I just worked the second day of my new job. (In case I didn't mention this before, it's as a Community Support Specialist- working with developmentally disabled people- adults and children). I'm very happy with it- it doesn't even feel like work. I came away from it with a sense of contentment and satisfaction. Life is good. :-)
Tomorrow, it's back to the old grind at the deli.
http://www.colourtest.ue-foundation.org
I took the color test- the results: (I picked orange, then the orange red, the yucky hot pink last of all)
Finds it difficult to bear the burdens of the present situation. Wants to be free of them. Wants to turn attention toward new types of experience that offer more hope. Expects that different circumstances will enhance potential freedom for wider range of experience.
(ultramarine blue/violet, midnight blue, warm tropical blue least appealing)
Does not want to allow any feeling of distance from the person who is valued as a partner to arise. Wants to avoid anything leading to personal isolation or loneliness. Wants to be totally immersed with intense enthusiasm and engaged communion in the beloved or a personal task and activity. Finds the beloved or the task to be what makes life worthwhile and its dominating force, bringing true contentment and fulfillment.
These color tests always baffle me. How can color preferences infer so much? I *always* would pick that shade of blue, unless I was in a very dark mood. Then it'd be midnight blue first. On the other hand, I can't really argue with it, arrgh.
Friday, March 12, 2004
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
While dragging a sledful of hay over moist snowless ground to feed the goats just now, I was thinking about this:
I sometimes feel that my past, my experiences, have marred me, left me a virtual minefield, like a surgical mess that the doctors gave up on and walked away from without bothering to suture it closed again. Or, putting it less kindly, fucked up. I sometimes look back on the things I've done, been, lived through, seen, and my life seems a little surreal. I'm certain that there are people who disbelieve that I could possibly have gone thorugh all this in 30 years, and for a moment, I'm tempted to agree with them and try to decipher whether I could possibly have imagined some of it? But no. The hard evidence is there, on scraps of paper, faded photographs, newspaper clippings, and the like.
I look at all this and wonder why anyone would want me, and also if I'm any good for anything at this point. (I'm not depressed right now, either- just trying to be objective). Don't men (the decent, intelligent sort) want someone pristine and untouched, who's never known love before, who's never tasted much pain, who's never awakened on the side of a highway or under a bush in a public park, someone dewy eyed and moist like an unfurling flower bud? Don't they desire someone who's never been violated, someone mallleable without a crystal clear idea of exactly what they *don't* want, next time?
I feel like a tree that's been hacked down to the stump, grown back, been girdled, survived, had limbs broken off, been frosted, sunburned, whipped by the wind....and I'm trying to decide if this makes me a damned ugly piece of work, or a arboreal sculpture, like bonsai.
I can get over the fact that life hasn't been perfect, that there've been evil or malicious people and those with good intentions and disastrous results. After all, it isn't like I can change any of it, so I might as well come to terms with it. What I can't quite hack is that, because of it, someone will come along and think I'm not good enough, that the past might spoil the future.
I sometimes feel that my past, my experiences, have marred me, left me a virtual minefield, like a surgical mess that the doctors gave up on and walked away from without bothering to suture it closed again. Or, putting it less kindly, fucked up. I sometimes look back on the things I've done, been, lived through, seen, and my life seems a little surreal. I'm certain that there are people who disbelieve that I could possibly have gone thorugh all this in 30 years, and for a moment, I'm tempted to agree with them and try to decipher whether I could possibly have imagined some of it? But no. The hard evidence is there, on scraps of paper, faded photographs, newspaper clippings, and the like.
I look at all this and wonder why anyone would want me, and also if I'm any good for anything at this point. (I'm not depressed right now, either- just trying to be objective). Don't men (the decent, intelligent sort) want someone pristine and untouched, who's never known love before, who's never tasted much pain, who's never awakened on the side of a highway or under a bush in a public park, someone dewy eyed and moist like an unfurling flower bud? Don't they desire someone who's never been violated, someone mallleable without a crystal clear idea of exactly what they *don't* want, next time?
I feel like a tree that's been hacked down to the stump, grown back, been girdled, survived, had limbs broken off, been frosted, sunburned, whipped by the wind....and I'm trying to decide if this makes me a damned ugly piece of work, or a arboreal sculpture, like bonsai.
I can get over the fact that life hasn't been perfect, that there've been evil or malicious people and those with good intentions and disastrous results. After all, it isn't like I can change any of it, so I might as well come to terms with it. What I can't quite hack is that, because of it, someone will come along and think I'm not good enough, that the past might spoil the future.
Monday, March 08, 2004
The painting- I never did mention the fact that it's of some sort of a bivalve. I could find out what species- the seashell book is upstairs. It's pure, pristine white on the inner surface, smooth and cleaner than milk. The hinge (arghh, I should find the technical/scientific term for it) is mauve/pink/purple depending on the light, the rim is edged in violet which curves sensuously into the white about halfway up both sides. It's really beautiful. I can't quite do it justice. Anyway- the painting. I found that the problem with it was the light. The bulbs we have installed are yellowish and dim, giving a cavelike atmosphere. I bought some special bulbs with a bluish tinge that reveal the true colors. When they're on, wow, what a difference. It's like having a physical weight lifted from you that you weren't even aware was there until it left. I love them. If I had my way, all the bulbs would be this sort. Unfortunately they aren't energy efficient. I actually have to run the generator if I want to turn *one* of these on (!). So the cavelike pall lingers on...
Obviously I wasn't going to be able to paint at night and get decent results if I couldn't even see the colors!! What looked reasonable in the amber dimness was positively horrid in the morning light. Geez... It wasn't my fault at all. So last night I installed the right light bulb and painted by that. The results are better. My technique leaves something to be desired for the subject (the blending is so delicate and subtle...) but I am 100% happier with it at this point. It isn't done yet.
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Work is going better. I've realized two things: my mood regarding the job is primarily influenced by who I've worked with, and that the strain of dealing with the other people (the other workers, I mean) is more stressful than the physical aspect. Today we cleaned the deep fryer. A word to the wise: don't eat deep fried food. Don't do that to yourself. Just imagine all that grease and crap lining the old coronaries, ew. I got a little magnetic chess set so I can play out openings during my breaks and lunch time. :>)
The notion that half an hour of my life is only worth about $2.57 depresses me....
I tend to think that people should be paid by the job, not by the clock. If more people used this system, quality and efficiency would improve. As it is, people are content to be sloppy and waste time at the employer's expense. Competition would ensure a certain amount of sniping and bitchiness, but also better results.
I think I mentioned the emergent bulbs- crown imperials, grape hyacinths, crocuses, daylilies (not really a bulb), and possibly daffodil and tulips. These are all just tips of foliage- no blooms at all yet. We should have scilla somewhere...huh. It should be up and blooming by now. I'll have to look for it tomorrow.
Obviously I wasn't going to be able to paint at night and get decent results if I couldn't even see the colors!! What looked reasonable in the amber dimness was positively horrid in the morning light. Geez... It wasn't my fault at all. So last night I installed the right light bulb and painted by that. The results are better. My technique leaves something to be desired for the subject (the blending is so delicate and subtle...) but I am 100% happier with it at this point. It isn't done yet.
-------------------------------------------
Work is going better. I've realized two things: my mood regarding the job is primarily influenced by who I've worked with, and that the strain of dealing with the other people (the other workers, I mean) is more stressful than the physical aspect. Today we cleaned the deep fryer. A word to the wise: don't eat deep fried food. Don't do that to yourself. Just imagine all that grease and crap lining the old coronaries, ew. I got a little magnetic chess set so I can play out openings during my breaks and lunch time. :>)
The notion that half an hour of my life is only worth about $2.57 depresses me....
I tend to think that people should be paid by the job, not by the clock. If more people used this system, quality and efficiency would improve. As it is, people are content to be sloppy and waste time at the employer's expense. Competition would ensure a certain amount of sniping and bitchiness, but also better results.
I think I mentioned the emergent bulbs- crown imperials, grape hyacinths, crocuses, daylilies (not really a bulb), and possibly daffodil and tulips. These are all just tips of foliage- no blooms at all yet. We should have scilla somewhere...huh. It should be up and blooming by now. I'll have to look for it tomorrow.
Hey, I've got the commenting option and trackback now. :-) I've wanted this for so long (as in, ever since I started the blog). I'm jazzed.Twasn't hard to do, either.
Another good thing I noticed today: The flowerbulbs are starting to emerge from the earth! I might actually have some blooming within a week or two. Spring! Spring!!!
(The job sucks but I decided to focus on positive things today and hopefully on other days too).
Another good thing I noticed today: The flowerbulbs are starting to emerge from the earth! I might actually have some blooming within a week or two. Spring! Spring!!!
(The job sucks but I decided to focus on positive things today and hopefully on other days too).
Thursday, March 04, 2004
The painting is lame. Lame, lame, lame!!! It has not turned out as I wanted it to. It was the first thing I saw this morning, without my glasses. Looked at it for awhile, entertained limerent thoughts, looked at it again, and thought, hey, it looks OK- not perfect, but it has potential. Then I had to go and put the glasses on...
Called Vicki about the goats, just to make sure they were alright. It's kind of a drag to send them away just before the most exciting, rewarding time of the year: kidding season. Told her I felt terribly guilty, lke I'd abandoned them. Her reply, "Yes, you did abandon them, but you did it six months ago when you stopped taking care of them! You need to get your act together or else get rid of them!." Vicky's never been the type to tell you what you want to hear, she's pretty tactless and honest. (sidenote- for some bizarre reason, my closest, best friends are always blunt and tactless. Suppose I don't have any use for head games or trying to guess what someone else *really* thinks. Still, sometimes it's painful to have the truth shoved in your face.) I could whine, I could play helpless, but in my heart, I knew she was right, so I didn't. I didn't have the money, I didn't have dry ground for their feet, didn't have much time away from the kids so had to rush through chores and worst of all, I didn't have the heart for it when just living another day was a struggle. Yeah, I've definitely got to keep getting my act together.
I feel like an abject failure.....
Called Vicki about the goats, just to make sure they were alright. It's kind of a drag to send them away just before the most exciting, rewarding time of the year: kidding season. Told her I felt terribly guilty, lke I'd abandoned them. Her reply, "Yes, you did abandon them, but you did it six months ago when you stopped taking care of them! You need to get your act together or else get rid of them!." Vicky's never been the type to tell you what you want to hear, she's pretty tactless and honest. (sidenote- for some bizarre reason, my closest, best friends are always blunt and tactless. Suppose I don't have any use for head games or trying to guess what someone else *really* thinks. Still, sometimes it's painful to have the truth shoved in your face.) I could whine, I could play helpless, but in my heart, I knew she was right, so I didn't. I didn't have the money, I didn't have dry ground for their feet, didn't have much time away from the kids so had to rush through chores and worst of all, I didn't have the heart for it when just living another day was a struggle. Yeah, I've definitely got to keep getting my act together.
I feel like an abject failure.....
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
The job is going better. I'm still a little inept and stumble my way through things, but I'm getting more familar with the routine and don't hide from the customers anymore. Believe it or not, I did have a purpose in mind with this job- that it would help me (force me) to get used to interacting with people. I'll probably still prefer to spend time only with a select few, but at least I'll be *able* to cope with other, including strangers, when I need to. Anyway- the other employess and staff are going out of their way to be nice to me, and I'm feeling a bit more positive about it now.
Books- Nietzsche, On the genealogy of Morals and Small Wonder by Barbara Kingsolver. Just started both of them. The former is taking me a while to get immersed in, but some of his ideas seem vaild and ring true. I love just about anything written by Barbara Kingsolver. There's a painitng I want to work on, so I'm signing off now.
Books- Nietzsche, On the genealogy of Morals and Small Wonder by Barbara Kingsolver. Just started both of them. The former is taking me a while to get immersed in, but some of his ideas seem vaild and ring true. I love just about anything written by Barbara Kingsolver. There's a painitng I want to work on, so I'm signing off now.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
I just sent 11 of my favorite does to be boarded with friends. It kind of tore me up to do it; some of them are due to kid within the month. I kept feeling as though I'd betrayed them somehow, even though it isn't permanent and I know that I can't adequately care for them right now. Those goaty faces peering over the sides of the horse trailer, expectantly, somewhat bewildered, haunt me. *sigh* When will I see them again? When will I care for them, pet them, milk them again? Will I see their kids? I don't know... All I can say at this point is that at least I'm not selling them, and Vicky will be feeding them up so they'll have be in good condition when they come into milk, which I've done every other year but couldn't this one.
:-(
This leaves... 10 goats total remaining here, and only one is due to kid in the next month or two. I kept her here because she'll be needing a C-section. She's.....9 years old this spring, a good old girl who's lived a long, faithful, productive life. A few years back, she had such a difficult birth that I was amazed she survived. Vicki was there to help or she would have died... So she lived and even managed to get pregnant again, but the birth left her with such scar tissue that her cervix doesn't dilate anymore, and it has to in order for kids to emerge naturally. I *should* retire her. The problem is that she's dear to my heart and has many good traits, and I have only one daughter to show for her entire lifetime with me. I want at least one and preferably two more daughters. Last year the C-section yielded triplet bucks, arrrgh!!! She looks like she's got another huge set of triplets in there now (please, please, at least one doe this time!). She's due the 13th. Believe it or not, I'm still paying off the vet for last years C-sections (another doe had to be done as well). It runs about $250 per goat. Not bad if there's at least one doe kid, but kind of a loss if they're all bucks. Another thing: last year I hauled her in the trunk of the Oldmobile- Hey! it was an emergency, OK??? This year, it'd be nice to arrange something more pleasant for her.
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The job is going about as well as can be expected. I can't complain- it's a job, they're decent to me, and they're incredibly patient with my bungling attempts to learn the ropes. Still, it doesn't pay well, and there's just no way I can get ahead like this without resorting to child care. I haven't heard back about the other job, but this is likely due to the fact that I'm out of the house much of the time during business hours, or online. In all honesty, what will I say if they call and want me to start right away? I guess I'd say 'OK, I'll be there' and then tear my hair out trying to find a way to make it all work.
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Books- just finished Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams. The title alone cracks me up...ha. I loved this book from start to finish, but I've had a hard time arousing interest or even amusement from anyone else regarding it. *shrug* For example:
The Electric Monk was a labor saving device, like a dishwasher or video-recorder. Dishwashers washed tedious dishes for you, thus saving you the trouble of washing them yourself, video recorders watched tedious television for you, thus saving you the bother of looking at it yourself; Electric Monks believed things for you, thus saving you from what was becoming an increasingly onerous task, that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe. Unfortunately this Electric Monk had developed a fault, and had started to believe all kinds of things, more or less at random.
See, I think that's hilarious. I love it. Ah, if only life were that simple, eh?
:-(
This leaves... 10 goats total remaining here, and only one is due to kid in the next month or two. I kept her here because she'll be needing a C-section. She's.....9 years old this spring, a good old girl who's lived a long, faithful, productive life. A few years back, she had such a difficult birth that I was amazed she survived. Vicki was there to help or she would have died... So she lived and even managed to get pregnant again, but the birth left her with such scar tissue that her cervix doesn't dilate anymore, and it has to in order for kids to emerge naturally. I *should* retire her. The problem is that she's dear to my heart and has many good traits, and I have only one daughter to show for her entire lifetime with me. I want at least one and preferably two more daughters. Last year the C-section yielded triplet bucks, arrrgh!!! She looks like she's got another huge set of triplets in there now (please, please, at least one doe this time!). She's due the 13th. Believe it or not, I'm still paying off the vet for last years C-sections (another doe had to be done as well). It runs about $250 per goat. Not bad if there's at least one doe kid, but kind of a loss if they're all bucks. Another thing: last year I hauled her in the trunk of the Oldmobile- Hey! it was an emergency, OK??? This year, it'd be nice to arrange something more pleasant for her.
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The job is going about as well as can be expected. I can't complain- it's a job, they're decent to me, and they're incredibly patient with my bungling attempts to learn the ropes. Still, it doesn't pay well, and there's just no way I can get ahead like this without resorting to child care. I haven't heard back about the other job, but this is likely due to the fact that I'm out of the house much of the time during business hours, or online. In all honesty, what will I say if they call and want me to start right away? I guess I'd say 'OK, I'll be there' and then tear my hair out trying to find a way to make it all work.
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Books- just finished Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams. The title alone cracks me up...ha. I loved this book from start to finish, but I've had a hard time arousing interest or even amusement from anyone else regarding it. *shrug* For example:
The Electric Monk was a labor saving device, like a dishwasher or video-recorder. Dishwashers washed tedious dishes for you, thus saving you the trouble of washing them yourself, video recorders watched tedious television for you, thus saving you the bother of looking at it yourself; Electric Monks believed things for you, thus saving you from what was becoming an increasingly onerous task, that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe. Unfortunately this Electric Monk had developed a fault, and had started to believe all kinds of things, more or less at random.
See, I think that's hilarious. I love it. Ah, if only life were that simple, eh?
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
I just saw the movie Cold Mountain. It left me feeling as though a file had rasped across my soul, raw and sore. I'd read the book so there weren't many surprises; though I love the portrayal of Ruby, the best actor in the film, IMHO. It wasn't what I needed to see, to be honest. I had a really great day and now I feel depressed and empty inside again.
::sigh::...OK- trying to recapture the great part of the day: I went to another job interview and I'm 99% certain that I got it. I have to take a drug test first, which of course I'll pass. Child care issues still need to be resolved but it looks as though it could very well develop into a long term, reliable, good paying source of income. Oh! The important part of it: the job is caring for and working with handicapped and developmentally disabled children and adults. See, putting in time and getting paid for it just isn't enough in my book. Call me particular, but I like to feel as though what I'm doing *counts* for something, and this really does. I'll be happier doing this than I'd be if I were getting paid $1000 an hour to stare at a spot on the wall for 8 hours a day. There are all sorts of good things about this job. Once I can relax about the child care issues, I'll be tickled pink
I scouted out the thrift stores in Sdpt, but they were picked over and overpriced. Stupid trite romance novels abound, UGH! If ever a book were banned, they should ban cheap, trashy, idiotic books of that genre. Isn't it hard enough to forge a worthwhile relationship without filling one's head full of cotton candy foolishness?? Horror stories turn me off too: as if I couldn't dream up enough awful gory things, as if there weren't enough war and blood and gore and pain in real life, I need to read someone's fantasy of it? Thanks but no. Biographies- these can be interesting; but it occurred to me today that one person's account of life can be entirely different from that of another party living through the same experiences. The Poisonwood Bible comes to mind. In a way, an autobiography can be almost another form of fiction. I think it's safe to say that I like for whatever I read to make me *think* or to offer another perspective to consider. Anyway, long story short, I have only one Douglas Adams book to show for about an hour of scouting. I did find one I'd wanted- the Kama Sutra, but it was too expensive, about $18, ouch!! At that price, I can scout around on Ebay or wait until it surfaces for a lower price somewhere else. The bright side is that I did find a place where I can trade in the books I don't sell on Ebay for other books that I want, or one tenth of the list price if I want cash.
::sigh::...OK- trying to recapture the great part of the day: I went to another job interview and I'm 99% certain that I got it. I have to take a drug test first, which of course I'll pass. Child care issues still need to be resolved but it looks as though it could very well develop into a long term, reliable, good paying source of income. Oh! The important part of it: the job is caring for and working with handicapped and developmentally disabled children and adults. See, putting in time and getting paid for it just isn't enough in my book. Call me particular, but I like to feel as though what I'm doing *counts* for something, and this really does. I'll be happier doing this than I'd be if I were getting paid $1000 an hour to stare at a spot on the wall for 8 hours a day. There are all sorts of good things about this job. Once I can relax about the child care issues, I'll be tickled pink
I scouted out the thrift stores in Sdpt, but they were picked over and overpriced. Stupid trite romance novels abound, UGH! If ever a book were banned, they should ban cheap, trashy, idiotic books of that genre. Isn't it hard enough to forge a worthwhile relationship without filling one's head full of cotton candy foolishness?? Horror stories turn me off too: as if I couldn't dream up enough awful gory things, as if there weren't enough war and blood and gore and pain in real life, I need to read someone's fantasy of it? Thanks but no. Biographies- these can be interesting; but it occurred to me today that one person's account of life can be entirely different from that of another party living through the same experiences. The Poisonwood Bible comes to mind. In a way, an autobiography can be almost another form of fiction. I think it's safe to say that I like for whatever I read to make me *think* or to offer another perspective to consider. Anyway, long story short, I have only one Douglas Adams book to show for about an hour of scouting. I did find one I'd wanted- the Kama Sutra, but it was too expensive, about $18, ouch!! At that price, I can scout around on Ebay or wait until it surfaces for a lower price somewhere else. The bright side is that I did find a place where I can trade in the books I don't sell on Ebay for other books that I want, or one tenth of the list price if I want cash.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Bleh. I'm exhausted. I got the job at the grocery store and today was my second day at it. The first day went well, lots to learn, and my head was spinning a little, but I absorbed it quickly enough. Today I knew the routine a little better. They've got me working in the deli and bakery. I could complain about the gal I worked with today (slacker!) but you know, I'm just too tired. :-P
My blood sugar keeps diving and leaving me feeling lightheaded and so dizzy that I feel like passing out. The deal is that I don't have enough excess fat left to burn off when I forget to eat, and to be honest, I don't eat much because I'm rarely hungry. When I am hungry, it's for meat or other protein foods, fairly rare around here. Anyway- I had an interview on Monday but got so funky that I was afraid to drive- had two very close calls locally- so moved it to tomorrow. :note to self: Eat! Do not neglect regular insertion of food into mouth!
One of the jobs I do at the deli is breading chicken to be deep fried. I never noticed it before, but the pink unbreaded flaps of skin and flesh look oddly, umm....labia-like. It was kind of a shock the first time I noticed it. No, I *don't* have a dirty mind. YOU bread a few cut pieces of chicken with skin and fat hanging down, take a good look, and then get back to me, if you think so! Besides, I don't think of sex or gentials as dirty.
What is dirty:
My blood sugar keeps diving and leaving me feeling lightheaded and so dizzy that I feel like passing out. The deal is that I don't have enough excess fat left to burn off when I forget to eat, and to be honest, I don't eat much because I'm rarely hungry. When I am hungry, it's for meat or other protein foods, fairly rare around here. Anyway- I had an interview on Monday but got so funky that I was afraid to drive- had two very close calls locally- so moved it to tomorrow. :note to self: Eat! Do not neglect regular insertion of food into mouth!
One of the jobs I do at the deli is breading chicken to be deep fried. I never noticed it before, but the pink unbreaded flaps of skin and flesh look oddly, umm....labia-like. It was kind of a shock the first time I noticed it. No, I *don't* have a dirty mind. YOU bread a few cut pieces of chicken with skin and fat hanging down, take a good look, and then get back to me, if you think so! Besides, I don't think of sex or gentials as dirty.
What is dirty:
- Acting stupid and hung up about sex
- Using sex as a mean of aggression and dominance
- Teaching people that it's shameful or dirty (yeah, they always say it's private, or *special*, not dirty, but the proof's in the pudding, dear.)
- Hurting people in or with an area that was intended to be sensitive and intimate
- Attempting to pretend that sex really doesn't exist
- Expressing hostility towards women through sex (would include most porn, IMO)
- any combination of sex and a control trip
- any combination of sex and humiliation
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Been picking up some great books lately, and I find a new source (of used books) every few days. There's an animal shelter combined with a thrift store - both recent additions to our small town. To be honest, I've tended to view animal shelters with a degree of scorn. There are so many needy people out there, including children, and even if you don't much like people there are other causes to devote time and energy to that seem more worthy. There are TOO MANY cats and dogs running around the world. It ticks me off. People get so stupid about them. Oh, all right. I get stupid about the goats. Before the goats I did have cats and dogs (the goats surpass them in so many areas that four legged house pets aren't appealing anymore) and I was pretty danged stupid/feely about felines and some canines. I used to spend inordinate amounts of time working with animals that had almost no practical use and drained off large sums of money for pet food and shat all over the yard or in the garden. I don't miss them. ~Anyway~ it irks me to see some family stuggling to get by, on welfare or barely able to eke out a living, that has 7-8 dogs and a whole fleet of mousers. You see dirty little kids pawing through a litter box or having food snatched out of their hands, the barking is incessant, and wonder where the priorities are...
Then there are the folks who get tired of a pet and just turn it loose any old place, often out in the country, because they haven't got the balls to do what they should, namely, to put it down. The forsaken pets wander around lost, unhappy, bewildered, get run over, go scrounging for food... get picked up and advertised day after day as lost on the radio...or sometimes resort to running stock or raiding henhouses...how much misery do they endure before they're finally shot or adopted or sent to an animal shelter? (Where, by the way, the cycle may start all over again). A bullet is quick, clean, merciful, and leaves no room for false hopes or fantasies of a lovely life for poor old Fido.
So I go into this place, which I'd never have visited were there not books there; there are stacks of free postcards- glossy with either a puppy or a cute kitten- that read SPAY- NEUTER. I felt like applauding. Suddenly I felt that we had something in common after all. I think there are too damned many unwanted pets running around proliferating. The animal shelter is devoted to helping to solve the problem. Why the bad attitude on my part? As I left, we looked at the caged cats through the window. A tortoiseshell tom was nestled in one. I could tell it was a male, because his tail was a mere stump, truncated right next to the body, exposing his sex. The shaved appendage had stitches. Frostbite? A slamming door? A mean man or kid slinging it out the door by the tail, breaking it? A dog attack? Poor thing. I wanted to take it home.... :blush:
Then there are the folks who get tired of a pet and just turn it loose any old place, often out in the country, because they haven't got the balls to do what they should, namely, to put it down. The forsaken pets wander around lost, unhappy, bewildered, get run over, go scrounging for food... get picked up and advertised day after day as lost on the radio...or sometimes resort to running stock or raiding henhouses...how much misery do they endure before they're finally shot or adopted or sent to an animal shelter? (Where, by the way, the cycle may start all over again). A bullet is quick, clean, merciful, and leaves no room for false hopes or fantasies of a lovely life for poor old Fido.
So I go into this place, which I'd never have visited were there not books there; there are stacks of free postcards- glossy with either a puppy or a cute kitten- that read SPAY- NEUTER. I felt like applauding. Suddenly I felt that we had something in common after all. I think there are too damned many unwanted pets running around proliferating. The animal shelter is devoted to helping to solve the problem. Why the bad attitude on my part? As I left, we looked at the caged cats through the window. A tortoiseshell tom was nestled in one. I could tell it was a male, because his tail was a mere stump, truncated right next to the body, exposing his sex. The shaved appendage had stitches. Frostbite? A slamming door? A mean man or kid slinging it out the door by the tail, breaking it? A dog attack? Poor thing. I wanted to take it home.... :blush:
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
.....stagnation.....stagnation.....stagnation.....
I fully realize that I've become decidedly disagreeable in the past few years. I'm not really into apologizing for it. Consider: when has change towards my goals and wants (yes that sounds selfish but I'll use it because it's the truth) ever resulted from my being compliant? _Never_ When I've gone along for the ride, swallowed my doubts or misgivings or what I *really* wanted, I ended up in some pretty unpleasant fixes. When I've had the nerve to makes changes happen, and screw what anyone thinks of it (within reason,OK?) that's when I've been able to say: "This is what I wanted. Now I have it."
Otherwise I just sort of float along on someone else's river, going wherever they take me, waterfalls, rapids, boulders, whatever, too bad. I am just fucking sick and tired of that. Noone else is *entitled* to my life, it's mine. When it's screwed up, will they care? No. If I'm not happy and they are, will they care? No, not as long as they can maintain the illusion that I'm happy. They get pissed if I do that. The bottom line is that as long as my condition causes no direct unhappiness to the other party, they care not a whit what's going on from my perspective. So who's selfish? Me, for wanting to run my own life? Hey, I've got no interest at all in running anyone else's. I just don't want to waste another day being unproductive and unhappy, feeling like I've frittered my life away catering to the dictates of other people.
So yes, I'm contrary and obstinate. My life depends on it.
I fully realize that I've become decidedly disagreeable in the past few years. I'm not really into apologizing for it. Consider: when has change towards my goals and wants (yes that sounds selfish but I'll use it because it's the truth) ever resulted from my being compliant? _Never_ When I've gone along for the ride, swallowed my doubts or misgivings or what I *really* wanted, I ended up in some pretty unpleasant fixes. When I've had the nerve to makes changes happen, and screw what anyone thinks of it (within reason,OK?) that's when I've been able to say: "This is what I wanted. Now I have it."
Otherwise I just sort of float along on someone else's river, going wherever they take me, waterfalls, rapids, boulders, whatever, too bad. I am just fucking sick and tired of that. Noone else is *entitled* to my life, it's mine. When it's screwed up, will they care? No. If I'm not happy and they are, will they care? No, not as long as they can maintain the illusion that I'm happy. They get pissed if I do that. The bottom line is that as long as my condition causes no direct unhappiness to the other party, they care not a whit what's going on from my perspective. So who's selfish? Me, for wanting to run my own life? Hey, I've got no interest at all in running anyone else's. I just don't want to waste another day being unproductive and unhappy, feeling like I've frittered my life away catering to the dictates of other people.
So yes, I'm contrary and obstinate. My life depends on it.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Hmmm. Still looking for a job. Just tried searching job service, and something about the site cause my browser to shut down. Twice. OK, well, then how about the local paper? Man, that can't be right. The list is only about ten ads long... I tell you, this is not my night. It looks like I might get on at the local grocery store, eventually, but I really need something immediate and that pays better.
Apartments are on hold, since I now have to earn enough money first, which could take a month or two. :arrrrgh!: By that time I suppose the apartment will no longer be available- convenient, isn't it?
Still planning on college in the fall, it's been agony to put it off that long, but this does give me time to get all the ducks in a row.
I'm beginning to wonder why any man would even want a purely domestic woman with no pursuit or real identity of her own, how a guy could want a dependent woman. Seems to me like it'd be a drag. If I were a man or in the market for a gal, I'd want one that was intelligent and had a life and talents of her own. If she said she didn't want that, that she wanted to stay at home, I'd be like...'Whoa, are you *sure*? Why do you want that? Don't you want to *do* something? What's the matter with you, anyway?' and so on... Heh. :-P How could anyone be happy with someone so docile and boring? I've wondered that a lot, but I suppose in a way, it's the measure of a man.
I don't know how much validity there is to astrology, but this passage seems apt: "If you're one of those men who doesn't think it's appropriate for a woman to be skilled in anything except pleasing a man, you're courting real trouble with a Virgo woman....Isn't it nice to be able to appreciate someone who is capable of being her own person? While all woman, and all people, ultimately strive for this, Virgo makes a career and sometimes an art of it. Virgo won't adore you blindly. She'll more likely love you for your flaws and imperfections, because she's a realist...And it can either terrify a man into running eighty miles an hour in the opposite direction, or it can be a wonderful cooling bath to actually be able to be yourself. But then, it depends on the sort of man you are, doesn't it?"
Hehehe.
Apartments are on hold, since I now have to earn enough money first, which could take a month or two. :arrrrgh!: By that time I suppose the apartment will no longer be available- convenient, isn't it?
Still planning on college in the fall, it's been agony to put it off that long, but this does give me time to get all the ducks in a row.
I'm beginning to wonder why any man would even want a purely domestic woman with no pursuit or real identity of her own, how a guy could want a dependent woman. Seems to me like it'd be a drag. If I were a man or in the market for a gal, I'd want one that was intelligent and had a life and talents of her own. If she said she didn't want that, that she wanted to stay at home, I'd be like...'Whoa, are you *sure*? Why do you want that? Don't you want to *do* something? What's the matter with you, anyway?' and so on... Heh. :-P How could anyone be happy with someone so docile and boring? I've wondered that a lot, but I suppose in a way, it's the measure of a man.
I don't know how much validity there is to astrology, but this passage seems apt: "If you're one of those men who doesn't think it's appropriate for a woman to be skilled in anything except pleasing a man, you're courting real trouble with a Virgo woman....Isn't it nice to be able to appreciate someone who is capable of being her own person? While all woman, and all people, ultimately strive for this, Virgo makes a career and sometimes an art of it. Virgo won't adore you blindly. She'll more likely love you for your flaws and imperfections, because she's a realist...And it can either terrify a man into running eighty miles an hour in the opposite direction, or it can be a wonderful cooling bath to actually be able to be yourself. But then, it depends on the sort of man you are, doesn't it?"
Hehehe.
Friday, February 13, 2004
The rap CD turned out to be OutKast. I like it. Perhaps that seems odd- here I am a white girl...but I can't help my color, and the fact is that I spent a good chunk of my childhood in the ghetto of Chicago, where my peers and friends were either black or latino, for the most part. Man, how I hated being so white, it was not a benefit in that context. I always envied the natural sense of rhythmn and movement, the style that the black girls had. And then, there I was, shy skinny little tomboy with no mother, surrounded by fuller figured, outgoing girls who had a strongly maternal culture...it really sucked, to tell the truth. Anyway, a portion of one of the songs:
Nigga, you need to git up, git out and git somethin
Don't let the days of your life pass by
You need to git up, git out and git somethin
Don't spend all your time tryin to get high
You need git up, git out and git somethin
How will you make it if you never even try
You need to git up, git out and git somethin
Cuz you and I got to do for you and I
-----------------------------------------------------
Yeah. That's about it. Hey, I'm trying... really I am.
Nigga, you need to git up, git out and git somethin
Don't let the days of your life pass by
You need to git up, git out and git somethin
Don't spend all your time tryin to get high
You need git up, git out and git somethin
How will you make it if you never even try
You need to git up, git out and git somethin
Cuz you and I got to do for you and I
-----------------------------------------------------
Yeah. That's about it. Hey, I'm trying... really I am.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
I have a big stack of books that I'm debating whether or not should be listed on Ebay. He's threatening to discontinue the internet service. As I see it, I have three options:
After Christmas, this is a bad time of year for me. There are three problematic days within a two week period:
- Pay the bill myself- I could do that.
- Beg him to pay it- offends my sense of dignity, and capitulation would come at a price.
- Let it all slide, and be forced to go to the library two or three times a week, for a 30 minute session with library hags hanging over my shoulder- ugh...
After Christmas, this is a bad time of year for me. There are three problematic days within a two week period:
- The 7th- my anniversary. Fraught with awkwardness this year.
- The 14th- don't even get me started. I *hate* Valentines Day. What's wrong with me, that I'm surrounded by women who are apparently worth buying boxes of candy, flowers and cards for, while I never have been? Yes, I KNOW!! I'm being childish. It's just a physical phony display, and I'd feel dismayed if I received such a show and couldn't put my heart into returning the sentiments. But it's sort of like my birthday and the tone of my life in general- every year just highlights that I'm essentially a failure.
- The 17th- My first fiance proposed to me on this day, and declared his love for me. He was the only one who was ever really able to make me believe it, and then (a year later) I discovered I'd been duped, that he was shallow and a ladies man. So every time the 17th rolls around, I'm thinking "please, please, will someone prove that Daniel Haugen wasn't the closest to the real thing I'll ever have, that I was worth more than that?" Nobody ever does.
Had a really good day today, all things considered. Nothing earthshaking, just good. I've found some work drawing patterns for a professional quilter. This gal has had books published by Debby Mumm, and one of them was the best seller in Europe by that (very successful) company. It's fun work, decent pay, the work will be credited to me in the books, and mayeb it'll be a leg up onto more work in the field. I like quilting but lack the follow through, because I prefer hand work, but by the time I've finished hand piecing and quilting a bed size quilt, I can hardly bear to look at it. I'm the sort who always has more ideas than time to do them, and shackling myself to one prject for years on end, long after it's stale, isn't fun anymore. So this job is just perfect. If only I could do more of it and support myself with it...I have an idea that getting a graphic design background will help. Probably I could design and sell my own ideas and patterns.
I hit several stores today and found some great books:
Speaking of Beardsley and such things, I still haven't gotten the book I ordered, in fact there are now two like that (the second one is by Taschen) supposedly in the mail. Ugh, I hate waiting, finding the mailbox empty each day.
Seems like something else happened...ah, I was given four CD's without cases. I had no idea what they were. So far one is Rap, and I like it; reminds me of Chicago. I haven't listened to the others yet, but hey, they were free! Anyway, I'm having so much fun with books right now that I'm considering applying for work at a used book store; failing that, possibly the library.
I hit several stores today and found some great books:
- Art of the Amazon cool feathered headdresses and other neat stuff...
- The great Artists- Van Gogh Thin, cheap book but big full color pictures of his work
- Made in Illinois- An Artisan Gallery What I've glimpsed so far is beautiful- hand blown glass, wood carvings, pottery, and so on
- The Elements of Style Classic, didn't have it yet. Now I do.
- Brave New World I've read this already, but wanted to get it. I've been assembling a library of must-read type books to loan to friends and to generally have around.
- The Art of Kissing Prize of the day. Strangely enough, more erotic than the Hite Report or maybe even Beardsley.
Speaking of Beardsley and such things, I still haven't gotten the book I ordered, in fact there are now two like that (the second one is by Taschen) supposedly in the mail. Ugh, I hate waiting, finding the mailbox empty each day.
Seems like something else happened...ah, I was given four CD's without cases. I had no idea what they were. So far one is Rap, and I like it; reminds me of Chicago. I haven't listened to the others yet, but hey, they were free! Anyway, I'm having so much fun with books right now that I'm considering applying for work at a used book store; failing that, possibly the library.
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Men
I've realized anew that I feel very comfortable and at ease in the company of men, moreso by far than that of women. It makes sense: I was raised by a single dad from 7-14. Before that, from 3-7, I lived with his parents and younger brothers. My uncles were only seven and eight years older than me, so they were more like brothers. I avoided the women in the family and spent the bulk of my time alone or tussling with my favorite person in the world, uncle Charlie. I loved him with the sort of fervour that I've felt for very few since.*
All my life, I've preferred men. They seem simpler and more straightforward than women, but it's more than that. I'm out of my element with other women, even those that I like. They seem unstable and emotional, and prone to change loyalties based on feelings or whims. They look down on me, because I'm not feminine. No, I'm not, and I don't particularly want to be. The only time I do feel feminine is when I'm in love, and I don't know that it's so much feminine as it is female- and perhaps a bit more domestic than usual. The rest of the time, I'm fairly androgynous, or feel that way. It's a little inconvenient, because people read me as small, vulnerable girl, (ick!) and not an intelligent one at that. Dealing with people's expectations is such a fricking pain....ugh. The women friends that I do have, have some pretty definite similarities: they all tend to be no-nonsense, blunt, outspoken types who are physically capable and down to earth- traits typically thought of as masculine, and all traits that I prefer men for.
So far, so good. Decent, intelligent men are pleasant. So are forthright, strong women. The problem comes when a man decides that he wants to own me and that I'm unhappy being the way I am, that what I need is someone to shelter and coddle me and give me the chance to bring out all the lacy dresses and ruffly curtains they're so sure I'd love to have, and wait dotingly for him to return each night while I attend to household delights. :excuse me while I get sick: I've gone through this several times now: "When you marry me, you won't ever have to split wood or work outside again, you can stay in the house" "I'll take care of you and you can stay at home and...." "I found something for you- (frilly, beribboned piece of sentimental crap, when I wanted a book)". Do they mistake quietness for meekness and therefore a pliable, womanly nature? That's a mistake, alright...and boy, are they mad and upset when they find it out!
I want to be an equal, a person in my own right, not some sort of an advanced pet. Trying to reform me into the feminine ideal is futile...forget it. No, what it'd take is for someone to like and accept me the way I am.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*footnote- I've thought about Uncle Charlie a lot lately. They say that people typically use the same sex parent as a role model and the opposite sex parent as the one from which they select traits they desire in a mate. Obviously I had problems with this- l had only one parent for the most part, and finding men like him has been disastrous. I've come to think that any prominent same or opposite sex figure the child is attached to can be used as a template. I emulated several aunts and a grandmother besides my mom and dad as role models, so it actually makes a good deal of sense that I'd look beyond my dad in other areas as well.
I've realized anew that I feel very comfortable and at ease in the company of men, moreso by far than that of women. It makes sense: I was raised by a single dad from 7-14. Before that, from 3-7, I lived with his parents and younger brothers. My uncles were only seven and eight years older than me, so they were more like brothers. I avoided the women in the family and spent the bulk of my time alone or tussling with my favorite person in the world, uncle Charlie. I loved him with the sort of fervour that I've felt for very few since.*
All my life, I've preferred men. They seem simpler and more straightforward than women, but it's more than that. I'm out of my element with other women, even those that I like. They seem unstable and emotional, and prone to change loyalties based on feelings or whims. They look down on me, because I'm not feminine. No, I'm not, and I don't particularly want to be. The only time I do feel feminine is when I'm in love, and I don't know that it's so much feminine as it is female- and perhaps a bit more domestic than usual. The rest of the time, I'm fairly androgynous, or feel that way. It's a little inconvenient, because people read me as small, vulnerable girl, (ick!) and not an intelligent one at that. Dealing with people's expectations is such a fricking pain....ugh. The women friends that I do have, have some pretty definite similarities: they all tend to be no-nonsense, blunt, outspoken types who are physically capable and down to earth- traits typically thought of as masculine, and all traits that I prefer men for.
So far, so good. Decent, intelligent men are pleasant. So are forthright, strong women. The problem comes when a man decides that he wants to own me and that I'm unhappy being the way I am, that what I need is someone to shelter and coddle me and give me the chance to bring out all the lacy dresses and ruffly curtains they're so sure I'd love to have, and wait dotingly for him to return each night while I attend to household delights. :excuse me while I get sick: I've gone through this several times now: "When you marry me, you won't ever have to split wood or work outside again, you can stay in the house" "I'll take care of you and you can stay at home and...." "I found something for you- (frilly, beribboned piece of sentimental crap, when I wanted a book)". Do they mistake quietness for meekness and therefore a pliable, womanly nature? That's a mistake, alright...and boy, are they mad and upset when they find it out!
I want to be an equal, a person in my own right, not some sort of an advanced pet. Trying to reform me into the feminine ideal is futile...forget it. No, what it'd take is for someone to like and accept me the way I am.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*footnote- I've thought about Uncle Charlie a lot lately. They say that people typically use the same sex parent as a role model and the opposite sex parent as the one from which they select traits they desire in a mate. Obviously I had problems with this- l had only one parent for the most part, and finding men like him has been disastrous. I've come to think that any prominent same or opposite sex figure the child is attached to can be used as a template. I emulated several aunts and a grandmother besides my mom and dad as role models, so it actually makes a good deal of sense that I'd look beyond my dad in other areas as well.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
More Apprehension
It used to be that when my dad got mad, he never yelled. He just got very, very quiet and cold and unresponsive. And then his hand would fly out. It could be quite unexpected. Now whenever a guy gets very quiet or seems cold and silent, I get all uneasy. Inwardly, I'm flinching already.
My sted-dad was even more unpredictable: he didn't have to be angry to do something mean. Indeed, some of his cruelest moments were when his fat face was wreathed in a sadistic smile and his potbelly rumbled with evil chuckles. Eating dinner next to him was nerve wracking. You never knew if he'd steal the food from your plate, or ridicule the way you shook the salt, or puncture your leg with a toothpick, or zap you with a stun gun. Only one thing was for certain- that *something* would happen. I still hate scenes at the dinner table. You never know what might happen...
Snakes- I'm absolutely, positively, irrationally phobic about them. I've finally gotten to the point where a photograph of one doesn't make my heart jump unexpectedly. I don't know why I hate them, but I do. I hate the sound their bodies make, slithering through dry grass. I hate the graceful, sinous curves of them, even as I admire their beauty. I hate their heads and souless eyes. MOST OF ALL I HATE THE WAY THEY SNEAK OUT OF NOWHERE AND SURPRISE YOU! Why? Because- I can't go into any area where I've recently seen a snake, or where a snake might be, without worrying about it. There doesn't have to be a snake present. The knowledge that there may be is enough to ruin the experience for me, because I'm constantly dreading encountering one at close range. If there was a warning, if they were neon orange or two feet tall so I could see them, I wouldn't be half as afraid of them as I am.
Conspiracy theories: I used to waste a lot of time worrying about these. Now that was a strain. I decided to save the fear for things that I could *do* something about. But think about it for a moment. The big factor in a conspiracy theory is the fear, the apprehension of what 'they' might do to you, and who 'they' might be, and when they'll do it. If you knew who it was, what they were going to do, and when, much of the fear would evaporate, and people would simply prepare or take action until they could feel secure again, like they did for Y2K.
Nightmares- think about it: which kinds are the scariest? The ones where you never see your stalker or monster or whatever, right? Or where you see it, but it never catches you, you're afraid of what'll happen when it does, or in falling dreams- I never land- the expectation of splatting on the ground is what's so scary.
Yeah. It looks like apprehension is the scariest thing of all. (note: the next time you watch the news, keep this in mind. Notice how they milk the viewers for a fearful reaction. Effective, aye?)
It used to be that when my dad got mad, he never yelled. He just got very, very quiet and cold and unresponsive. And then his hand would fly out. It could be quite unexpected. Now whenever a guy gets very quiet or seems cold and silent, I get all uneasy. Inwardly, I'm flinching already.
My sted-dad was even more unpredictable: he didn't have to be angry to do something mean. Indeed, some of his cruelest moments were when his fat face was wreathed in a sadistic smile and his potbelly rumbled with evil chuckles. Eating dinner next to him was nerve wracking. You never knew if he'd steal the food from your plate, or ridicule the way you shook the salt, or puncture your leg with a toothpick, or zap you with a stun gun. Only one thing was for certain- that *something* would happen. I still hate scenes at the dinner table. You never know what might happen...
Snakes- I'm absolutely, positively, irrationally phobic about them. I've finally gotten to the point where a photograph of one doesn't make my heart jump unexpectedly. I don't know why I hate them, but I do. I hate the sound their bodies make, slithering through dry grass. I hate the graceful, sinous curves of them, even as I admire their beauty. I hate their heads and souless eyes. MOST OF ALL I HATE THE WAY THEY SNEAK OUT OF NOWHERE AND SURPRISE YOU! Why? Because- I can't go into any area where I've recently seen a snake, or where a snake might be, without worrying about it. There doesn't have to be a snake present. The knowledge that there may be is enough to ruin the experience for me, because I'm constantly dreading encountering one at close range. If there was a warning, if they were neon orange or two feet tall so I could see them, I wouldn't be half as afraid of them as I am.
Conspiracy theories: I used to waste a lot of time worrying about these. Now that was a strain. I decided to save the fear for things that I could *do* something about. But think about it for a moment. The big factor in a conspiracy theory is the fear, the apprehension of what 'they' might do to you, and who 'they' might be, and when they'll do it. If you knew who it was, what they were going to do, and when, much of the fear would evaporate, and people would simply prepare or take action until they could feel secure again, like they did for Y2K.
Nightmares- think about it: which kinds are the scariest? The ones where you never see your stalker or monster or whatever, right? Or where you see it, but it never catches you, you're afraid of what'll happen when it does, or in falling dreams- I never land- the expectation of splatting on the ground is what's so scary.
Yeah. It looks like apprehension is the scariest thing of all. (note: the next time you watch the news, keep this in mind. Notice how they milk the viewers for a fearful reaction. Effective, aye?)
Geez. Whatever happend to my resolution to have *fun* this year? :sigh: :-(
To say that I feel hostile would be just a little bit of an understatement. I feel enraged, cornered, trapped, like an animal that'll chew its limb off to get free, even if it subsequently bleeds to death.
I put in an application at the local grocery store. If that isn't incentive to get off my ass and find a good job, I don't know what is. I do _not_ particularly want to work at that place. People, people, noise and more people all day long :shudder: and then probably a low wage on top of it. You know, maybe I should move. I mean out of state. This just isn't working. There are no jobs to speak of here. I guess after the school year ends, I could. School is one of the few positive things in the boy's life right now, and I'm not going to take that from them. I reallyreallyreallyreally need to get the hell out of here, even for a week or two, to get a breather. I don't know what I'd do with the boys, who'd watch them for me...maybe ummm.....yeah. That might work. If I had a destination in mind. Ha. Pipe dreams.
:flutters like a worn, tattered leaf towards the ground:
To say that I feel hostile would be just a little bit of an understatement. I feel enraged, cornered, trapped, like an animal that'll chew its limb off to get free, even if it subsequently bleeds to death.
I put in an application at the local grocery store. If that isn't incentive to get off my ass and find a good job, I don't know what is. I do _not_ particularly want to work at that place. People, people, noise and more people all day long :shudder: and then probably a low wage on top of it. You know, maybe I should move. I mean out of state. This just isn't working. There are no jobs to speak of here. I guess after the school year ends, I could. School is one of the few positive things in the boy's life right now, and I'm not going to take that from them. I reallyreallyreallyreally need to get the hell out of here, even for a week or two, to get a breather. I don't know what I'd do with the boys, who'd watch them for me...maybe ummm.....yeah. That might work. If I had a destination in mind. Ha. Pipe dreams.
:flutters like a worn, tattered leaf towards the ground:
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Still bleak. Going through The Courage to Heal Workbook right now. Does it help? *shrug* I'm not sure yet. It makes me think though.
Apprehension
Have you ever gotten an injection and cringed at the needle? I used to be positively phobic of shots and needles; it took a nurse or two to keep me from instinctively pulling away just as the nurse was going to jab me. I still don't like them; I'd be a poor diabetic. The nurses everywhere I've been have this terrifying technique: they poise with the needle or syringe, all ready to go, and then they just freeze, about an inch from your flesh. Alright...you'll feel something cold...(alcohol swab)....I'm moving the needle towards your arm...you're going to feel a prick....it'll sting just a little bit...okay....hold still...I'm about to do it.......Arrgh!!! By the time they finally get it over with, I'm a nervous wreck!! Another thing, they tend to want you to watch. Why in the hell I'd want to watch is beyond me. These days I look away, hold very still, and tell them _not_ to tell me, just to do it and get it over with as quickly as possible. They're always surprised at this!
Them- "You don't want to know before I do it?" :look of total disbelief:
Me- "No. Just do it."
Them-(doubtfully) "Well, if you say so..."
I guess they think I'll move at the last minute. The thing is, I expect the pain, but it really isn't much. I can deal with it. It's the anticipation that kills me. Once I feel the needle, it's over, and I don't mind anymore. Anyway, I'm realizing that this dread of bad/painful/unpleasant things happening paralyzes me in a lot of other areas. When I was a kid, I goofed off in church one day. My dad said he'd belt me when we got home. I was in a state of terror. We got home. No spanking...yet. I dreaded that spanking for a day or two. He apparently forgot. I tell you, that incident was far more traumatic than any spanking or other discipline he ever dished out. I couldn't enjoy anything, all I could think of was wondering when the spanking would come. Here are the lyrics to a song by Billy Joel that expresses it perfectly on another angle. All he can think of is the axe (or needle..heh.) Yep. Dread is often worse than the actual event. Maybe.
Apprehension
Have you ever gotten an injection and cringed at the needle? I used to be positively phobic of shots and needles; it took a nurse or two to keep me from instinctively pulling away just as the nurse was going to jab me. I still don't like them; I'd be a poor diabetic. The nurses everywhere I've been have this terrifying technique: they poise with the needle or syringe, all ready to go, and then they just freeze, about an inch from your flesh. Alright...you'll feel something cold...(alcohol swab)....I'm moving the needle towards your arm...you're going to feel a prick....it'll sting just a little bit...okay....hold still...I'm about to do it.......Arrgh!!! By the time they finally get it over with, I'm a nervous wreck!! Another thing, they tend to want you to watch. Why in the hell I'd want to watch is beyond me. These days I look away, hold very still, and tell them _not_ to tell me, just to do it and get it over with as quickly as possible. They're always surprised at this!
Them- "You don't want to know before I do it?" :look of total disbelief:
Me- "No. Just do it."
Them-(doubtfully) "Well, if you say so..."
I guess they think I'll move at the last minute. The thing is, I expect the pain, but it really isn't much. I can deal with it. It's the anticipation that kills me. Once I feel the needle, it's over, and I don't mind anymore. Anyway, I'm realizing that this dread of bad/painful/unpleasant things happening paralyzes me in a lot of other areas. When I was a kid, I goofed off in church one day. My dad said he'd belt me when we got home. I was in a state of terror. We got home. No spanking...yet. I dreaded that spanking for a day or two. He apparently forgot. I tell you, that incident was far more traumatic than any spanking or other discipline he ever dished out. I couldn't enjoy anything, all I could think of was wondering when the spanking would come. Here are the lyrics to a song by Billy Joel that expresses it perfectly on another angle. All he can think of is the axe (or needle..heh.) Yep. Dread is often worse than the actual event. Maybe.
Current mood? I dunno. Umm, maybe loopy and black at the same time, if that makes any sense. In other words, weird. Yeah, big news huh? Not really.
A line from a song by Depeche Mode keeps running through my head in a continous loop.
-------------------------
Oh, girl..
Lead me into your darkness
when this world
is trying its hardest to leave me unimpressed
just one caress
from you and I'm blessed...
----------------------------
Danged if I know why *this* song. I have noooo idea. I kind of like this CD though; the songs are all parodies of Christian rock and sentiments.
You know, I think it's the line about the world leaving him unimpressed. I can definitely relate to that. Whatever. It's a stupid song.
A line from a song by Depeche Mode keeps running through my head in a continous loop.
-------------------------
Oh, girl..
Lead me into your darkness
when this world
is trying its hardest to leave me unimpressed
just one caress
from you and I'm blessed...
----------------------------
Danged if I know why *this* song. I have noooo idea. I kind of like this CD though; the songs are all parodies of Christian rock and sentiments.
You know, I think it's the line about the world leaving him unimpressed. I can definitely relate to that. Whatever. It's a stupid song.
Monday, February 02, 2004
I've been doing OK with Ebay- selling books there, I mean. Throughout my life, I've been the sort of person who could talk someone out of buying something they were determined to have until I came along trying to sell it. Don't ask me how that was possible, but somehow, I managed to do just that, until Ebay. In the last week I've sold, oh, maybe six or seven books? They all went for very modest prices, but still, I'm pleased about it. This is so painless I can't believe it. I have an idea that I could use a shift to another product or else more profitable books. Records are a dime a dozen here. I even saw some old 45's the other day. Wonder if they're in any sort of demand?
I bought a really cool book there this evening (yeah, yeah...I know, I can see how this is going to work...sell books, spend all the dough buying more..). I can hardly wait to get it. Nope. I'm not telling what it is, until it gets here at least. A clue: art. Think Beardsley. Klimt. Schiele. Rodin..... hehehehe....
I awoke this morning thinking of two things: goats, specifically bucks, and the breeding program; that I need to get my act together. When Sprite and Song both died, it kind of took the heart out of it for me. I'll have to see if there's another doe that I can get attached to, I guess. *sigh*...That isn't the way to go about things at all. It has all the authenticity of someone going to a bar and planning to find someone to fall in love with that same night. Which is to say, none. Whatever. Maybe a doe will be born this spring that I'll love. Until then, I need to pay more attention to them, I hardly look at them any more.
I'm working through a book, the sort you answer questions and write in. It asked me to name places where I feel safe. Upstairs, and...I used to feel that way in the barn. It used to be that when I was upset I'd go and visit with Sprite. It's not the same now. Now it's just a smelly old barn. I'm sitting here wondering what I'll do when I move. There won't be an upstairs. I'll have to make a new nest. Moving on-
The other thing running through my early morning mind: knights. As in chess. If you drew a grid, and highlighted the squares the knight travels over, with the ones it actually landed on brighter or darker, would there be some kind of a pattern possible, as in a repeating pattern that would link back up with itself seamlessly? It seem like this would be possible. I ran the mental image of the knight through series of moves and different patterns. There's probably a program that would crunch this question up in no time flat and take all the fun out of it, because I want the pattern to be *attractive*, or at least intriguing.
Started another book about Japan- The Concubines Tattoo, read about a chapter and chucked it away into the thrift store bag. This is the kind of a book that I'd expect from an occidental mind. The differences between it and Memoirs of a Geisha are glaring. There is no subtlety, the thought pattern is direct and blatant, like an American's. Bleah. I persist in thinking that at least some of the geisha book was actually dictated by a real Japanese woman. An American man couldn't have pulled it off. Anyway, back to the more recent one- not only it is culturally wrong, it also seems historically wrong, many of the details are anglicized, and on top of all trhat, it's homophobic and portrays homosexual men as effeminate, scheming predators (and of course the straight men are the honest ones). Puh-lease!!! Aren't the stereotypes well circulated enough already? For the sake of originality, would it be possible for someone to try a different portrayal? It's not that I have any personal reason to care, but the whole book is full of stupid banalities and overworn points of view. Well, the part that I read. I couldn't hack reading any more of it; my brain rebelled. Oy! It's getting late. Time to turn in.
I bought a really cool book there this evening (yeah, yeah...I know, I can see how this is going to work...sell books, spend all the dough buying more..). I can hardly wait to get it. Nope. I'm not telling what it is, until it gets here at least. A clue: art. Think Beardsley. Klimt. Schiele. Rodin..... hehehehe....
I awoke this morning thinking of two things: goats, specifically bucks, and the breeding program; that I need to get my act together. When Sprite and Song both died, it kind of took the heart out of it for me. I'll have to see if there's another doe that I can get attached to, I guess. *sigh*...That isn't the way to go about things at all. It has all the authenticity of someone going to a bar and planning to find someone to fall in love with that same night. Which is to say, none. Whatever. Maybe a doe will be born this spring that I'll love. Until then, I need to pay more attention to them, I hardly look at them any more.
I'm working through a book, the sort you answer questions and write in. It asked me to name places where I feel safe. Upstairs, and...I used to feel that way in the barn. It used to be that when I was upset I'd go and visit with Sprite. It's not the same now. Now it's just a smelly old barn. I'm sitting here wondering what I'll do when I move. There won't be an upstairs. I'll have to make a new nest. Moving on-
The other thing running through my early morning mind: knights. As in chess. If you drew a grid, and highlighted the squares the knight travels over, with the ones it actually landed on brighter or darker, would there be some kind of a pattern possible, as in a repeating pattern that would link back up with itself seamlessly? It seem like this would be possible. I ran the mental image of the knight through series of moves and different patterns. There's probably a program that would crunch this question up in no time flat and take all the fun out of it, because I want the pattern to be *attractive*, or at least intriguing.
Started another book about Japan- The Concubines Tattoo, read about a chapter and chucked it away into the thrift store bag. This is the kind of a book that I'd expect from an occidental mind. The differences between it and Memoirs of a Geisha are glaring. There is no subtlety, the thought pattern is direct and blatant, like an American's. Bleah. I persist in thinking that at least some of the geisha book was actually dictated by a real Japanese woman. An American man couldn't have pulled it off. Anyway, back to the more recent one- not only it is culturally wrong, it also seems historically wrong, many of the details are anglicized, and on top of all trhat, it's homophobic and portrays homosexual men as effeminate, scheming predators (and of course the straight men are the honest ones). Puh-lease!!! Aren't the stereotypes well circulated enough already? For the sake of originality, would it be possible for someone to try a different portrayal? It's not that I have any personal reason to care, but the whole book is full of stupid banalities and overworn points of view. Well, the part that I read. I couldn't hack reading any more of it; my brain rebelled. Oy! It's getting late. Time to turn in.
Thinking about- the paradox of blue jeans. Visually, tight jeans are appealing and somewhat erotic, no? Don't the advertisements depict women with shirts unbuttoned, red lips slightly parted, and a pair of jeans so tight they look glued-on? Close-fitting jeans have a very sexy image. This is odd, because they're made of such stiff, thick, tough material. Tight jeans cramp and pinch sensitive places. They're hard to remove. They have all the softness and tactile sensuality of a coat of armor. They weren't intended, originally, to be tempting. They were utilitarian dungarees for gold miners that'd last and wear like rawhide. Strangely enough, they still feel that way even in their chic, tempting, mutation.
They should make them of something thinner or softer, easier on the body and more sensuous to the touch, like silk, or a thin, fine chenille. Yeah.
They should make them of something thinner or softer, easier on the body and more sensuous to the touch, like silk, or a thin, fine chenille. Yeah.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Hey, cool; they finally vanished. I didn't think they were going to.
I finished Catcher in The Rye some time ago. It's funny: at first I thought he was a moron and a loser, but as the story went on, I realized that he deserved a little more credit, that he was just a lonely kid searching for someone to care about and something to live for. In fact, by the time I was through, I felt really sorry for him (I really did...) and upset with the clueless obtuse adults in his life. I began to wonder who was really nuts and screwed up- Holden, who sees through the ritualized phoniness all around him, or the so called 'normal people' that he's always feeling sorry for and depressed about.
I discovered another thrift store that has a steady supply of worthwhile books. I found (to name a very few) at least three by Pearl S. Buck, a variety of sci-fi, and I don't know what else; oh, some classics like Shakespeare and Bronte, etc.. also a Far Side book. I laughed so hard over this last night that I resolved to save the rest of it for the next time I'm feeling deeply, darkly depressed. I mean, there is just no way one could read it and not lighten up!! Gary Larson is great. :-)
I finished Catcher in The Rye some time ago. It's funny: at first I thought he was a moron and a loser, but as the story went on, I realized that he deserved a little more credit, that he was just a lonely kid searching for someone to care about and something to live for. In fact, by the time I was through, I felt really sorry for him (I really did...) and upset with the clueless obtuse adults in his life. I began to wonder who was really nuts and screwed up- Holden, who sees through the ritualized phoniness all around him, or the so called 'normal people' that he's always feeling sorry for and depressed about.
I discovered another thrift store that has a steady supply of worthwhile books. I found (to name a very few) at least three by Pearl S. Buck, a variety of sci-fi, and I don't know what else; oh, some classics like Shakespeare and Bronte, etc.. also a Far Side book. I laughed so hard over this last night that I resolved to save the rest of it for the next time I'm feeling deeply, darkly depressed. I mean, there is just no way one could read it and not lighten up!! Gary Larson is great. :-)
Thursday, January 29, 2004
I've been trying to delete the last two posts; the editing page shows them as absent, but here they remain. Ugh... So do me a favor, and don't read them, OK?
I finally procured some St.John's wort that works- man, what a difference. I feel sane again.
What do you think of this? Transhumanism My initial response- arrogant, idealisitic, and short sighted, in a way.
I finally procured some St.John's wort that works- man, what a difference. I feel sane again.
What do you think of this? Transhumanism My initial response- arrogant, idealisitic, and short sighted, in a way.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Well. It must seem that I was a little obsessed with the subject, and I have to admit that I found the pictures and accounts very disturbing. Here is more info. The thing is, I honestly had no idea it was such a major deal. But now I'm wondering whether (and how much of) the difficulties between the sexes are related to the trauma of having their genitals mutilated. No wonder some guys wear such an air of bravado- they're insecure. I think it's just a matter of time before the practice becomes outdated and that it will be looked upon with horror by future generations.
I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye. I feel a little sorry for the main character. He seems like such a loser, and the saddest part of it is that he's fairly oblivious to the fact. He's decent at heart and has a definite sympathy for people, and this seems to be his main redeeming feature. He doesn't seem to have any dreams, any goals, any aspirations in life, or....or even any curiosity to speak of. I get the impression that he just sort of floats along, taking in sensory data and responding to it with feelings. Maybe the book changes later on, but the guy just doesn't seem to have any depth of thought going on, though he has to be given credit for feelings. He seems determined to like people when given the slightest chance; I don't know, there's a sort of innocence about him, even though I think he's kind of a moron.
Latest visual interests- seashells. Nothing I could say with my clumsy words would do them justice. I wish they were easier to find around here.
Also- parakeets. They're such cheery little birds. I'm thinking about getting one when I move into town. Maybe.
I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye. I feel a little sorry for the main character. He seems like such a loser, and the saddest part of it is that he's fairly oblivious to the fact. He's decent at heart and has a definite sympathy for people, and this seems to be his main redeeming feature. He doesn't seem to have any dreams, any goals, any aspirations in life, or....or even any curiosity to speak of. I get the impression that he just sort of floats along, taking in sensory data and responding to it with feelings. Maybe the book changes later on, but the guy just doesn't seem to have any depth of thought going on, though he has to be given credit for feelings. He seems determined to like people when given the slightest chance; I don't know, there's a sort of innocence about him, even though I think he's kind of a moron.
Latest visual interests- seashells. Nothing I could say with my clumsy words would do them justice. I wish they were easier to find around here.
Also- parakeets. They're such cheery little birds. I'm thinking about getting one when I move into town. Maybe.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Wait a minute here: did I say "pro's and con's"? From what I could tell, there aren't any pro's. Not one. There is just no justification for doing that kind of a thing. And why anyone in their right mind would worship a god who commanded it just baffles me.
Also backtracking to the book about the geisha. I'm still scratching my head over this, because- well, because. The author is a man, and probably a white man at that (Arthur Golden- sounds white, definitely not Asian). Now here is the thing that makes me wonder if it is at least based on transcriptions of a real woman's experiences: I've read men's accounts of what it's like for a woman to have sex. They're funny. They're insane. They're ludicrous. I invariably end up throwing the book down in disgust and muttering to myself as to why the man even tried writing this. After all, I would *never* *ever* presume to know what it's like for a man, but it seems that all too many male authors simply write down what must be a female rendition of the male experience. But in this book, the geisha's account was right on. She described the kind of things that I honestly don't think most men could even begin to fathom, not because they're obtuse or stupid, but only because they've never been a woman. The motives, the feelings, the misgivings, the sort of things that men puzzle over and grumble about because they don't understand...some woman somewhere composed at least this section. I'm telling you, there is just no way a man could have written it.
For an example of a very poorly written, laughable account of a woman's side of things, read Gap Creek. I kept on wondering why he didn't find a woman and ask her what it's like, for godssake.
As long as I'm incriminating myself talking about these things, a friend called yesterday. She was chortling about a new purchase she'd made; she likes weird christmas lights, she has a set of chili pepper lights that are up year round in her home. She found a set with, *ahem*, penises. (!) The thought suddenly struck me- THIS is the sort of thing that would be covered in the clause of embarrassing the other tenants, hanging a string or two of these in the window! :wicked grin: I can just see the look on the landlord's face... Oh, it would be so perfect... Yes, I'm bad, I know it. So bite me.
Also backtracking to the book about the geisha. I'm still scratching my head over this, because- well, because. The author is a man, and probably a white man at that (Arthur Golden- sounds white, definitely not Asian). Now here is the thing that makes me wonder if it is at least based on transcriptions of a real woman's experiences: I've read men's accounts of what it's like for a woman to have sex. They're funny. They're insane. They're ludicrous. I invariably end up throwing the book down in disgust and muttering to myself as to why the man even tried writing this. After all, I would *never* *ever* presume to know what it's like for a man, but it seems that all too many male authors simply write down what must be a female rendition of the male experience. But in this book, the geisha's account was right on. She described the kind of things that I honestly don't think most men could even begin to fathom, not because they're obtuse or stupid, but only because they've never been a woman. The motives, the feelings, the misgivings, the sort of things that men puzzle over and grumble about because they don't understand...some woman somewhere composed at least this section. I'm telling you, there is just no way a man could have written it.
For an example of a very poorly written, laughable account of a woman's side of things, read Gap Creek. I kept on wondering why he didn't find a woman and ask her what it's like, for godssake.
As long as I'm incriminating myself talking about these things, a friend called yesterday. She was chortling about a new purchase she'd made; she likes weird christmas lights, she has a set of chili pepper lights that are up year round in her home. She found a set with, *ahem*, penises. (!) The thought suddenly struck me- THIS is the sort of thing that would be covered in the clause of embarrassing the other tenants, hanging a string or two of these in the window! :wicked grin: I can just see the look on the landlord's face... Oh, it would be so perfect... Yes, I'm bad, I know it. So bite me.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
The current topic on the INTP list - what happens during circumcision. I feel sick. I can't believe anyone would do this to a baby, especially if they loved him. Oh, my god. (Yeah, God, if you're there, why in the hell would you give males something that makes perfect sense and then tell your chosen people to hack it off their week old babies? Huh??? Nice god....) It's just sick, barbaric, and cruel. Reading about the pro's and con's didn't help either- now I can see why some men are brutal. Hell yes... Man in his infinite folly- screw around with nature, fuck it up, and then blame it on an imaginary god. :stomach churning:
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Yeah, lame I know. I just posted a few hours ago and here I am again. Oh well! I actually do have something else to do but obviously I'm not doing it yet.
I finished the book about the geisha. The story was so poignant that I was practically in tears by the last page of it (not really. I never cry, right? This is the cold hearted bitch, after all..) and it had an unexpectedly happy ending. All through the book I kept shaking my head and thinking, 'man...I can relate to this, but she's nuts, this is never going to work...' and then, in the last four or five pages, it all works out perfectly. So you can imagine just how pissed I was to discover that it is apparently a novel and not based on any true occurences, despite the so-called 'translator's note' in the introduction saying that he'd tape recorded the reminiscenses of an elderly geisha. The story was incredibly convincing, and when I found out i'd been duped, well....I wasn't happy about it, that's all. It's still a good read. Just don't get fixated on its being a true story.
Music- my Dire Straits CD hasn't arrived yet. This song keeps rolling through my head. All right- I'm going to admit something- Elton John is very F (feeling, emotional) in the tone of his music. Generally that kind of crap turns me off. But he has a way of expressing it perfectly- whatever it is he's trying to express in a particular song, I mean- and the songs tend to be a perfect marriage of lyrics and music. In that sense, I think he's a genius. The thing of it is, when it comes to feelings, I don't know what to do with them. Half the time I don't even realize they're there or what they are until it's too late and they're staring me in the face. Expressing them? Verbally??? You've got to be kidding. Besides, once I identify that there *is* a feeling of some sort and exactly *what* it is, I analyze it for hours (or days or months) and try to figure out just what it means, why it's there, etc etc...in other words I move it from feeling into thinking mode in order to deal with it.
That's why I like Elton John. He expresses things that I can't, eloquently. I'll be listening to his music, and eventually a song will play where I'll say- "hey, yeah. That's exactly it." So, back to the song. I recognized that particular feeling the first time I heard it. You'd sort of have to hear it though, the lyrics aren't enough. But it feels like a kid cowering in a corner from an angry father, wanting his dad's approval and love, wondering what in the hell he did wrong and what he's got to do to be loved again. This is the most perfect expression of an abused child that I've ever heard. I have more to say on this note but the night is wearing on rather fruitlessly and there are some things I need to work on.
I finished the book about the geisha. The story was so poignant that I was practically in tears by the last page of it (not really. I never cry, right? This is the cold hearted bitch, after all..) and it had an unexpectedly happy ending. All through the book I kept shaking my head and thinking, 'man...I can relate to this, but she's nuts, this is never going to work...' and then, in the last four or five pages, it all works out perfectly. So you can imagine just how pissed I was to discover that it is apparently a novel and not based on any true occurences, despite the so-called 'translator's note' in the introduction saying that he'd tape recorded the reminiscenses of an elderly geisha. The story was incredibly convincing, and when I found out i'd been duped, well....I wasn't happy about it, that's all. It's still a good read. Just don't get fixated on its being a true story.
Music- my Dire Straits CD hasn't arrived yet. This song keeps rolling through my head. All right- I'm going to admit something- Elton John is very F (feeling, emotional) in the tone of his music. Generally that kind of crap turns me off. But he has a way of expressing it perfectly- whatever it is he's trying to express in a particular song, I mean- and the songs tend to be a perfect marriage of lyrics and music. In that sense, I think he's a genius. The thing of it is, when it comes to feelings, I don't know what to do with them. Half the time I don't even realize they're there or what they are until it's too late and they're staring me in the face. Expressing them? Verbally??? You've got to be kidding. Besides, once I identify that there *is* a feeling of some sort and exactly *what* it is, I analyze it for hours (or days or months) and try to figure out just what it means, why it's there, etc etc...in other words I move it from feeling into thinking mode in order to deal with it.
That's why I like Elton John. He expresses things that I can't, eloquently. I'll be listening to his music, and eventually a song will play where I'll say- "hey, yeah. That's exactly it." So, back to the song. I recognized that particular feeling the first time I heard it. You'd sort of have to hear it though, the lyrics aren't enough. But it feels like a kid cowering in a corner from an angry father, wanting his dad's approval and love, wondering what in the hell he did wrong and what he's got to do to be loved again. This is the most perfect expression of an abused child that I've ever heard. I have more to say on this note but the night is wearing on rather fruitlessly and there are some things I need to work on.
Went and looked at (counting...) five apartments today, and inquired about a number of others. The five I looked at are al owned by the same guy. I've met this man before, he's seems decent enough. I think he's a mormon. All the places were really nice. The most appealing one is about to have a lease signed on it, the most affordable one is way too small, the others are OK. The one I liked second best is expensive, I'd just about need a rommate to rent it with.
The apartment policies crack me up. A sampling: Profane, obscene, loud or boisterous language or unseemly behavior and conduct, is absolutely prohibited, and tenant obligates himself, and those under him, not to do or permit anything that will annoy, harass, embarrass,or inconvenience any of the other tenants or occupants in the subject or adjoining premises.
Landlord has the right to immediately remove combustible material from the premises. Say what??
Now, understand me here. It isn't that I would go right out and break all the rules just for the sake of being perverse, though it's tempting when there are so many rules. I always like to read the rules wherever I go and see what all is prohibited so that I'll know what I'm getting into. These rules are lenient compared to those at a homeless shelter, where you cannot even kiss, hug, or hold hands unless you've got a signed marriage license. Also generally outlawed- eating your own food. If whatever they give you at the communal meals isn't enough or you can't eat it, tough luck. In fact, you're not even allowed to have your own food in your backpack, but I always did. I couldn't very well get rid of it knowing I'd be back on the streets in a day or two.
Why am I talking about homelessness again? I guess because my position at this point is tenous. The prospect of falling on hard times and possibly ending up on the streets scares the hell out of me. I'll do my damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen, and it shouldn't, but it's sort of the same uneasy, anxious feeling I get when the fridge and cupboards start to look empty. The strange thing is that I don't even have an appetite to speak of anymore. It's typical for me not to eat much of anything until 3-4 PM, at which point I'll have something small, and then dinner a few hours later. If I didn't get shaky and lightheaded about that time, chances are I'd skip out on eating at all. Yet if the food gets low I start to panic and given the opportunity, would probably stockpile food. Weird.
The apartment policies crack me up. A sampling: Profane, obscene, loud or boisterous language or unseemly behavior and conduct, is absolutely prohibited, and tenant obligates himself, and those under him, not to do or permit anything that will annoy, harass, embarrass,or inconvenience any of the other tenants or occupants in the subject or adjoining premises.
- Profane- does this mean I can't say 'God is dead' or somesuch? It must, because swearing is covered next.
- Obscene- assuming it isn't loud and noone can hear me, why not? It is going to hurt anyone if I sit quietly cussing while I'm on the computer?
- Loud- OK, I can see that.
- Boisterous- is this different from loud? How?
- Unseemly behavior and conduct- I'm not sure I want to know what's covered by this....
- Absolutely Prohibited- Wow.
- Tenant obligates himself- Oh, wait.. That doesn't include me, then. ;-)
- annoy- what if the other tenant is easily annoyed by perfectly ordinary and unobtrusive behavior?
- Harass- I can see that..
- Embarrass-Like walking around the apartment in the nude? Or would that be unseemly behavior? Maybe this means you have to be silent if you have sex? Huh.
- inconvenience- This is reasonable.
Landlord has the right to immediately remove combustible material from the premises. Say what??
Now, understand me here. It isn't that I would go right out and break all the rules just for the sake of being perverse, though it's tempting when there are so many rules. I always like to read the rules wherever I go and see what all is prohibited so that I'll know what I'm getting into. These rules are lenient compared to those at a homeless shelter, where you cannot even kiss, hug, or hold hands unless you've got a signed marriage license. Also generally outlawed- eating your own food. If whatever they give you at the communal meals isn't enough or you can't eat it, tough luck. In fact, you're not even allowed to have your own food in your backpack, but I always did. I couldn't very well get rid of it knowing I'd be back on the streets in a day or two.
Why am I talking about homelessness again? I guess because my position at this point is tenous. The prospect of falling on hard times and possibly ending up on the streets scares the hell out of me. I'll do my damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen, and it shouldn't, but it's sort of the same uneasy, anxious feeling I get when the fridge and cupboards start to look empty. The strange thing is that I don't even have an appetite to speak of anymore. It's typical for me not to eat much of anything until 3-4 PM, at which point I'll have something small, and then dinner a few hours later. If I didn't get shaky and lightheaded about that time, chances are I'd skip out on eating at all. Yet if the food gets low I start to panic and given the opportunity, would probably stockpile food. Weird.
Monday, January 19, 2004
Current reading list
-----------------------------------------
Still reading Faust now and then, and enjoying it. To be honest though, Memoirs of a Geisha is so captivating that I've neglected all other reading material, even seed and flower catalogs. The bittersweet portrait of a girl trying her best to better her lot in life (and so far not having any love or real closeness) is told with such sadness intermingled with an almost poetic style of expression....and it's all true.
After these two are finished, I have Catcher in the Rye and one by Asimov. I bought not one but TWO copies of Stranger in a Strange Land, only to find out that neither one is the uncut version, which is what I want. I can't see any reason to read these since I want the whole thing! Man that makes me feel like a dork.
Movies
--------------------------------------------
I LOVED The Meaning of Life. Man, that movie is funny! It's just great. :-) This one gets added to my top ten favorite movies.
Haven't watched the next two yet. There are a bunch of books and movies I want to find, as well as music. Found Dire Straits, it's now in the mail on its way to me. I'll have to compile a list of the stuff I'm looking for. Definitely Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, The Handmaiden by Ursula Leguin (a favorite author) and if I could find them I'd probably get more books on art...hmmm, maybe Modigliani? Love those long ovoid heads with their almond eyes...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every day that goes by I think I should paint or draw something but the time just sllips away or gets all befuddled with so much noise and commotion and upset, by the time I wind down on the computer it's well past time to go to bed. If I don't do something, my life is going to slip away just like that, one day at a time- one futile, hectic day after another until there's nothing left of me- or nothing worth preserving anyhow.
-----------------------------------------
- Faust- Goethe
- Memoirs of a Geisha- Arther Golden
Still reading Faust now and then, and enjoying it. To be honest though, Memoirs of a Geisha is so captivating that I've neglected all other reading material, even seed and flower catalogs. The bittersweet portrait of a girl trying her best to better her lot in life (and so far not having any love or real closeness) is told with such sadness intermingled with an almost poetic style of expression....and it's all true.
After these two are finished, I have Catcher in the Rye and one by Asimov. I bought not one but TWO copies of Stranger in a Strange Land, only to find out that neither one is the uncut version, which is what I want. I can't see any reason to read these since I want the whole thing! Man that makes me feel like a dork.
Movies
--------------------------------------------
- The Meaning of Life (Monty Python)
- The Search for Bobby Fischer
- Pirates of Silicon Valley
I LOVED The Meaning of Life. Man, that movie is funny! It's just great. :-) This one gets added to my top ten favorite movies.
Haven't watched the next two yet. There are a bunch of books and movies I want to find, as well as music. Found Dire Straits, it's now in the mail on its way to me. I'll have to compile a list of the stuff I'm looking for. Definitely Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, The Handmaiden by Ursula Leguin (a favorite author) and if I could find them I'd probably get more books on art...hmmm, maybe Modigliani? Love those long ovoid heads with their almond eyes...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every day that goes by I think I should paint or draw something but the time just sllips away or gets all befuddled with so much noise and commotion and upset, by the time I wind down on the computer it's well past time to go to bed. If I don't do something, my life is going to slip away just like that, one day at a time- one futile, hectic day after another until there's nothing left of me- or nothing worth preserving anyhow.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
I'm thinking about discontinuing this blog. It occurs to me that having it might not be such a bright idea. This is coupled with the fact that I truly doubt anyone reads it, making the risk fairly pointless, if you know what I mean... It's just stupid to write the things that I do here, when a diary would do just as well.
What else- I went through a photo album the other day, and I noticed a few things.
About my sister- she's younger but I've always lived in her shadow. She's glamorous and cute and pretty and well, she has that something...charisma? that I totally lack. She's got style and confidence. We look pretty much the same, it isn't that I'm homely, it's that she presents herself as though she's a beauty queen and utterly secure about it. I wouldn't want to be her, I wouldn't be happy living her life, and I prefer who I am, yet there is this nasty green streak of envy. Everybody likes her. She's sweet and outgoing and amiable. She gets what she wants. Cuteness goes a long, long way in life, and at time I have to admit to resenting that. She and I are such a contrast in almost every way despite the fact that we had the same upbringing. It's hard to blame my lack of success on a rough start when she's done so well. I asked her once how she did it, why everything seems to work out so well for her. She said that long ago, she'd seen how I was and the results of my weird unconventional ways, and decided that whatever I did, she'd do the exact opposite, and that it'd worked out pretty well. OUCH!
About the goats and I: the fact that the only pleasing pictures of me invariably include a goat says something significant. I've been thinking about drastically or completely reducing the number of goats in the herd. I can't enjoy them as I'd like to- when I've got to be tied down with so many little kids, dealing with them becomes more of a chore than a joy. Then I looked at these pictures and I realized- ya know, the goats make me happy. Life is about trying to be happy. Maybe I don't need so many, and perhaps I will eventually sell them off, but there are precious few things in this life that put a smile on my face and dammit, the goats are one of them.
What else- I went through a photo album the other day, and I noticed a few things.
- It would be useful to organize the photos by person or possibly time period. Having all sorts of family friends and whatnot from a span of 20-30 years jumbled together is confusing, a mishmash.
- I've got a lot of pictures of my full sister, and I do mean a LOT! It would not surprise me if a third or more of them had her in them.
- I don't photograph well....at all.... But the pictures that are decent generally have me smiling happily with a goat or two.
About my sister- she's younger but I've always lived in her shadow. She's glamorous and cute and pretty and well, she has that something...charisma? that I totally lack. She's got style and confidence. We look pretty much the same, it isn't that I'm homely, it's that she presents herself as though she's a beauty queen and utterly secure about it. I wouldn't want to be her, I wouldn't be happy living her life, and I prefer who I am, yet there is this nasty green streak of envy. Everybody likes her. She's sweet and outgoing and amiable. She gets what she wants. Cuteness goes a long, long way in life, and at time I have to admit to resenting that. She and I are such a contrast in almost every way despite the fact that we had the same upbringing. It's hard to blame my lack of success on a rough start when she's done so well. I asked her once how she did it, why everything seems to work out so well for her. She said that long ago, she'd seen how I was and the results of my weird unconventional ways, and decided that whatever I did, she'd do the exact opposite, and that it'd worked out pretty well. OUCH!
About the goats and I: the fact that the only pleasing pictures of me invariably include a goat says something significant. I've been thinking about drastically or completely reducing the number of goats in the herd. I can't enjoy them as I'd like to- when I've got to be tied down with so many little kids, dealing with them becomes more of a chore than a joy. Then I looked at these pictures and I realized- ya know, the goats make me happy. Life is about trying to be happy. Maybe I don't need so many, and perhaps I will eventually sell them off, but there are precious few things in this life that put a smile on my face and dammit, the goats are one of them.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Current mood- Not so good. Pretty crummy actually. But there isn't a lot that can be done about it, so.... there are a lot of other thoughts rolling through my head. Such as:
Originality- It's something I've always placed a very high value on. I used to go out of my way to be just as weird and unconventional as I could possibly be and get away with. It's on par with intelligence as far as importance goes, though I suppose there's some crossover between the two, because it seems to me that intelligence requires at least some originality in the thought processes. I'm digressing. What I wonder every so often is whether we have the capacity to be truly original, or do we simply blend and tweak the familiar and known slightly beyond what is expected? Take plagarism (sp?) : don't most artists mimic and copy something they've seen? If not other art, then nature, the shapes of architecture, etc? Ah- there is the abstract; but isn't this influenced as well by the input that has already entered our minds? It has to be, right? How much of what we come up with is truly unique? I'm thinking not much. Then again- Salvador Dali comes to mind. I love this quote of his- "The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad."
So anyway, back to what I was saying, I think that maybe the deal is that even though a particular train of thought may not be truly original (i.e. it has been thought of before by others), it becomes so when you make it your own by having thought it through and aligning or contrasting it with the other data in your mind. What 's really dangerous are the people who simply take in what they've heard or been taught without assimilating it or even being aware.
Now, this leads me to another tangent. How many people *are* aware, in the sense that they question and think about stuff? My main gripe with TV is the propensity that people have to rely on it for entertainment (rather than imagination) and information (which they rarely critique). Even books can take on this role. Nothing irritates me in quite the same way as to hear someone spouting off quotes from some book as though it's the blessed truth, even a book that has merit. I mean, if they quote from it because they found some passage interesting or personally meaningful, that's one thing, but to say; "well, Edgar Cayce says....." or, "The book of New Age Enlightenment says...." just irks the heck out of me. It's nigh impossible to have a good conversation with such people. They don't really *think*.
So- can people actually be original? If you took someone and alienated them from all human data, what kind of things would they think, assuming they lived and weren't so dysfunctional as to be non-human...would that be possible? I don't think so. All we can do is to take what we have and add it together, or subtract, etc. But from whence do the leaps of genius come? Those, are they simply stretching what's available beyond what most are accustomed to (which actually wouldn't be hard, if you think about it..)?? Or?
Originality- It's something I've always placed a very high value on. I used to go out of my way to be just as weird and unconventional as I could possibly be and get away with. It's on par with intelligence as far as importance goes, though I suppose there's some crossover between the two, because it seems to me that intelligence requires at least some originality in the thought processes. I'm digressing. What I wonder every so often is whether we have the capacity to be truly original, or do we simply blend and tweak the familiar and known slightly beyond what is expected? Take plagarism (sp?) : don't most artists mimic and copy something they've seen? If not other art, then nature, the shapes of architecture, etc? Ah- there is the abstract; but isn't this influenced as well by the input that has already entered our minds? It has to be, right? How much of what we come up with is truly unique? I'm thinking not much. Then again- Salvador Dali comes to mind. I love this quote of his- "The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad."
So anyway, back to what I was saying, I think that maybe the deal is that even though a particular train of thought may not be truly original (i.e. it has been thought of before by others), it becomes so when you make it your own by having thought it through and aligning or contrasting it with the other data in your mind. What 's really dangerous are the people who simply take in what they've heard or been taught without assimilating it or even being aware.
Now, this leads me to another tangent. How many people *are* aware, in the sense that they question and think about stuff? My main gripe with TV is the propensity that people have to rely on it for entertainment (rather than imagination) and information (which they rarely critique). Even books can take on this role. Nothing irritates me in quite the same way as to hear someone spouting off quotes from some book as though it's the blessed truth, even a book that has merit. I mean, if they quote from it because they found some passage interesting or personally meaningful, that's one thing, but to say; "well, Edgar Cayce says....." or, "The book of New Age Enlightenment says...." just irks the heck out of me. It's nigh impossible to have a good conversation with such people. They don't really *think*.
So- can people actually be original? If you took someone and alienated them from all human data, what kind of things would they think, assuming they lived and weren't so dysfunctional as to be non-human...would that be possible? I don't think so. All we can do is to take what we have and add it together, or subtract, etc. But from whence do the leaps of genius come? Those, are they simply stretching what's available beyond what most are accustomed to (which actually wouldn't be hard, if you think about it..)?? Or?
Sunday, January 11, 2004
I think my dad has disowned me. I didn't hear a peep from him this holiday season. I don't care about the presents, but on the other hand it is nice to feel as though you exist to your parents and they're happy you're around. Actually his wife always handled the presents; I kind of think I wouldn't have heard from him most years if she weren't around. Maybe he read the blog and got mad. Or maybe it was the bit on my website that hinted I don't believe in God anymore. It's hard to say for sure. He's at least as uncommunicative as I am (wonder where I learned it?).
I didn't hear from my mom either, despite trying to contact her both by phone and email several times. So between the two of them, I was feeling pretty orphaned. :-(
My mom finally called yesterday. In the course of the hour or two long conversation, I think I figured out why my dad might be put out with me. His birthday is close to Christmas (as is hers, they're the same age), and my mom mentioned offhand that she'd just hit the big 5-0. This was a shock- I thought they were turning 49 this year. In fact, I was planning to go out and visit my dad and do something really special for his fiftieth. I can't believe this. Since when does someone forget their parent's age, especially someone who has a whole battery of phone and other long numbers memorized? Geez.
I still can't figure this out though. I'm 31 and a virgo. She says I was conceived on his birthday, and she was eighteen when she was pregnant with me. They're both Sagittarius, so the conception story holds some water. By this math, they both should have been 18 when I was born, yet she says they were 19? I am seriously confused....I was sure they were both born in 1954... I don't know how I am going to admit that I had no idea he was 50 this year...but on the other hand I don't want him to think I ignored it. My mom didn't care (she didn't want to be reminded of the fact!) but he's so sensitive and easily offended...man, have I ever screwed up this time.
I didn't hear from my mom either, despite trying to contact her both by phone and email several times. So between the two of them, I was feeling pretty orphaned. :-(
My mom finally called yesterday. In the course of the hour or two long conversation, I think I figured out why my dad might be put out with me. His birthday is close to Christmas (as is hers, they're the same age), and my mom mentioned offhand that she'd just hit the big 5-0. This was a shock- I thought they were turning 49 this year. In fact, I was planning to go out and visit my dad and do something really special for his fiftieth. I can't believe this. Since when does someone forget their parent's age, especially someone who has a whole battery of phone and other long numbers memorized? Geez.
I still can't figure this out though. I'm 31 and a virgo. She says I was conceived on his birthday, and she was eighteen when she was pregnant with me. They're both Sagittarius, so the conception story holds some water. By this math, they both should have been 18 when I was born, yet she says they were 19? I am seriously confused....I was sure they were both born in 1954... I don't know how I am going to admit that I had no idea he was 50 this year...but on the other hand I don't want him to think I ignored it. My mom didn't care (she didn't want to be reminded of the fact!) but he's so sensitive and easily offended...man, have I ever screwed up this time.
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Friday, January 02, 2004
I'm still trying to think of something profound to start the New Year off with. Mainly, I'd like to have fun and actually *enjoy* life for a change. Isn't that deep and thought provoking? No? Oh. Sorry. Not really...sorry that is...being sorry all the time isn't fun. ;^)
OK. Well how about this: The Meaning of Life (As I see it).
--------------------------------------------------------------------
For the past two years or more, I've been trying to figure out why we're here. Once I had faith in some kind of a higher meaning; after I discarded that, it all seemed more meaningless than ever. The concept of a meaningless and futile life was unacceptable- my life isn't happy enough that I can tolerate the notion that all this struggling and surviving has been done for its own sake...I mean, if that were the case, why bother at all? It really tormented me, because I just can't handle the idea that it's always going to be this way and worse, that there wasn't and isn't a reason for me to be here at all. (and then sometimes I think....what? I'm so important??? There's a *reason* for my being here? get real...) But I'm getting sidetracked.
I think the deal is this: we have to create a meaning for ourselves. It isn't something that's out there in the cosmos or higher being somewhere, waiting to be discovered by some profound enlightenment. We have to make it. And if we don't, then hell yes, our lives will in fact be meaningless.
OK. Well how about this: The Meaning of Life (As I see it).
--------------------------------------------------------------------
For the past two years or more, I've been trying to figure out why we're here. Once I had faith in some kind of a higher meaning; after I discarded that, it all seemed more meaningless than ever. The concept of a meaningless and futile life was unacceptable- my life isn't happy enough that I can tolerate the notion that all this struggling and surviving has been done for its own sake...I mean, if that were the case, why bother at all? It really tormented me, because I just can't handle the idea that it's always going to be this way and worse, that there wasn't and isn't a reason for me to be here at all. (and then sometimes I think....what? I'm so important??? There's a *reason* for my being here? get real...) But I'm getting sidetracked.
I think the deal is this: we have to create a meaning for ourselves. It isn't something that's out there in the cosmos or higher being somewhere, waiting to be discovered by some profound enlightenment. We have to make it. And if we don't, then hell yes, our lives will in fact be meaningless.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Here is a fragmant of an e mail I received today.
--------------------------------------------
Fw: lets show there is a bunch of us!
Hello, everyone. It will be interesting to see who
>responds! I told this guy that I could find 300
people
>who believe in God before he could find 300 people
>who do not believe in God. If you believe in God,
please
>copy and paste this onto a blank e-mail form (leaving
>off the headers). Add your name, and send it to your
>friends and family. If you happen to be the 300th
>person signing this, please send it back to: Dorothy
>Wiser. Her e-mail address is: dwiser@serv.net
(and there follows a list with some 142 names along
with a (nearly identical) list with 141 names.
---------------------------------------------
First of all, it's spam from a person I barely know.
Secondly, "lets show there is a bunch of us!" ??? Just
looking at that sort of grammar makes me irritable. If
I was a Xtian it'd drive me nuts- is the whole point
to prove how obnoxious and illiterate one can be?
Besides, what is the objective and purpose of the
exercise? Majority opinion wins in a very personal
matter? If 99.9% of the people believe in God, he must
exist?
But what really got my goat ;-) was the fact that
there is no list for those who do not believe, and
this makes the whole thing seem even more pointless
than it already did.
I guess...whatever makes someone's day...::shrug::
My two best friends are agnostic and atheist, and I
never get this sort of equivalent spam from them. My
Jewish friends don't send anything like this. Nearly
every Christian person I've corresponded
with has sent me this kind of stuff at least once.
I suppose the goal is to make sure that everyone hears
the TRUTH whether they wanted to or not...but wouldn't
a little curiosity make it more interesting?
--------------------------------------------
Fw: lets show there is a bunch of us!
Hello, everyone. It will be interesting to see who
>responds! I told this guy that I could find 300
people
>who believe in God before he could find 300 people
>who do not believe in God. If you believe in God,
please
>copy and paste this onto a blank e-mail form (leaving
>off the headers). Add your name, and send it to your
>friends and family. If you happen to be the 300th
>person signing this, please send it back to: Dorothy
>Wiser. Her e-mail address is: dwiser@serv.net
(and there follows a list with some 142 names along
with a (nearly identical) list with 141 names.
---------------------------------------------
First of all, it's spam from a person I barely know.
Secondly, "lets show there is a bunch of us!" ??? Just
looking at that sort of grammar makes me irritable. If
I was a Xtian it'd drive me nuts- is the whole point
to prove how obnoxious and illiterate one can be?
Besides, what is the objective and purpose of the
exercise? Majority opinion wins in a very personal
matter? If 99.9% of the people believe in God, he must
exist?
But what really got my goat ;-) was the fact that
there is no list for those who do not believe, and
this makes the whole thing seem even more pointless
than it already did.
I guess...whatever makes someone's day...::shrug::
My two best friends are agnostic and atheist, and I
never get this sort of equivalent spam from them. My
Jewish friends don't send anything like this. Nearly
every Christian person I've corresponded
with has sent me this kind of stuff at least once.
I suppose the goal is to make sure that everyone hears
the TRUTH whether they wanted to or not...but wouldn't
a little curiosity make it more interesting?
Saturday, December 27, 2003
I must be seven shades of red right now. I think I've mentioned before that my husband has a habit of referring webpages to me by leaving them open on my browser. Generally he does this with sites that he believes warrant my attention. This annoys me- his idea of what I should see often isn't congruent with mine. Besides, I'm an adult and I'll think whatever the heck I want to!!
I think the idea this time might have been to shock or embarrass me...(it worked)
Genital art
Traumatic Masturbatory Syndrome
Actually....*blushing mightiliy*.....I agree with Betty Dodson. People need to quit being ashamed of their genitalia and the associated activities. I really believe that if this could happen, there would be a dramatic improvement in our society as a whole: less exploitation, healthier interactions between men and women, less unhealthy sublimation. There isn't anything dirty, shameful, or wrong about the sexual organs. Maybe sex was regarded as mysterious and therefore magical by primitive man and a whole range of superstitions arose that we still haven't outgrown.
So why am I blushing and acting all uptight about this?!
I think the idea this time might have been to shock or embarrass me...(it worked)
Genital art
Traumatic Masturbatory Syndrome
Actually....*blushing mightiliy*.....I agree with Betty Dodson. People need to quit being ashamed of their genitalia and the associated activities. I really believe that if this could happen, there would be a dramatic improvement in our society as a whole: less exploitation, healthier interactions between men and women, less unhealthy sublimation. There isn't anything dirty, shameful, or wrong about the sexual organs. Maybe sex was regarded as mysterious and therefore magical by primitive man and a whole range of superstitions arose that we still haven't outgrown.
So why am I blushing and acting all uptight about this?!
Thursday, December 25, 2003
Fed and milked the goats, started the generator-we're on solar power and the voltage was alarmingly low- and walked up through the greenhouse to come inside. As I did so, a smell wafted past me...it was like parsnips, but I know it can't be. We haven't grown parsnips for a few years, and there never were enough to dig and store in the greenhouse, at any rate. Still, the scent filled me with nostalgia and a sort of wistfulness. This- living in the country- is what I thought I really wanted. For years I dreamt and planned and fantasized about it and thought I'd be soooo happy if only I could live on a self sufficient homestead and have lots of goats, a nice garden, home-schooled kids, homegrown food, you know, the works.
- THE SIMPLE LIFE - (or, death of a dream)
I've got the goats- better than I ever thought I'd own, from the same bloodlines I used to drool over. I taught myself- from a little booklet- to A.I. them and in time became successful at that. I can now breed the does to bucks that I'd once have been thrilled to get a grandson from at great cost. I've won at a show or two. Heck, I even have a website and a dairygoat forum for crying out loud. Who'd of thought?
For several years, I had the sort of garden I'd always wanted. It was lush, fantastic. I grew pumpkins so large they had to be moved in a car. Then, for whatever reason, it apparently became impossible to get water to the garden. I watched as my indivually planted and carefully spaced seeds (sown into beds I'd dug and shaped myself- completely with hand tools) germinated and then curled up and died in the dry soil. Did this enough times until one day I couldn't bear to do it again. Now I plant flowers and bulbs that can do without much more water than the rain and ground provide. Even these die sometimes, but enough live to make it worthwhile.
The kids- Three was great. Four was a handful. Five????? Some women are cut out to be mothers and they do a really spectacular job of it even with a number of children. My husband's first wife was/is such a woman. I've never achieved her level of excellence, and I'm tired of trying to be something other than myself. Homeschooling went well with the first kid. The second one had a mind I couldn't get through to. Then there were the power struggles about schoolwork. Sent them both to school. They love it. Otherwise...I've failed my kids. One of these days they're all going to grow up and hate me; unless I change things, dramatically.
Home-grown food- it's nice. Nothing like homegrown, for sure. If you have kids who can't drink cow's milk, fresh goat milk is just the ticket. But at this point, I'm really happy for food in general, any food...as long as it's not oatmeal, venison, or beans. Even pasta and potatoes have grown a little old.
So sometimes I look at this place, at the trees and gardens and ground that I love intensely...at the goats...at five cute expectant little faces...and I wonder what's the matter with me. Why can't I be happy with this?
I'll tell you: THE DREAM IS FLAWED. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE SIMPLE LIFE.
The so-called simple life isn't simple, it isn't cheap, and the food certainly isn't free unless you go and pick it out of the woods. It isn't easy, it isn't euphoric, and it isn't the ideal way to forge a relationship. It's a whole lot of hard work, everything is complicated and interconnected so that whatever you do affects several other aspects of the homestead, there are always umpteen tasks and chores that should be done even though you put in 12-16 hour days, the rewards are not always forthcoming, and if you want something that'll test and strain a relationship to it's breaking point, try having a whole bunch of little kids under these conditions and then being asked what you did all day long when he comes home from work!!
-------------------
I'd still like to live in the country. But I don't want to do it like this. I wouldn't even try to grow/make everything we need. I'd just grow what I wanted to, what I enjoy having, and buy the rest. Idealism is great, but it can't supersede reality and human limits. Allow it to do so, and you'll have to deal with the cold hard facts of life pretty danged soon.
- THE SIMPLE LIFE - (or, death of a dream)
I've got the goats- better than I ever thought I'd own, from the same bloodlines I used to drool over. I taught myself- from a little booklet- to A.I. them and in time became successful at that. I can now breed the does to bucks that I'd once have been thrilled to get a grandson from at great cost. I've won at a show or two. Heck, I even have a website and a dairygoat forum for crying out loud. Who'd of thought?
For several years, I had the sort of garden I'd always wanted. It was lush, fantastic. I grew pumpkins so large they had to be moved in a car. Then, for whatever reason, it apparently became impossible to get water to the garden. I watched as my indivually planted and carefully spaced seeds (sown into beds I'd dug and shaped myself- completely with hand tools) germinated and then curled up and died in the dry soil. Did this enough times until one day I couldn't bear to do it again. Now I plant flowers and bulbs that can do without much more water than the rain and ground provide. Even these die sometimes, but enough live to make it worthwhile.
The kids- Three was great. Four was a handful. Five????? Some women are cut out to be mothers and they do a really spectacular job of it even with a number of children. My husband's first wife was/is such a woman. I've never achieved her level of excellence, and I'm tired of trying to be something other than myself. Homeschooling went well with the first kid. The second one had a mind I couldn't get through to. Then there were the power struggles about schoolwork. Sent them both to school. They love it. Otherwise...I've failed my kids. One of these days they're all going to grow up and hate me; unless I change things, dramatically.
Home-grown food- it's nice. Nothing like homegrown, for sure. If you have kids who can't drink cow's milk, fresh goat milk is just the ticket. But at this point, I'm really happy for food in general, any food...as long as it's not oatmeal, venison, or beans. Even pasta and potatoes have grown a little old.
So sometimes I look at this place, at the trees and gardens and ground that I love intensely...at the goats...at five cute expectant little faces...and I wonder what's the matter with me. Why can't I be happy with this?
I'll tell you: THE DREAM IS FLAWED. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE SIMPLE LIFE.
The so-called simple life isn't simple, it isn't cheap, and the food certainly isn't free unless you go and pick it out of the woods. It isn't easy, it isn't euphoric, and it isn't the ideal way to forge a relationship. It's a whole lot of hard work, everything is complicated and interconnected so that whatever you do affects several other aspects of the homestead, there are always umpteen tasks and chores that should be done even though you put in 12-16 hour days, the rewards are not always forthcoming, and if you want something that'll test and strain a relationship to it's breaking point, try having a whole bunch of little kids under these conditions and then being asked what you did all day long when he comes home from work!!
-------------------
I'd still like to live in the country. But I don't want to do it like this. I wouldn't even try to grow/make everything we need. I'd just grow what I wanted to, what I enjoy having, and buy the rest. Idealism is great, but it can't supersede reality and human limits. Allow it to do so, and you'll have to deal with the cold hard facts of life pretty danged soon.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Add to current readng list: Faust by Goethe. I was warned that it would be difficult reading...don't know why. If you can make sense of a King James Bible, even Shakespeare isn't hard. Actually...I never did suceed in making sense of the bible. But I suppose that's another subject.
It's Christmas Eve, and I was feeling kind of down about that. I hate Xmas. It's just a big, phony display of sentiments and materialism. Even so, other than a card from my mom, and a box from my Filipino Grandma (she sent me ramen noodles for the New Year- long noodles are lucky and portend a long life- heh), I haven't heard a peep from any of my family. Oh, wait. There was a form letter from my sister that informed me of how fortunate I was to receive it. (I love my sis, but this is a bit much!!) My dad emailed me about a month ago with a one sentence question. I could call him, but really, what would be the point? I mean, I've got this huge family, and I don't even feel close to any of them. I don't care about presents. I'd just like to be more connected than I am.
And then, when I look at myself through their eyes, I can see why. They're all middle class, professional white collar people and here I am, the loser. I never seem to follow through on most of the great ideas I come up with, because they're so much more interesting to think about than to *do*. Once you start *doing* them, the parameters become more fixed. When it's all in your head, it's still plastic and flexible. I suppose this accounts for part of why I've hung on to the goats although it'd make more sense to have just 3 or 4 of them. The breeding program is one of the few things that I've stuck out and actually *done*. I can always point to them and feel that I'm not a total loser.
So enough of all that. Something lighthearted from The Book of Lists #2:
11 Physical attributes men imagine women admire most about them out of 100%
11 Physical attributes women really admire most about men---out of 100%
You know, I'm beginning to wonder about these lists. The attributes are the same for both of them. Were there no other options? Like eyebrows, for instance. Can't imagine a nice looking guy without strong or expressive eyebrows. I think eyes would be pretty close to the top of my list. But neck? Lips, yes. Ears, even. But neck? I mean, if I love a guy I guess I'll find a reason to love just about every physical attribute he has, including his neck. But I wouldn't put it on a list. And very muscular chests scare me, but a nice angular muscularity is nice. But really, none of it is even half as important as a good mind. Eh...what a silly survey......
It's Christmas Eve, and I was feeling kind of down about that. I hate Xmas. It's just a big, phony display of sentiments and materialism. Even so, other than a card from my mom, and a box from my Filipino Grandma (she sent me ramen noodles for the New Year- long noodles are lucky and portend a long life- heh), I haven't heard a peep from any of my family. Oh, wait. There was a form letter from my sister that informed me of how fortunate I was to receive it. (I love my sis, but this is a bit much!!) My dad emailed me about a month ago with a one sentence question. I could call him, but really, what would be the point? I mean, I've got this huge family, and I don't even feel close to any of them. I don't care about presents. I'd just like to be more connected than I am.
And then, when I look at myself through their eyes, I can see why. They're all middle class, professional white collar people and here I am, the loser. I never seem to follow through on most of the great ideas I come up with, because they're so much more interesting to think about than to *do*. Once you start *doing* them, the parameters become more fixed. When it's all in your head, it's still plastic and flexible. I suppose this accounts for part of why I've hung on to the goats although it'd make more sense to have just 3 or 4 of them. The breeding program is one of the few things that I've stuck out and actually *done*. I can always point to them and feel that I'm not a total loser.
So enough of all that. Something lighthearted from The Book of Lists #2:
11 Physical attributes men imagine women admire most about them out of 100%
- Muscular chest and shoulders---21%
- Muscular arms------------------18%
- Penis---------------------------15%
- Tallness------------------------13%
- Flat Stomach--------------------9%
- Slimness-------------------------7%
- Hair (texture, not length)--------4%
- Buttocks-------------------------4%
- Eyes-----------------------------4%
- Long Legs-----------------------3%
- Neck-----------------------------2%
11 Physical attributes women really admire most about men---out of 100%
- Buttocks(usually described by women as "small and sexy")---39%
- Slimness-----------------------------------------------------15%
- Flat Stomach-------------------------------------------------13%
- Eyes----------------------------------------------------------11%
- Long legs------------------------------------------------------6%
- Tallness--------------------------------------------------------5%
- Hair------------------------------------------------------------5%
- Neck-----------------------------------------------------------3%
- Penis-----------------------------------------------------------2%
- Muscular Chest and Shoulders----------------------------------1%
- Muscular Arms--------------------------------------------------0%
You know, I'm beginning to wonder about these lists. The attributes are the same for both of them. Were there no other options? Like eyebrows, for instance. Can't imagine a nice looking guy without strong or expressive eyebrows. I think eyes would be pretty close to the top of my list. But neck? Lips, yes. Ears, even. But neck? I mean, if I love a guy I guess I'll find a reason to love just about every physical attribute he has, including his neck. But I wouldn't put it on a list. And very muscular chests scare me, but a nice angular muscularity is nice. But really, none of it is even half as important as a good mind. Eh...what a silly survey......
Monday, December 22, 2003
Current mood: empty, frustrated, and bleak...which translates into general crankiness. I'm listening to Simon and Garfunkel oldies- which I love- no mistake about it... but when I'm fertile and practically keening with loneliness and longing, it just makes me want to go and get stoned or drunk...which I never do...mostly because I'm afraid it'd become a habit. Now "I am a Rock" is playing. I've felt that way before..often...and when I don't it seems like I'm sort of weak...but I suppose that ultimately everyone needs to have a soft and vulnerable spot, an achilles heel....a heart...and being a rock is pretty damned lonely.
Sunday, December 21, 2003
I've got all kinds of thoughts snarling around in my head tonight. Perhaps my current reading list has something to do with it. (Note- this list is incomplete. )
-----------------------------------------------
The Male Myth This book is sort of the male version of The Hite Report. Apparently there is a Hite Report of Male Sexuality that's fairly recent, but I've only read the female version from back in the '70's. I suspect that women were quite a bit more prudish then but really don't know...Back to The Male Myth: It's pretty interesting stuff. There have been a few surprises although I haven't read much of it yet (the book was acquired just yesterday). I have mixed feelings about this sort of book that comes to conclusions based on polls and statistics though. First and foremost- who was polled? The sort of men who would answer the poll may not be an accurate cross section of American men. Also- they leave some of the most interesting questions unasked!! And, if the Hite Report (female version) is any indication, I'm not sure that it reflects reality. There have been so many times when I've read a portion of it and then shrugged... and said, well, I guess that's the way some women must feel. I think it's a mistake to read a book like this and then stereotype all men (or women) and to think that since 60% of men want women to lick their ears, you should go right out and lick your guy's earlobes because that's what he's wanted all along. I mean, what about *communication*? As far as I'm concerned, the majority really doesn't matter that much. But if I had a partner, *he* would matter, and he might not agree with the majority. ::Shrug::...whatever....
Losing Faith in Faith Biography of a born again Christian Evangelist turned atheist. Very good read except that the first part deals with Christian stuff which I find supremely boring. Skipping to the midsection of the book, he makes many sound points, some of which have already occurred to me.
Science Matters So far, a good comprehensible overview of science. Looking forward to reading more of it.
Georgia O'Keeffe Biography and picture book of the artist's works. I enjoy her deceptively simple and subtle style, sooo understated. Actually, I tend to enjoy understated things in general. American taste seems (to me anyway) to be rather garish, crass, in your face, and overstated much of the time. There's so much flash and hype and bragging going on that it doesn't allow for very much real appreciation or discovery. Geoergia's work was big, even oversized at times, yet it seems always to have retained some restraint and reserve. It has class. There never seems to be too much or too little of anything, always just enough.
While I'm talking about art, there are a couple of books about Aubrey Beardsley that I'm reading. Here again- economy of line, restraint, yet very expressive, graceful flowing lines. Besides, Beardsley had a sense of humor. :>)
The Last Great American Hobo I'm not sure about the title. There are still a lot of hobos out there. I've met them. Lots of black and white photos....you know, what irks me to no end about this book is that there isn't a single picture of any hobos, including the one featured, riding a train, or even hitchhiking for that matter. I'd have to look again, but I don't think there's even a picture of a freight train in the book. There are many, many pics of hobo jungles...but a jungle is merely a stopping place between rides. I mean, the main difference between a hobo and a bum is that the hobo rides trains. The bum just gets drunk, panhandles, and sleeps on the ground or inder bridges or whatever, all of which the hobo may also do, but he rides trains. How in the heck can a book about a hobo not feature guys getting on and off trains, the distinctions between different trains and cars and railroads, and so on? You can't. I guess the title sounded better than- The Last Great American Bum
The Secretariat Factor I picked this one up partly becuase I like horses, but mostly because it's about Secertariat's history as a stallion and his use in breeding programs. I wanted to compare this with dairy goat breeding programs. Unfortunately, the book was written while there were only two or three years worth of foals from him. Why didn't the author wait until more was known and there was something interesting to write about? It seems, so far, that the stallion wasn't as prepotent as they'd have liked him to be. None of his offspring really equalled him, at least not during the itme the book was written. Which begs the question- Hello? Linebreeding, anyone?? If I had had the opportunity, I'd have taken a granddaughter and breed her back to him, if not a daughter. I remember reading that after Secretariat died, they did an autopsy to try to determine what made him so great, and his heart was a LOT larger than normal, and they thought that must have been a key factor. Perhaps he was an anomaly and it wasn't a heritable trait. it certainly explains why colts who looked a lot like him didn't run as well as he did.
There are also a couple of philosophy books I've been flicking through, not exhaustively by any means.
Also The Sun magazine. I love this magazine. I picked up a stack of them from the library's free rack. They're great.
Oh! Not to forget- Chess in a Nutshell by Fred Reinfeld. I love Reinfeld's books. They demystify chess, and you don't have to decipher all sorts of obscure codes and reasoning to make sense of it. I never much enjoyed chess until someone gave me a few Reinfeld books several years ago. I've been working through the openings. There must be a book like this somewhere about Go. It irks me that I lose so consistentl and miserably at that game...it's like I'm missing some vital facet of the game.
Past midnight now...I need to go feed the goats and take a bath before turning in.
-----------------------------------------------
The Male Myth This book is sort of the male version of The Hite Report. Apparently there is a Hite Report of Male Sexuality that's fairly recent, but I've only read the female version from back in the '70's. I suspect that women were quite a bit more prudish then but really don't know...Back to The Male Myth: It's pretty interesting stuff. There have been a few surprises although I haven't read much of it yet (the book was acquired just yesterday). I have mixed feelings about this sort of book that comes to conclusions based on polls and statistics though. First and foremost- who was polled? The sort of men who would answer the poll may not be an accurate cross section of American men. Also- they leave some of the most interesting questions unasked!! And, if the Hite Report (female version) is any indication, I'm not sure that it reflects reality. There have been so many times when I've read a portion of it and then shrugged... and said, well, I guess that's the way some women must feel. I think it's a mistake to read a book like this and then stereotype all men (or women) and to think that since 60% of men want women to lick their ears, you should go right out and lick your guy's earlobes because that's what he's wanted all along. I mean, what about *communication*? As far as I'm concerned, the majority really doesn't matter that much. But if I had a partner, *he* would matter, and he might not agree with the majority. ::Shrug::...whatever....
Losing Faith in Faith Biography of a born again Christian Evangelist turned atheist. Very good read except that the first part deals with Christian stuff which I find supremely boring. Skipping to the midsection of the book, he makes many sound points, some of which have already occurred to me.
Science Matters So far, a good comprehensible overview of science. Looking forward to reading more of it.
Georgia O'Keeffe Biography and picture book of the artist's works. I enjoy her deceptively simple and subtle style, sooo understated. Actually, I tend to enjoy understated things in general. American taste seems (to me anyway) to be rather garish, crass, in your face, and overstated much of the time. There's so much flash and hype and bragging going on that it doesn't allow for very much real appreciation or discovery. Geoergia's work was big, even oversized at times, yet it seems always to have retained some restraint and reserve. It has class. There never seems to be too much or too little of anything, always just enough.
While I'm talking about art, there are a couple of books about Aubrey Beardsley that I'm reading. Here again- economy of line, restraint, yet very expressive, graceful flowing lines. Besides, Beardsley had a sense of humor. :>)
The Last Great American Hobo I'm not sure about the title. There are still a lot of hobos out there. I've met them. Lots of black and white photos....you know, what irks me to no end about this book is that there isn't a single picture of any hobos, including the one featured, riding a train, or even hitchhiking for that matter. I'd have to look again, but I don't think there's even a picture of a freight train in the book. There are many, many pics of hobo jungles...but a jungle is merely a stopping place between rides. I mean, the main difference between a hobo and a bum is that the hobo rides trains. The bum just gets drunk, panhandles, and sleeps on the ground or inder bridges or whatever, all of which the hobo may also do, but he rides trains. How in the heck can a book about a hobo not feature guys getting on and off trains, the distinctions between different trains and cars and railroads, and so on? You can't. I guess the title sounded better than- The Last Great American Bum
The Secretariat Factor I picked this one up partly becuase I like horses, but mostly because it's about Secertariat's history as a stallion and his use in breeding programs. I wanted to compare this with dairy goat breeding programs. Unfortunately, the book was written while there were only two or three years worth of foals from him. Why didn't the author wait until more was known and there was something interesting to write about? It seems, so far, that the stallion wasn't as prepotent as they'd have liked him to be. None of his offspring really equalled him, at least not during the itme the book was written. Which begs the question- Hello? Linebreeding, anyone?? If I had had the opportunity, I'd have taken a granddaughter and breed her back to him, if not a daughter. I remember reading that after Secretariat died, they did an autopsy to try to determine what made him so great, and his heart was a LOT larger than normal, and they thought that must have been a key factor. Perhaps he was an anomaly and it wasn't a heritable trait. it certainly explains why colts who looked a lot like him didn't run as well as he did.
There are also a couple of philosophy books I've been flicking through, not exhaustively by any means.
Also The Sun magazine. I love this magazine. I picked up a stack of them from the library's free rack. They're great.
Oh! Not to forget- Chess in a Nutshell by Fred Reinfeld. I love Reinfeld's books. They demystify chess, and you don't have to decipher all sorts of obscure codes and reasoning to make sense of it. I never much enjoyed chess until someone gave me a few Reinfeld books several years ago. I've been working through the openings. There must be a book like this somewhere about Go. It irks me that I lose so consistentl and miserably at that game...it's like I'm missing some vital facet of the game.
Past midnight now...I need to go feed the goats and take a bath before turning in.
Friday, December 19, 2003
First day of Chanukah! Umm, no I'm not Jewish. I'm not even religiously inclined anymore. But for some odd reason I'm still Jewishly oriented despite the preponderence of gentile blood in my veins. I've considered conversion, even recently. But then I had to sit down and ponder exactly what the point would be. I mean, we're talking about an ancient, 4,000 year old religion based on a patriarchal god and the people who wrote down what they thought he told them. I don't even particularly believe in god any longer, at least not in the conventional sense of a god with a personality who's interested in humans. So why the heady attraction to Judaism? Danged if I know, but there is something about it that feels like coming home, it *feels* familiar. Isn't that irrational? At any rate, I celebrate Chanukah, menorah and all.
Tangents: I figured out a way (at last!) to deal with my long hair without shaving my head. Long hair is nice. It's sexy. Men like it. I like it...sometimes... It can be fun to play with and braid and swish around and pin up...at times. Mostly it's such a pain I spend inordinate amounts of time trying to restrain these strands that keep sweeping down into my field of vision, getting in my way, and generally feeling uncontrollable and messy. The notion of hacking it all off and spiking what was left became more attractive by the day- my 11 month old offspring delights in waking me up by tearing handfuls of it out of my scalp, and clutching fistfuls of it throughout the day. But- today I discovered a solution. Twist it all up inside a hat or cap. Easy. No hairpins scratching my scalp. No ponytails loosening up and having to be redone over and over and over. No hair straggling into my eyes. Just a nice, neat little hat. Yes. This is sublime. Perhaps Amish women with their little black bonnets are onto something after all.
Tangents: I figured out a way (at last!) to deal with my long hair without shaving my head. Long hair is nice. It's sexy. Men like it. I like it...sometimes... It can be fun to play with and braid and swish around and pin up...at times. Mostly it's such a pain I spend inordinate amounts of time trying to restrain these strands that keep sweeping down into my field of vision, getting in my way, and generally feeling uncontrollable and messy. The notion of hacking it all off and spiking what was left became more attractive by the day- my 11 month old offspring delights in waking me up by tearing handfuls of it out of my scalp, and clutching fistfuls of it throughout the day. But- today I discovered a solution. Twist it all up inside a hat or cap. Easy. No hairpins scratching my scalp. No ponytails loosening up and having to be redone over and over and over. No hair straggling into my eyes. Just a nice, neat little hat. Yes. This is sublime. Perhaps Amish women with their little black bonnets are onto something after all.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Amazing isn't it...
How you can go through life with a heavy burden, realize that it isn't really necessary to carry it any longer, and still feel anxious about letting it go? Guilt is such a powerful motivator. I've made so many stupid, stupid moves, decisions that have all but ruined my life, based primarily on guilt and a sense of obligation towards someone else's feelings. What about my feelings? Why in the hell didn't they matter?
I was afraid. Afraid of retribution, afraid of people breaking down into tears, afraid of having to deal with a nasty emotional mess, and perhaps, lazy. It was so much easier just to go along with whatever someone else wanted and not to rock the boat than to put up with a temper tantrum. I don't like having to deal with emotional confrontations, and I got into the habit of smoothing things over, of placating people and going along with their plan unless there was some life-threatening reason not to (ummm, and sometimes even when there was.
Well, it's pay up time. I'm now in a position where everyone expects me to be compliant, where unless I can come up with a damned good reason, I should do it their way, every time. The prospect of doing this for a moment longer is intolerable, so clearly something has to be done, and quickly...AND I've got to be on guard for adapting myself to someone else's views, because that's the pattern my brain has become so accustomed to. It's gotten to the point where I practically beg people to tell me what to do and to dominate me. *SIGH* This is just fricking pathetic.
And like the chess games that I lose night after night, maybe it's too late. Maybe I've lost too many opportunities, made too many bad moves, sacrificed things I should have kept, gotten myself backed into a corner and used up my assets until defeat is the only possible outcome. I hope not...
How you can go through life with a heavy burden, realize that it isn't really necessary to carry it any longer, and still feel anxious about letting it go? Guilt is such a powerful motivator. I've made so many stupid, stupid moves, decisions that have all but ruined my life, based primarily on guilt and a sense of obligation towards someone else's feelings. What about my feelings? Why in the hell didn't they matter?
I was afraid. Afraid of retribution, afraid of people breaking down into tears, afraid of having to deal with a nasty emotional mess, and perhaps, lazy. It was so much easier just to go along with whatever someone else wanted and not to rock the boat than to put up with a temper tantrum. I don't like having to deal with emotional confrontations, and I got into the habit of smoothing things over, of placating people and going along with their plan unless there was some life-threatening reason not to (ummm, and sometimes even when there was.
Well, it's pay up time. I'm now in a position where everyone expects me to be compliant, where unless I can come up with a damned good reason, I should do it their way, every time. The prospect of doing this for a moment longer is intolerable, so clearly something has to be done, and quickly...AND I've got to be on guard for adapting myself to someone else's views, because that's the pattern my brain has become so accustomed to. It's gotten to the point where I practically beg people to tell me what to do and to dominate me. *SIGH* This is just fricking pathetic.
And like the chess games that I lose night after night, maybe it's too late. Maybe I've lost too many opportunities, made too many bad moves, sacrificed things I should have kept, gotten myself backed into a corner and used up my assets until defeat is the only possible outcome. I hope not...
Monday, December 15, 2003
I'm finally back online again. It's sooooo nice. Now I've got a lot of catching up to do, including editing the various websites and maintaining the forum. I've been playing a lot of chess lately. It's hard to say whether my technique is improving or not; while I've definitely become a lot more aggressive, I still tend to overlook little details at very critical times in the game, which of course is deadly.
What else- I've also begun going to the food bank. I feel a little defensive about this, but on the other hand, I sort of feel like it's my responsibility to make sure there's enough food for the kids to eat. Also, I worked in a branch of the food bank for several years, and so I have firsthand knowledge of what goes on behind the scenes, particularly with salvage food (day old bread, past date cheese, yogurt, and milk, and so on, given to food banks by grocery stores). The fact is, the people running the place skim off the cream, the best of the stuff, for themselves. Same with thrift stores. Which isn't to say that the poor don't benefit from these programs, they certainly do! But an awful lot of stuff spoils before it can be distributed, and like I said, the best of it goes to the food bank workers.
You know, it seems like I've done a lot of work, in so many varied fields, that I should qualify for *something*. I think I'll sit down tomorrow and make a list, there isn't time tonight if I want to get any sleep. But the point is, I've done all kinds of work. I should be able to come up with a resume of some kind from all that. In the meantime, I think I'm going to start selling stuff on Ebay. There are a lot of books and various other items that are just cluttering up my life. I've sent an incredible amount to the thrift store, especially clothing. There's still a LOT of stuff left and I don't need or want it all. Moving it would be a pain. Selling it locally would be unprofitable. Just storing and keeping it all organized is more work than I want to deal with. If someone else can use it, I could definitely use the money. A stray thought: I wonder whether the advent of Ebay and selling used items online has had any appreciable impact on reducing the amount of waste and purchasing *new* things?
What else- I've also begun going to the food bank. I feel a little defensive about this, but on the other hand, I sort of feel like it's my responsibility to make sure there's enough food for the kids to eat. Also, I worked in a branch of the food bank for several years, and so I have firsthand knowledge of what goes on behind the scenes, particularly with salvage food (day old bread, past date cheese, yogurt, and milk, and so on, given to food banks by grocery stores). The fact is, the people running the place skim off the cream, the best of the stuff, for themselves. Same with thrift stores. Which isn't to say that the poor don't benefit from these programs, they certainly do! But an awful lot of stuff spoils before it can be distributed, and like I said, the best of it goes to the food bank workers.
You know, it seems like I've done a lot of work, in so many varied fields, that I should qualify for *something*. I think I'll sit down tomorrow and make a list, there isn't time tonight if I want to get any sleep. But the point is, I've done all kinds of work. I should be able to come up with a resume of some kind from all that. In the meantime, I think I'm going to start selling stuff on Ebay. There are a lot of books and various other items that are just cluttering up my life. I've sent an incredible amount to the thrift store, especially clothing. There's still a LOT of stuff left and I don't need or want it all. Moving it would be a pain. Selling it locally would be unprofitable. Just storing and keeping it all organized is more work than I want to deal with. If someone else can use it, I could definitely use the money. A stray thought: I wonder whether the advent of Ebay and selling used items online has had any appreciable impact on reducing the amount of waste and purchasing *new* things?
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Well, I've been offline for a good week or two because the modem isn't working on the home computer. I'm at the town library now, which is less than ideal but certainly better than nothing at all. Current mood: pretty crappy. I began the day by falling down the stairs and bruising my elbows and back (the baby who I was holding, didn't get hurt, which was good). I spent about half an hour feeling sorry for myself and the rest of the day despising the sort of mentality that would want sympathy....along with nearly nonstop demands and noise from the children. So I've escaped from the house *all by myself* and am drinking in an hour or so of solitude and sanity before returning to the insoluble problem that appears to be my life. I have tried and tried and TRIED to figure out a way to get out of this mess, and nothing I can think of works. Getting a job would work- if only there were jobs to be had, and something to do with the smaller children (or a night job which would be preferable. I love the night.) Day in and day out, finding some way to get on my feet and get a life is just about alll I ever think of (almost! ;-) ...) And then people come along, family, aquaintances, dearest friends even, and say something along the lines of..."Well, I'm sure you could leave if you really wanted to! You just have to make up your mind and then do it!" or "Why don't you sell alll the goats?" or "I think you should stay there for the sake of the children. If you sold the goats and kept the house clean, everything would be better", or, OR, OR!!! I get so sick and tired of it... Sometimes I feel like giving the whole world the bird and screaming *FUCK*YOU*!!!! Why in the heck do they seem to think I'd be happy living *their* life? I don't want their life, I want mine, thank you very much.... And as for thinking it through and sheer willpower...geez....pure stubborness is the only reason I'm still around, and as I said before, I obsess day and night about ways to get free of this. Maintaining a facade of politeness can be very difficult, but I have to; I can't really afford to piss people off just now. On the positive side, I don't ever think about suicide any more. I've decided I want to live and if that's inconvenient, too bad- I'm sticking around and going to find a way out of this.
Dreams
I dreamt that I saw a man...but he was sitting with a bunch of other people we knew. There was an empty seat near him, but I was afraid to take it, afraid he or someone else might notice I liked him, afraid he wouldn't want me sitting near him. So I went away...decided to go to bed...there were several beds in the room and I crawled across an empty one, but he was in it...he drew me into his arms and I was happy.
Dreamt that I was with a group of people on a tour. A man was showing us through rooms and corridors. As the tour went on, the corridors became dark underground hallways, labyrinthlike, and there were fewer people. Then there was no one but myself, and the man, and the gloomy passages, one door opening into one hall, then another. I began to think I'd like to go back, tried to remember the way I'd come in, we come so far it was difficult to tell. I turned around, and the man was shutting the door, leaving me alone in the darkness, only his hand showing and pressing the door shut. Panicking, I beat on the door screamed at him- 'Don't shut me in! Don't shut me in!' Claustrophobic....I got that door open, rushed to the next, he was already closing that one... and so on.... then the tunnel closed in around me until my entire body was enclosed and it squeezed me. Only my feet emerged. Someone was pulling on them. And I thought...this is what being born is like...
I dreamt that I saw a man...but he was sitting with a bunch of other people we knew. There was an empty seat near him, but I was afraid to take it, afraid he or someone else might notice I liked him, afraid he wouldn't want me sitting near him. So I went away...decided to go to bed...there were several beds in the room and I crawled across an empty one, but he was in it...he drew me into his arms and I was happy.
Dreamt that I was with a group of people on a tour. A man was showing us through rooms and corridors. As the tour went on, the corridors became dark underground hallways, labyrinthlike, and there were fewer people. Then there was no one but myself, and the man, and the gloomy passages, one door opening into one hall, then another. I began to think I'd like to go back, tried to remember the way I'd come in, we come so far it was difficult to tell. I turned around, and the man was shutting the door, leaving me alone in the darkness, only his hand showing and pressing the door shut. Panicking, I beat on the door screamed at him- 'Don't shut me in! Don't shut me in!' Claustrophobic....I got that door open, rushed to the next, he was already closing that one... and so on.... then the tunnel closed in around me until my entire body was enclosed and it squeezed me. Only my feet emerged. Someone was pulling on them. And I thought...this is what being born is like...