Working away. I liked yesterday’s post. I just want to say that. Perhaps it seems that I don’t always remember the tone and temperament of my posts from day to day. There is a certain schizoid quality to my recollections that I mostly ignore because it speaks to a personality trait of mine that I don’t like: I am really all over the place. When I can focus on one topic, and write five hundred words on it, that feels like I’m getting back to a better version of myself. One that might deserve all the things this current version is unable to avail herself of. It asks me to try and reconcile these versions.
Instead of saying in the bright light of day, okay, this guy, representative of other guys, you like. You should/would like to do something about it. What would you like to do? I say, well, let’s not do anything. Let’s not upset the apple cart. Let’s look at the logical result of this desire and realize how challenging and revolutionary it actually is and let’s opt out of that. Because the ennui and the longing and the from-the-sideline stance is what I’m manacled to, for better or worse. And yet, things have changed in other areas. It’s the dichotomy of my life. My 4th grade teacher said that I was a dichotomy and I had no idea what he meant. I still don’t in whatever context he meant it – but the red and the white, standing between the binaries, the Schroedinger’s Cat, the question, never posed, never answered.
Nothing more alluring than a good decade-long navel-gaze.
But on this Thanksgiving Eve, I’m feeling alright. We are off work for four days, I’ve got Dragon Age to sink myself into. Of course, there’s something going on that’s a bit odd, throat-wise, I’m wondering if I’m becoming allergic to guacamole. This is what I’m wondering. I have a spot on the couch at my parents, though I could probably make my way upstairs since my sister who was supposed to stay overnight here, got het up over stuffing (though it didn’t take a psych degree to see that she was actually stressing over the fact that her birthday’s coming up and she wants to be married to the guy she’s been with for three years and she feels very sensitive to the fact that she’s not a good enough “domestic goddess” or she’s not doing whatever the magical combination is to get him to propose and when my mother questions her about how she’s attempting to make this stuffing, she flips her lid and despite all my attempts to show her funny things on the internet to convince her to calm down and stay, I told her to think if this would matter in five minutes, five hours, five days, and she is…the way she is. Just hung up on whatever it is she’s hung up on and now I’m alone with my nerdish ways.
Tomorrow: turkey and more pontification.