Hiya, goblins and gremlins and ghoulies. Happy (almost) Halloween!
Usually I dote on Halloween like a fat, unhappily married auntie might dote on a favoured nephew. Oh All Hallow's Eve, you are such a clever imp! And so handsome too, in your various face paints and bad wigs and costumes!
I was looking forward to the doting this year. Things seem tricked out in an especially macabre humour, and it is a joy to behold. I was contemplating the purchase of a hopefully red, shoulder-padded power suit and ruffled blouse from the Sally Anne, in which to play 80s Zombie Working Mother/Municipal Politician. Or some such thing. Right now, though, I'm curled in classic protective stance in bed drinking wine and taptaptapping my thoughts onto my absurdly small netbook in the hope of reaching a Conclusion. Then, I sally forth with lease on life #327. Look out, world!
Okay, so this is how it goes. Last few weeks I've been increasingly skeptical as to my participation in a current "relationship". Reluctantly, I conclude I cannot bring myself to call him my Boyfriend. I wasn't seeking a boyfriend when I met him, when I had one foot here and one in my supposed new city of Toronto. Howdy sailor, and how d'you do? I'm booking out soon myself, but let's have a nice time of it in the meantime, shall we?
Agreed. Except as you all know if you've been paying even a bare minimum of attention the last several months, my plans were curtailed drastically and I have not moved to the Big City to pursue a pseudo-intellecsexual way of being. No, I am (quite contentedly) here still, with my huge property and pleasant house and feral pets. The default he chose at the point of my announcing I was staying was well, alrighty then, you are my Girlfriend and hasn't this worked out nicely?
At first, I tried to embrace this. Game face on. He is a lovely man, both physically and in character. I have never been with someone so considerate, easy-going and mature. Would it be so wrong to go with the flow in this case?
Yes.
I can't anymore. I have to face that while I like him (he is eminently likable), I do not love him in the slightest. It's clicked past that 6-month marker where one has to face such truths. I chafe at being Girlfriended, I am tired of the road-trips (he lives two hours' drive away), the regular sex is becoming, well, regular, and worst of all, I'm completely aware of being politely interested in what he has to say.
I know! He's a total fuckin' sweetheart! He's a great dad, a good friend, a dutiful son, etc. Goddamn it, he's boring me to tears, in some respects. No, he's lovely, but I've never been good at coasting. Now I have to figure out how to break up with him. With the ex, I had lots of practise and ample reason at the end, but this one calls for sensitivity and courtesy, and how one does that without sliding into cliche and wounded feelings is a mystery.
Anyway. It's come to this now as I find myself attracted to others. It's come to this as I find myself conscious of the arrogance of indifference. Deep down, I'm terrified of hurting anyone (other than assholes and sparring partners).
It's also come to this as my X has reappeared in the scene, like some warped deus ex machina dropping from the heavens. Suicidal, recently in a car accident that wasn't his fault, indulging in all manner of drugs and alcohol and uncharacteristic aggression, perhaps pushing a big red button I can't see on my back. At any rate, it scared the shit out of me. I convinced him to come here, hid the booze, and talked to him. He's finally gotten to the place where he's scared himself and is ready to do what it takes to survive.
This is weird. Looking at it from the outside, I would conclude there still are Feelings here, there is manipulation occuring, there is sufficient weirdness in the swirl of emotions to call my rationale, if not integrity, into question. To which I shrug, and say (in the words of the immortal Billy Joel): you may be right but you may be wrong.
My X is (still) dear to me. He is isolated and in trouble and wanting to change the trajectory of his life. I feel nothing for him in the romantic sense, but am determined to help him get through a hard time. I would like nothing more than for him to be sober, healthy, with good work and a cool woman. Then I could let him go and be reassured he'll be okay. I've known him a long time and love him to bits, even while feeling dead to him beyond friendship.
In the meantime, I fret and try to help him. I may be royally misguided on this one, but oh well, that's my own damage I need to work through. It does punctuate, however, how indifferent I've become to the Guy I've Been Seeing.
Jeepers. May you live in interesting times, said the fortune cookie. It is interesting. Pulled in all directions. Am I loyal friend? Enabler? Cold-hearted bitch or honest Injun? Wannabe slut, as I eye yet another? Lordy, who knows. I have to pee.
Happy halloween!
Zombie out...
29 October 2010
10 October 2010
Dear Prudence
Prudence is an old-fashioned word, is it not? Meaning discretion, economy, circumspection. Care with regard to one's own interest and providence. A reflective pause. A charmingly quaint notion perhaps, in these days of snap judgements and gut reactions and rampant feeling.
No one has accused me of an excess of prudence. Exactly the opposite, in fact. In recent times, it has been alluded or flatly stated that indeed, I practise what is euphemistically referred to as radical honesty. In more words: blunt, harsh, unthinking. Self-centred and superior. Someone who doesn't trust people, who uses honesty as a means of testing the mettle of her friends and lovers. Hmmm.
This analysis has come unsolicited, angrily and suddenly from two people whom I considered close friends. (So perhaps a distrust of people is not so misplaced.) What has startled me most about these critiques has been the mysterious circumstances which provoked them.
Says the one: It's nothing you've said or done. I think you're an amazing person. I just haven't wanted to hang out with you, or even talk to you, and I don't know why!
Implicit in this is she suspects I'm an asshole, and would like me to join her in speculating on the evidence which may confirm it.
Says the second: You have been offensive to someone I love, and even though that person is not at all offended I've chosen to be hurt on their behalf. I have not told you this for two weeks because I am such a good, sensitive person that I'd rather allude to your defects in pretend conversations about other people or events. I choose to get livid when you say it's illogical to take offense on someone else's behalf who is not offended. I then categorize your exact defects in short order, but don't worry, I really am a wonderful person looking out for you, as evidenced by tearfully repeating how much I really do love you (in spite of you being so unloveable) as a way to end the conversation.
Explicit in this is the accusation that I'm an asshole, and she would like me to join in on the condemnation and of course, seek atonement.
Um. No. I don't think so.
Here, I return (at last) to the notion of prudence. One could say I was prudent by not, for example, telling either of these women to fuck right off with their misguided analyses. Or to respond by cheerfully telling them not to worry, I understood it was likely not me at all but rather some trying, as-yet unidentified circumstance within their own lives that was causing them to act like irrational cunts. Yes, this could be called prudence or tolerance, or perhaps it is just yet another maddening instance of me acting superior.
What I do not call prudent is allowing ethereal feeling to take firm hold of one's reason, and get carried away to the point of making asinine phone calls to an unsuspecting friend, and unloading with either no explanation or else a completely nonsensical one (offended on behalf of another adult who's not offended? Really.) Of course, this imprudence would be totally forgivable, perhaps even endearing, were either party to eventually call back and explain themselves and maybe even apologize for their rash actions.
Oh, but no. You see, this is how they feel. Previously I had been unaware, you see, that by mere dint of feeling something you create a perfect truth. One so immoveable that it's impertinent to speculate it may not be fixed to the ground of reality, and so solid in appearance that to suggest it is hollow is blasphemy.
As Guyfriend succinctly puts it: Just because They are feeling cold does not mean I have to put on a sweater. Or as I even more succinctly put it: Bullshit.
I have felt all manner of inner storms and deluges and volcanic eruptions this past year. This does not mean I was right or wrong to feel these things. Where "right" and "wrong" enter the picture is how I chose to act on these feelings, and in turn chose to react to the consequences of doing so.
And this, if I may, is where I do think I am prudent. Inevitably, my choice in discussing feelings with the person who excited them has led to self-examination as to where this maelstorm may be coming from. Ultimately, it has made me grateful to said person for helping me one step further along the path of self-discovery.
I use the word choice in this context deliberately. You see, I do not think it prudent to lash out with one's feelings at will. Much like I find it distasteful when someone lets go of a long, sibilant fart in my presence because they just did not feel like holding it in or going to the bathroom. I find it misguided to smash someone in the face when I feel they are being unreasonable, or hit them with my vehicle because I feel they really aren't paying attention to where they are going.
These are all choices, and to have a couple of people play "but that's how I feel!" like it's some almighty, inarguable trump card stinks of self-importance. They feel entitled to take a few unprovoked swings in my direction because of a vague feeling that somehow--just don't ask how--I deserve it.
As you may tell, I'm not sorry for these a) mysterious or b) just plain silly intimations of my own impropriety.
I'm affronted, and think both these gals owe me a sincere apology, if not a coherent explanation.
I would advise them that in the future, they may want to consider both the origin and the consequence of feeling before they give into impulse and alienate someone, who in their own past descriptions, was deemed one of their most loyal and generous friends.
I do not appreciate being shat upon, and then being told it is not shit but truth, and I should thank them for their own courageous display of honesty while learning to be more sensitive and positive (aka fake) so we can all get along nicely.
No, thank you. You should learn some control, how to reflect, how to articulate and examine your feelings, and barring all that, you should learn how to be gracious in spite of suspecting you've just made a complete, self-important ass of yourself and learn how to apologize. It would, in my estimation, be prudent to do so.
Economically yours,
Gretchen
No one has accused me of an excess of prudence. Exactly the opposite, in fact. In recent times, it has been alluded or flatly stated that indeed, I practise what is euphemistically referred to as radical honesty. In more words: blunt, harsh, unthinking. Self-centred and superior. Someone who doesn't trust people, who uses honesty as a means of testing the mettle of her friends and lovers. Hmmm.
This analysis has come unsolicited, angrily and suddenly from two people whom I considered close friends. (So perhaps a distrust of people is not so misplaced.) What has startled me most about these critiques has been the mysterious circumstances which provoked them.
Says the one: It's nothing you've said or done. I think you're an amazing person. I just haven't wanted to hang out with you, or even talk to you, and I don't know why!
Implicit in this is she suspects I'm an asshole, and would like me to join her in speculating on the evidence which may confirm it.
Says the second: You have been offensive to someone I love, and even though that person is not at all offended I've chosen to be hurt on their behalf. I have not told you this for two weeks because I am such a good, sensitive person that I'd rather allude to your defects in pretend conversations about other people or events. I choose to get livid when you say it's illogical to take offense on someone else's behalf who is not offended. I then categorize your exact defects in short order, but don't worry, I really am a wonderful person looking out for you, as evidenced by tearfully repeating how much I really do love you (in spite of you being so unloveable) as a way to end the conversation.
Explicit in this is the accusation that I'm an asshole, and she would like me to join in on the condemnation and of course, seek atonement.
Um. No. I don't think so.
Here, I return (at last) to the notion of prudence. One could say I was prudent by not, for example, telling either of these women to fuck right off with their misguided analyses. Or to respond by cheerfully telling them not to worry, I understood it was likely not me at all but rather some trying, as-yet unidentified circumstance within their own lives that was causing them to act like irrational cunts. Yes, this could be called prudence or tolerance, or perhaps it is just yet another maddening instance of me acting superior.
What I do not call prudent is allowing ethereal feeling to take firm hold of one's reason, and get carried away to the point of making asinine phone calls to an unsuspecting friend, and unloading with either no explanation or else a completely nonsensical one (offended on behalf of another adult who's not offended? Really.) Of course, this imprudence would be totally forgivable, perhaps even endearing, were either party to eventually call back and explain themselves and maybe even apologize for their rash actions.
Oh, but no. You see, this is how they feel. Previously I had been unaware, you see, that by mere dint of feeling something you create a perfect truth. One so immoveable that it's impertinent to speculate it may not be fixed to the ground of reality, and so solid in appearance that to suggest it is hollow is blasphemy.
As Guyfriend succinctly puts it: Just because They are feeling cold does not mean I have to put on a sweater. Or as I even more succinctly put it: Bullshit.
I have felt all manner of inner storms and deluges and volcanic eruptions this past year. This does not mean I was right or wrong to feel these things. Where "right" and "wrong" enter the picture is how I chose to act on these feelings, and in turn chose to react to the consequences of doing so.
And this, if I may, is where I do think I am prudent. Inevitably, my choice in discussing feelings with the person who excited them has led to self-examination as to where this maelstorm may be coming from. Ultimately, it has made me grateful to said person for helping me one step further along the path of self-discovery.
I use the word choice in this context deliberately. You see, I do not think it prudent to lash out with one's feelings at will. Much like I find it distasteful when someone lets go of a long, sibilant fart in my presence because they just did not feel like holding it in or going to the bathroom. I find it misguided to smash someone in the face when I feel they are being unreasonable, or hit them with my vehicle because I feel they really aren't paying attention to where they are going.
These are all choices, and to have a couple of people play "but that's how I feel!" like it's some almighty, inarguable trump card stinks of self-importance. They feel entitled to take a few unprovoked swings in my direction because of a vague feeling that somehow--just don't ask how--I deserve it.
As you may tell, I'm not sorry for these a) mysterious or b) just plain silly intimations of my own impropriety.
I'm affronted, and think both these gals owe me a sincere apology, if not a coherent explanation.
I would advise them that in the future, they may want to consider both the origin and the consequence of feeling before they give into impulse and alienate someone, who in their own past descriptions, was deemed one of their most loyal and generous friends.
I do not appreciate being shat upon, and then being told it is not shit but truth, and I should thank them for their own courageous display of honesty while learning to be more sensitive and positive (aka fake) so we can all get along nicely.
No, thank you. You should learn some control, how to reflect, how to articulate and examine your feelings, and barring all that, you should learn how to be gracious in spite of suspecting you've just made a complete, self-important ass of yourself and learn how to apologize. It would, in my estimation, be prudent to do so.
Economically yours,
Gretchen
New Favourite Artist (and Best Name Ever)
www.royalwood.ca/music-TheWaiting.php
Last Friday, I took Honey to a show. In my smallish town, we are blessed with a great old bar/venue whose musical programmer brings in acts usually reserved for large urban areas. In the last several months, we've had shows by tremendous emerging artists in almost every contemporary genre. For the price of a few shekels, I've been uplifted and energized and awed by the creativity and beauty of music, right in my own little corner of the world.
Case in point: Ontario-based Royal Wood, accompanying Hannah Georgas on her recent tour. Alas, I could not stay for Ms. Hannah, as I was to be up at dawn the next day to put in a full day of public speaking on behalf of work and it was growing late. Plus I needed to have sex before sleepytime, and didn't want to leave it too late.
However, I caught opening act Mr. Wood, a dapper, well-spoken gentleman of such poise and good looks that every straight woman present was swooning on the inside. Oh, and he's a damn fine singer and musician, with lovely and well-crafted songs. Seeing an artist of such confidence and purpose made me very, very happy to go out and in tiny part, support the wonderful Canadian and independent music that is out there. For this, I am thankful.
Last Friday, I took Honey to a show. In my smallish town, we are blessed with a great old bar/venue whose musical programmer brings in acts usually reserved for large urban areas. In the last several months, we've had shows by tremendous emerging artists in almost every contemporary genre. For the price of a few shekels, I've been uplifted and energized and awed by the creativity and beauty of music, right in my own little corner of the world.
Case in point: Ontario-based Royal Wood, accompanying Hannah Georgas on her recent tour. Alas, I could not stay for Ms. Hannah, as I was to be up at dawn the next day to put in a full day of public speaking on behalf of work and it was growing late. Plus I needed to have sex before sleepytime, and didn't want to leave it too late.
However, I caught opening act Mr. Wood, a dapper, well-spoken gentleman of such poise and good looks that every straight woman present was swooning on the inside. Oh, and he's a damn fine singer and musician, with lovely and well-crafted songs. Seeing an artist of such confidence and purpose made me very, very happy to go out and in tiny part, support the wonderful Canadian and independent music that is out there. For this, I am thankful.
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