I've made a comeback. It's a strange, sad feeling, but it gives me hope, because I've been so deeply withdrawn for so long, and it seems like I'm finally slowly slithering my way back into being alive. Being alive hurts sometimes, has problems and troubles, but I feel like a person better capable of weathering those troubles, given the five, six(?) year long vacation I've taken from them. People say things like "the more things change, the more they stay the same," but I think the inverse is true. The more things stay the same, the more they change --
To maintain stagnation is to alter the meaning of what drew you into that routine to begin with.
Take, for example, a book I recently purchased, Blackout,
by Sarah Hepola. At first, her alcoholism was a way for her to become the person she was afraid to be, a "liberated woman." It ended up becoming a way for her to drown out the person she had become. The compulsion and behavior itself didn't change, but maintaining a habit past its due date, past its utility, transforms experiment into self-flagellation. The same, I think, could be said of less destructive habits, such as fitness -- what starts as a routine constructed to reduce one's body size can transform into a routine of body awareness. Not that it stays past its due date, but at a certain point, the original goal is moot and meaningless, and not to acknowledge that can become a poison, a punishment. Like any other form of delusion.
In "real life," well, the world is a dynamic place. It always changes, whether or not you choose to acknowledge that, and so, for one to also change is not to abandon one's life, but instead, to prolong one's humanity, to stay updated in the subjectivity of living.
Hmm. I just got back from vacation; went to Berkeley for a week, stayed with a friend, my fanboy drinking buddy. Watched TV, movies, cartoons, drank and ate and walked and such, pretty great. Stayed in his parents' mansion. I have thrown around the word mansion before, but they literally had a creek in their backyard, so, probably this one is a bit closer to that hyperbole than previous mansions (dansions).
Yeh. I'm picking up slack. Paying more bills, trying to make the gesture of paying rent to my mom, paying off debts, it's actually kind of amazing. Doing paperwork and making calls. It's like I'm a real person. Sure, sometimes I struggle to crawl out of bed for a few hours, but the kind of unstructured life I lead was created to make difficult days less nerve-wracking.
But yeah, I got back Monday, and I've been sleeping too much, but I'm starting to return to my human form. :3
I reflected on a cyclical issue in my history, specifically, that of heterosexual women (sometimes identifying as bisexual) making advances on me, and then abandoning me and denying the significance of what happened, very abruptly and inconsiderately, as though my feelings are inconsequential. I realized that this has in fact been an issue in my life since I was 12 years old -- 17 year old girls were making professions of romance towards me (while I was still closeted myself) and then promptly saying everything in their life from ages 16-18 was worthless and trying to babble at me about cheating on their fiance with some guy they met on a cruise. ugh. At this rate, with the heartbreak I'm suffering from the newest wound inflicted in this pattern
(Winegirl, who in passing declared she was "a straight woman in a gay man's body" [uh when were you straight???] and then started talking about how monogamy is easy for her [when did you decide to be monogamous again and why] why did you not tell me these things despite having pursued me so declaratively before, why only say them in passing, frivolously, as though I have no feelings which could be affected by this sudden change of pace. Why are the things you had said to me before suddenly invalid? I have no claim over you, I do not own you and do not want to, but it is so gauche, so inconsiderate to pull me in so eagerly like that, and then forget it all happened TO MY FACE WHILE I AM TRAPPED IN YOUR HOME FOR DAYS -- no fucking wonder I spent all night crying in a closet.)
sigh. At this rate, I am starting to think that maybe I -actually need therapy- for the amount of rumination of my own worthlessness this is exponentially festering every time this occurs. I need to meet women for whom men are not the most important thing in life, perhaps. I have no idea if they even exist. I am certain I have worth, I am attractive, I clearly have the material with which to sustain long term relationships (even multiple) but I continuously get targeted by those who do not see me in a humanizing way, and perhaps should look into better environments and social circles.
Yeah, okay, so the good parts of this...
I went to the dentist today and unintentionally networked with the x-ray tech girl who used to be involved in QA and whose father owns a big tech company in the valley and basically, I impressed her enough with my own current employment (at Lionbridge) that she suggested I could work for other companies as well, were I so interested! I have her number! :D I also know people locally who might be looking to stop working for an evil bank, so, I will pass that along as well.
That's perhaps the tip of the iceberg in this self-renovation.
I've kind of stumbled into the polyamory/skeptic circles on Facebook, like, big names, people with books -- I participate in their threads, I try to contribute and they seem to take an interest in the things I say. Of course, they're very interesting people who lots of people know, but god, i couldn't have said that I did anything this meaningful in 2013! This is important. I'm stepping up my presence. I didn't realize it at the time, I just met some of these people through other people, had some questions to ask about this and that topic... and ended up being invited to the dialogue. It's a good place to have stumbled into!
I've... been in a rut, writing wise. I know I got a degree in poetry, but it was kind of self-deprecating for a while, but I've realized, I actually rather do like being a poet, all English-major mockery aside... I like the way of looking at things, as a poet. I like reading poetry. I know it's very insular, but it's good mental exercise.
I've had this... story. I have a lot of stories, my dreams are in vast narrative detail, and people sometimes tell me to actually compose them into stories, and very rarely do I actually attempt. But there's one that's stayed in my head for years, really, years, I think about it often enough, recount it to people often enough, and I've spent enough time whining about not knowing what to write outside of college student dynamics...
Okay, so I'm writing a post-zombie apocalypse story. It's not even got any zombies in it, I have no plans for that kind of horror. It's more about medical ethics and living under militarization and isolation to survive, without losing the human spirit. I dunno. The dream didn't have that many fleshed out characters, and I hope I don't get too trite and cliche, but hell, I need some exercise before my narrative muscles totally atrophy.
Also, I decided to do 5 pushups every time I like a facebook status (by a person, not a page) without commenting. Gotta amp up that word output. Gotta interact. Gotta get swole. This will help me on all these goals, haha.
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