consists of a large number of politically independent cities, and yet when you cross the political border from one into another, you can't tell. There is a downtown core, but where it begins and ends isn't clear. Canadians seem to agree not to class-ify each other on any but gender and ethnic origins. Americans don't exclude these distinctions, but such are not nearly so emphasized as in Canada, where by our lack of other distinctions, they shine out as evils to most of us. They are not yet homogenized.
I'd like to go to the next Blue Jay game to watch "my" people in their native habitate now. I wonder if my eyes will as easily see the odd choices of these people? I'll have to invite my friends.
These may be found amongst my friends, as a directory in my harddrive, in corners with cat saliva on them, and in general almost anywhere humans have ever lived. Here is someone who agrees. I think.
I just talked with a friend about the principles of the newly non-monogamous. Aren't such people simply lost hedonists until they learn the protocols of the civilized person? [I remove my glasses so as to read what I write with more ease. Also, I'm a tad drunk, and must apologize to me for this desire to write to the people who read my diary and not simply for myself.] Is becoming newly monogamous difficult?
[I just sent out an official-ish letter to a friend about some business asking her toupdate an URL. In reply I got her husband who I've never met. I'd always imagined him to be older and a career move on her part. Now upon receiving his accidental reply, I realize he might as easily be better described as charming, adn I understand her choice a little more. Imagine though, marrying and never being together.]
Am I so cynical? Yup.
I catch myself thinking about what I want. What do I wish? Is it a pile of diamond rings like my sister strived for once upon; [thanks Bruce for writing Islands in the Net. Its not great and the tech is out of date, but I still like it.] friends like Peter pursues; intellectual esteem; money; someone to go jogging with; death; my soul mate; courage t really do what I need to? Why didn't I want to go with them this evening when invited, when I was told hours in advance, in fact consulted with as to when I'd be free to get together? Why? Is it because they slept together last night, all three of them? Yes Heron, your future wife is no angel. Yes. Is it because I have no room to live here without being told I'm uptight? Am I?
Which is better: renting an apartment out for $650 without first and last, and with only a promise that first will be payed [.. the phone rings... [wow is this ever stream of conscousness ..maybe those Surrealists knew something about ___??]]; or renting the aprtment out for $630 with first and last in hand? Heh.
Instead of getting involved in the idea orgy, I stay by myself. Alone. Drunk instead of angry/hurt/disappointed/alone.
I just told Kathleen about the last time I was this pushed around by him. It happened many years ago now. But at the time, it was utterly shocking. We spent three months or so, while we lived in the basement of our townhouse, without speaking. I slept on the couch in the livingroom, and he in his bed. [We've always had separate beds. I simply didn't want to share a room with the guy at the time.]
The source of this disagreement lay in his insistence that he and I ought to pool our resources. At the time, this was the first I'd ever seen him pull this move. And yet, it felt uncomfortable to say the least. Further, he wanted to keep informed his mother [who since has become very close, [of course, now he'll associate these two things as causally related, fuck]] [I should be making hypertext links here, but I just don't have it in me to do the general case only now]. At the time, I was inthe process of completely writing off all of my relatives, and didn't have any understanding for why anyone else wouldn't do the same. I understand no that my jerky parents weren't really that important or in fact that disgusting. At the time however, I was rather intolerant. And I still think there are reasons for why, barring the intolerance, I was right. Perhaps not in money hording, but certainly in the desire to maintain independence. I don't have it anymore since I live in the middle of the Peter mafia. [A friend I strongly wish I still had saw only this segment of me, the mafia belonger, and ended up hating me for it. I wish it were other, but I understand.] But the results of that series of fights have lived with me ever since.
It was indeed before I went to grad school. I was still busy torturing my linguistics profs into giving me better information (unsuccessfully). [I'm rather unable to type any more. Sigh.] I coulnd't take the separation space any longer and decided that I had indeed given life my best shot. It was time to be done with it. Being the anal Canadian that I am, and as well beingquite unable to commit suicide by anything other than intention, I went off to my localhospital, acquired a hospital card (with which one is allowed to get treatment), sat in the waiting room for my turn for 2 hours, and then, fully rationally asked the doctor in the emergency cubicle to prescribe enough toxic medicationto do me in. The poor young lad was shocked. I would have done better to suggest I'd waited so long to ask him on a date. :) He scrambled out of that room quickly, and over the in-house phone, labelled me a sociopath (a label I have surely lived up to at this point!), and ordered orderlies to come take me away.
I was admitted by a 300 lb male nurse. At this point I realized their intentions were other than mine, but that the nurse was definitely going to win any struggles I initiated. I remained passive. I entered into the psychiatric ward on the 72 hour form (where you lose all your rights for 3 days in order to determine if you should lose them longer), and stayed with a ward full of quite a number of cocaine addicts, unhappy housewives, and Roy the Heroin addict (believe it or not, Peter invited Roy to stay with us on his release. He did, stole $400 and my tall black leather boots. Thanks Roy. I hope you made it. We never saw him again. I hope he did. Has Peter learned anything yet?). I quickly realized that this surprising turn of events was not going to be an effective method of ending my life. I had to get out of the asylum to do that. [Sorry Steve.]
... to be continued ...
I've moved out. Yesterday. There's an ad in the paper for my old space, and I'm going to find a new one. I'm staying with a couple of dear and kind friends for two days as the end of the month rolls around. And I'll find someplace downtown perhaps to stay, alone, finally. Maybe my sanity levels will increase again. I hope.
I hope this works.
I can't help but feel that it isn't quite right that I move out of my own home to rent an apartment somewhere else. Without my cats to keep my company even. I lived in that house for over 5 years now. And I am one of the owners. Is this fair? I can't see it. Then again what is fairness?
To be fair to myself, I simply have to go out on my own - no roommates - no socail environment that I did not create in the first place - no enforced commune - no more suburbs - no sharing of everything by dint of mandatory openness. These are the good negatives. I keep them running through my head trying to drown out the bad ones.
The good positives are - my own space - solitude - long baths without intrusion - mental peacefulness - dinner parties - my very own landlord - the sounds of the street pouring in the ever opened windows - walking everywhere - new neighbours.
I ought not to list the bad positives and negatives. These come too freely to my lips now, and make me cry. Why don't I cry when the stuff goes down instead of later by myself? Why don't I learn the foolish feminine manipulation tactics that work so well on some people? I know why. I have always strongly believed that manipulation tactics of that sort lead only to more ofthesame - back at me. I would prefer to be able to discuss things, and not to ...
No, that is wrong. Discussion if very fine to explore your own beliefs, but it is not the best tool for deciding when and which beliefs to change. This sort of deciding must come from within your own heart - based on rational thought, but also on the enlightenment of experience and understanding. I have foregone these for too long, and now a good positive is my fight and struggle to regain my own decision-footing.
My mind is so much clearer after only hours away from my own home... from where I do not live anymore. The only real loss is the permanent postal address - the sign to me of having a home. [I think I should have renewed my car plates again. Oooops. How things and me struggle to ignore each other successfully!]
I must check phone messages now. miau
I'm out. I have my own apartment now, and I haven't been back there for days now. A couple of very decent and wonderful friends have put me up -- put up with me. I look in the mirror this morning an dsee someone beautiful again. Finally. "That is how I should be," I think to my self. "That is how I am." I am out from under the incredible burden of maintaining a defense system. And the energy at my fingertips is quite substantial. The energy needed to create a working healthy relationship is high, and something we had managed to do for years. But with various changes we needed each to make, the same effort converted into defense systems against the other's changes. We had only on agreement in commiting to each other many years ago -- that if either of us changed radically badly to the point where communication became impossible, then the other would be justified in leaving, and only then. I can't tell if this has occurred - or which of us did the changing (probalby both), but certainly now, the time is come to do other things. Maybe we will remain friends now.
Peter finally read my diary the other day. It shocked him. He wrote a short note telling me that it made him laugh and cry, and that without our irreconcilable incommersurabilities (too many phil classes, I think) inhis face, he saw how beautiful I am. That hurt. I'm not as cruel and manipulative as he suggests. The dynamics inside a relationship of any sort weave and warp patterns that may surprise those involved as interactive waves in ripple tanks can suddenly stand still. Physcial law gives us the predictive capacity over such as a consequence simple interactions. The human sphere with all the feedback loops is many times more weird.
At an art exhibit called Press Enter last week (they don't seem to have an online presence, tisk), I saw many artists attemtps to create man machine feedback loops in the hope of integrating the two speres of feedback together. A fellow named Christian Mueller really impressed me with his architectural feedback systems. Here's the contribution I would have submitted had I been an artist:
A room / space covered in fiber optic like wires, each wire attached by one end to a spot on a wall / ceiling surface. The other end attracted to any moving body / warm body / person detector. As a person moves through the spaces their entire body is touched with these tentacles.
The wires have different sorts of receptors or transmitters on their tips. And as you come into range of one it reacts to you in some way, say by vibrating faster or changing colour. Distributed in the space like the colour and intensity receptors in the eye. The colour and heating in breeze in the room changes as your position in the room, heartrate, eye direction, etc change. Each effect of the wries correlates to one or a complex of variables taken in from the person in the space.
I'd hope by this effect to make the person in the room feel eachof their own outputs reflected back at them, remotely similar to walking through a forest feeling eyes on you. External variables not related to the person but to some part of the outside world should also play into the environment, creating the feeling of being a part of the whole.
One should end up feeling like one is in a totally familiar surrounding as all the information in it is familiar and yet have it be totally alien - wires / slender tentacles of fibre optic as environment instead of air and light rays.
There is a funny game I've taken up. I ask the quite polite question, "Would you do me a favour?" Emphasis on "me". Pleading tone hinted at on the penultimate syllable. This works wonders.
I cannot speak for the whole world, but in and around where I live, this is one powerful algorithm. The recipient is obligated both by common courtesy and by personal compassion to agree to this request, and here is the kicker, before they know the content of the favour. Am I naive to think that this is manipulative? Is this simple protocol age old, and simply part of the social lubricant that I so marvel at? Or is it some new slippery well-spring spouting from our Judeo-Christian bedrock?
The question serves a second purpose .. the turning down of the request is highly informative. A point-blank no, or seeming hesitancy about the possible content can serve as an indication that the personal compassion isn't as strong as was hoped by the questioner. And yet more interestingly, to the subtle at heart, the hesitency might be taken to indicate a history of making unreasonable requests of one's friends. Although they would have liked to say yes without knowing the content, they feel they cannot afford to.
This brings me to the post-yes post-content hearing "no", or yes / no option. Here we have a complex indicator. The yes / no combo could simply mean that a reciprocal social nicety had been used but that actually carrying out the favour itself would go beyond such. Still the person wuld have been inherently honest about their willingness to not break obligations. Contrast this with the yes / yes option when not followed up with the actual doing of the favour. Much preferable, I'd say. And certainly less manipulative.
The yes / no option can serve to indicate something else. Imagine the the person would like the credit for having personal compassion, but at the same time does not also want the responsibilty. Perhaps they would have done it at low cost, but not for a higher one. And perhaps there is no chance that they would have said yes to the content itself regardless .. not out of politeness, but rather with the need to express comradery through not saying "no" right off. This is subtlely similar tothe other yes / no option and should be looked for, as the difference is that between acquaintances and friends.
But the matter is more complex still. The yes / no option occurs frequently with the political type. Ask a politicial if they will do yu a favour, and they are obligated to say yes loudly in public, and no quietly in private. The second "no" can serve later as the private rejection - out of the spotlight as it were. Here the audience is not so much the favour asker as it is all of those who maintain goodwill towards the political traveller.
I'll move on to the no / no option only for a moment as it is the province of the curious. Suffice to say that after refusing to do a favour this sort nevertheless wants to know what is was anyway. Why?? Certainly not to do the favour.
Now what's left? Well, as all of these options interact with other of life's complexities, I'm sure that even more interesting information about friends and their opinions becomes available. Peter said once that it is what people don't do that gives away who they are the clearest. Most only learn to demonstrate their manipulations and desires through their choice of doings. To those with negative standards of success, these omissions glare out in the open. My own has probably been my failure to ask for favours at all. Heh, well that's changed.
[I'm getting a phone line into my new place the saft, and then we'll talk more.] | [Check out the Globe and Mail today, page C2, Arts! ( email@example.com, Globe and Mail) ]
All right. I'm moved out. I've rented out my old space to a really cool guy. I've painted half of my new walls, and the rest are underway shortly. Now what? Now its all up to me ... the way it always should have been.
Fibrillating between anger at being alone when I shouldn't be, ecstatic about the freedom from the causal footprints of those I care about, and warm about me. Good. As it should be.
I have so many things to write about, and instead I must run off to let the phone cops, er, company install another line. I'll set up my online connection then, and write later.
Things can work out, it seems, today at least. I talked with Peter last night and a few nights previously as well. The first time sent me spinning in denial of many feelings which had unfortunately surfaced through my long constructed walls of cynicism and good will. Like the construction of those nasty little juice boxes, my walls were supposed to have different properties on different sides. They did. The cycnicism, supposedly directed inward towards my heart, showed only slightly. The goodwill on the other surface acting more as the pretty coloured print designed for consumer aesthetics was to be directed outwards to shine and sparkle as most advertisement does. And inbetween was supposed to be a strong and resilient to wrinkling and jabbing layer of self-determination and love serving much as a layer of aluminum between the cardboard outer shell and the inner sealing plastic, my impermeable layer of cynicism.
All things considered, this nice little construction worked wonders. I spent that whole interactin with Peter, up until near the end whne I broke through one of his barriers, without letting any real feelings in or out. The dance we danced was pretty, and impressed us both with the other. Deep inside I could feel the lovehateangerjealousypainsadnessmissinghimand outside I projected the self-confidencestrengthindependencecreativitypassionwarmthunderstanding that I knew was also me and also what was decent and respectable in me. No yelling or crying.
My layers worked. And then, at the end of the evening, I discovered something in him I had never looked for, never would have looked for but for the cynical layers protecting me. The probes had occurred earlier in the week in fact, and I was harvesting their secondary findings. Essentially, one evening, late in the pre-dawn, I had phoned Peter to talk, and we had. He had been harsh and surprising confrontational and eventually he simply started dividing up our assets. This took me completely by surprise, and when I asked him his reason, he answered as follows. He suggested that within six months we would be entirely unrelating and that he was simply looking out for us both early. My brain went into overdrive with quite a complex of reactions. A while ago I had written about how tears and sympathy pleas worked wonders on him. And I had also figured out that the so-called (by me) magic that is the only account I have been able to make of the infatuation between him and Nedra [I have met a few new cats in my new apartment - Lilun is curled up besdie me playing with the mouse while he takes a bath. I miss my miau friends.] must be along the lines of basic female tricks, er, cocktease strategies. Well far be it from me not to implement something like this. I noted though that when I wrote about this, I had said, and rightly so, that using these tools effects the user. I hope such is not so too much.
I burst into tears waking up both of my kind hosts and many of their cats! At six in the morning, I cried and croaked, "Are you leaving me, WHY?" And this worked wonders. Peter backed off rapidly. He seemed entirely reassured that I had no intention of leaving him, and that moving out was simply my desire to be more constructive about everything - no more fighting and no old habits being relived intoo close a space. Sure I also didn't want to live with the two of them, and sure this is what acted as a catalyst for my leaving. But primary to my leaving was and is a desire to sit at my keyboard and be able to write about more than only him and I. And to want to write more. And this latter has worked wonderfully.
As did the tears. Now the intersting part occurred a few nights ago when my explaining this to him (would anyone but me have done so?) caused him almost to cry in happiness. It seems he felt so reassured and safe as a consequence of knowing he could be successfully manipulated towards what he truly wanted, that he felt even more wanted and safe. Heh. Who would have thought that this strength worshipper can be a total submissive when finally faced with what he regards as strength. I'll have to experiment with this more.
and this is what got through my juice box walls. It got through the goodwill layer as he appreciated my goodwill -- my concern that he know I wasn't leaving him. It got through the aluminum strength layer as he submitted to my strength and desired it. And it got through the cynicism layer for he admired being manipulated. Strong and successful manipulation for his good (and mine) works. And there I was after that evening without my walls anymore. He crawled right on through.
For a couple of days, culminating in yesterday's mild theatrics, I really couldn't control all of the other feelings I had kept bottled for constructive reasons. Combined with the lack of much self-expression space (all my stuff was in boxes), this bottling lead to much theatrics. Now though I have things better managed again, althpough i am still much more vulnerable. Thankfully the space I have living here alone will serve largely to protect me from stray empaths wondering the halls.
And finally, I can get onto what I want to do. So let's find out what that is! I'll leave the rest of the soap opera to another day.
I'm off on a business trip for a few days. Packing and selling are the itinerary, and then a waylay in Boston for a day. Sounds nice. I miss the states. And then a house-warming party on Saturday here. Should be fun. I'll have to email a few invites.
My new hiding place. Seems safe here at Carolyn.ORG.