I have accumulated several draft posts over the past couple of years which, for one reason or another, I chose not to post. Presented herewith are selections from some of those drafts.
When I get home in the evening, my usual course of action is to feed indoor cats, feed outdoor cats, change clothes, light some incense, and check my email and surf the web awhile. Then I read and maybe do some housecleaning before I go to bed.
I was told the other day I have a "likability problem."
Well, yeah.
I'm still occasionally surprised by the number of people -- even people who vaguely know me -- who will pass me in a hall or on a sidewalk and look right through me as if I'm not there.
I drive a Voyager minivan, same thing as a Caravan, and while it is not a huge car, it is not a compact either. Yet I am able to fit it into the parking spaces, and I expect other people to be gracious enough to do likewise.
I'm not surprised that professional people seem crazier. I apologize for resorting to sweeping generalizations, but professionals tend to be people with more intelligence and better educations. They're crazier because they actually see what's going on around them and inside themselves as well.
I remember being home sick from work one day and some friends coming by to check on me -- this would have been 1974 or thereabouts -- and them being astonished at what a mess my efficiency apartment was. The room was full of Marvel Comics and H.P. Lovecraft books, neither of which I read today. (I know some people are totally caught up in that Cthulhu/Miskatonic University stuff, but it was just too damn dreary for me. Do not read Lovecraft if you are prone to depression.)
Back in March, I blogged about Tara, the Tibetan Buddhist goddess, and how I thought she represented my feminine, and in many ways human, ideal.
Now I understand I am talking about fantasy. But as I sit here tonight, listening to shakuhachi and sitar music, incense burning, Alan Watts' writings still on my mind, it is easy for me envision someone with those qualities just being around. Not wild sex, or any sex. Just sitting in the next room, reading a book. Or meditating. Or listening to the music.
Just there. Just around.
I'm on my way to my holojob in the holocubicle. Nothing is real.
There have been some times in my life where I have become infatuated with a woman because there was some element of her personality that I thought would help me be a better person. Remember that scene in "As Good As It Gets" where Jack Nicholson tells Helen Hunt "You make me want to be a better man?" That's what I'm talking about. In fact, I had actually used that line –– months before the movie came out.
As I look back on it, I see that I wanted to use these women as sort of personality Bondo to fill in my own rough spots, dings and inadequacies. And at the root of these infatuations, at least in part, was the sense that they were somehow better than me.
I have said this before but it merits saying again: during a time when my emotional state was far more unsteady than it is today, by friends on the Well kept me from going completely around the bend. It would probably not be overstating it to say they kept me alive.
But remember, all this happened in a parallel universe. So please do not complain to us about their behavior.
3 comments:
I know you have begun to question the value of posting your thoughts. I enjoy reading your writing, and often come away with something useful to think about. I'm probably not the only one, either.
I love reading your blog,it appeals to the "peeping tom" in me. Don't deny me this pleasure, it's what made me fall in love with you. (See MCARP turning three shades of red)
Mindovermary
it is a very lovely shade by the way!!
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