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omnia_mutanturWork's been strangely busy of late, which is both a pleasant change and beginning to get quite vexing. Someone left, and I've assumed a bunch of the busywork that I'd foisted off on them, and there's no immediate new hire in sight. but i'm carving myself out a little bit of time in order to write something, anything, to see if it makes me feel calmer than I've been feeling.
whining aside, a lot of my correspondences have dried up, for what I'm sure are entirely understandable reasons, but still feel a little bit like rejection. And I know that I process 9/10ths of the stimuli the world offers me as rejection, and that it's something I need to learn to get over more efficiently than I currently do. But I think it also might be the cause of some of my moodiness (and at this point, I'm flailing for reasons). Which isn't to discount the incredibly fierce joy I get from the emails I do get these days.
I think that I practice a sort of self-therapy through turning whatever I'm thinking into prose, and that some vital component of said self-therapy is the idea (even erroneous) that someone else is reading what I'm writing. Livejournal doesn't exactly fill this lack, and I think that harkens back to my earlier stated problem of interpreting things as rejection. As much as it's made me some marvelous friends and acquaintances and whatever that weird liminal state of someone you know could be a friend but isn't yet or maybe ever but maybe someday, I don't have a lot of what-passes-on-a-cloudy-day-for-faith in the medium. I think my entries are either too dense or too selfindulgent to regularly garner comments, and the medium is too diffuse to really give me what I want in terms of audience-focused writing. (a duh! statement if ever I made one)
when I was in college, I used to ask semicolon to tell me things about myself. I don't remember her answers, of course, and I barely remember the act of asking, but I do remember trying to figure out what kind of feedback I was looking for. I had (and have) so little faith in my own ability to overcome subjectivity that I wanted to find the places where my self perception overlapped with her perception of me, since she was the person who spent the most time looking at me (for definitions of looking that involve more gaze than sight). I think what I like about individual correspondences that fails me come to Livejournal is the precision of focus of self representation. (for as much as conversations are communication, I think they're also about finding ways to say "here I am.") Which I guess probably brings me back to the oft repeated question of the point of conversation, of friendship, of talking at all.
I struggle to try and make sure I am simultaneously entirely enscribed my relationship with Light, to a periodically unhealthy I'm sure degree, and to make sure that I exist if not entirely independent of him, at least with the idea of bringing a full-formed identity to the table of our relationship and to the world at large. I want to have friendships outside of my relationship with Light, and I do have them, and I want to have them for reasons other than just that they exist outside of my relationship with Light, but I wonder if that desire makes me look more desperate than entirely attractive. And I think my methods of handling friendship may have changed at the beginning of this year, or my understanding of how people care about each other, and I'm still trying to pinpoint the repercussions of those changes.
Light's off to game this Friday, and it seems even weirder to be left alone on a weekend night, when he's off to play with people I adore, but I refuserefuserefuse to ask him not to go or to keep him from going in any way, and am hoping instead to address holiday card envelopes and play puzzle pirates until my eyes start to fuzz from exhaustion. I hate feeling like an incontinent puppy that can't be left to its own devices for too long, but I think the absence of daily panicking that living with Light brought about has stripped me of the armor to weather any presence of panicking now. I don't know why I do it, and I wish I didn't, and I know it's very much compounded by the fact that once panicking, I wish to self-medicate with a fire-fierce desire, which brings about still more panic, and I've of course salted the entire mixture heavily with self loathing, which makes calming down just that much harder. A price I willingly pay, of course, but not exactly my proudest moment.
In other news, if you've made it this far, we're down to probably the last meal to be made out of leftovers from thanksgiving today, though one more might be squeezed out of tomorrow. And by this, I mean that Light and I have eaten food left over from what I made last Thursday, for lunches and dinners every day since Thursday, with two exceptions, and all that is left in the fridge is pie and condiments. I find this quite impressive, and as much as I enjoyed not cooking for that long, it's also probably the longest I've gone without cooking without being deathly ill since at least when we moved into the condo, and I think that's made me a little edgy. So, either vegetables and cornbread, or fake vegetarian pad thai tonight and maybe that'll center me a little bit.
We saw Redbird last night, and I've still got a huge crush on Kris Delmhorst, and we'll be seeing Girlyman tomorrow, and all this live music in such a short span of time feels like the best kind of decadent. We played Girl Genius and ate spicy fries to pass the time before the show, and the table near the pillar next to the sound board makes up for the kitchen noises by inspiring next to no claustrophobia. I'm not looking forward to any part of the holidays yet, and I'd like to be. One of light's gifts has already come in the mail, a couple more to follow, and I'm hoping to order Mech and Media and Junkyard's presents from ThinkGeek tonight. But mostly, I think I'd just like to fastforward to late January, skip his sister's wedding, skip Christmas at my parents' house (after two years of not being there), skip having to try and figure out what to do for New Years, skip turning 30, and have all those things in the past, rather than in the future. I'm trying to find nuggets of anticipation to scatter in the upcoming weeks, a Christmas tree, dinner with Tulip and Algonquin, Light painting the house in his week off, and I'm trying to recapture perspective, but it seems like perspective's feeling particularly elusive right now.
whining aside, a lot of my correspondences have dried up, for what I'm sure are entirely understandable reasons, but still feel a little bit like rejection. And I know that I process 9/10ths of the stimuli the world offers me as rejection, and that it's something I need to learn to get over more efficiently than I currently do. But I think it also might be the cause of some of my moodiness (and at this point, I'm flailing for reasons). Which isn't to discount the incredibly fierce joy I get from the emails I do get these days.
I think that I practice a sort of self-therapy through turning whatever I'm thinking into prose, and that some vital component of said self-therapy is the idea (even erroneous) that someone else is reading what I'm writing. Livejournal doesn't exactly fill this lack, and I think that harkens back to my earlier stated problem of interpreting things as rejection. As much as it's made me some marvelous friends and acquaintances and whatever that weird liminal state of someone you know could be a friend but isn't yet or maybe ever but maybe someday, I don't have a lot of what-passes-on-a-cloudy-day-for-faith in the medium. I think my entries are either too dense or too selfindulgent to regularly garner comments, and the medium is too diffuse to really give me what I want in terms of audience-focused writing. (a duh! statement if ever I made one)
when I was in college, I used to ask semicolon to tell me things about myself. I don't remember her answers, of course, and I barely remember the act of asking, but I do remember trying to figure out what kind of feedback I was looking for. I had (and have) so little faith in my own ability to overcome subjectivity that I wanted to find the places where my self perception overlapped with her perception of me, since she was the person who spent the most time looking at me (for definitions of looking that involve more gaze than sight). I think what I like about individual correspondences that fails me come to Livejournal is the precision of focus of self representation. (for as much as conversations are communication, I think they're also about finding ways to say "here I am.") Which I guess probably brings me back to the oft repeated question of the point of conversation, of friendship, of talking at all.
I struggle to try and make sure I am simultaneously entirely enscribed my relationship with Light, to a periodically unhealthy I'm sure degree, and to make sure that I exist if not entirely independent of him, at least with the idea of bringing a full-formed identity to the table of our relationship and to the world at large. I want to have friendships outside of my relationship with Light, and I do have them, and I want to have them for reasons other than just that they exist outside of my relationship with Light, but I wonder if that desire makes me look more desperate than entirely attractive. And I think my methods of handling friendship may have changed at the beginning of this year, or my understanding of how people care about each other, and I'm still trying to pinpoint the repercussions of those changes.
Light's off to game this Friday, and it seems even weirder to be left alone on a weekend night, when he's off to play with people I adore, but I refuserefuserefuse to ask him not to go or to keep him from going in any way, and am hoping instead to address holiday card envelopes and play puzzle pirates until my eyes start to fuzz from exhaustion. I hate feeling like an incontinent puppy that can't be left to its own devices for too long, but I think the absence of daily panicking that living with Light brought about has stripped me of the armor to weather any presence of panicking now. I don't know why I do it, and I wish I didn't, and I know it's very much compounded by the fact that once panicking, I wish to self-medicate with a fire-fierce desire, which brings about still more panic, and I've of course salted the entire mixture heavily with self loathing, which makes calming down just that much harder. A price I willingly pay, of course, but not exactly my proudest moment.
In other news, if you've made it this far, we're down to probably the last meal to be made out of leftovers from thanksgiving today, though one more might be squeezed out of tomorrow. And by this, I mean that Light and I have eaten food left over from what I made last Thursday, for lunches and dinners every day since Thursday, with two exceptions, and all that is left in the fridge is pie and condiments. I find this quite impressive, and as much as I enjoyed not cooking for that long, it's also probably the longest I've gone without cooking without being deathly ill since at least when we moved into the condo, and I think that's made me a little edgy. So, either vegetables and cornbread, or fake vegetarian pad thai tonight and maybe that'll center me a little bit.
We saw Redbird last night, and I've still got a huge crush on Kris Delmhorst, and we'll be seeing Girlyman tomorrow, and all this live music in such a short span of time feels like the best kind of decadent. We played Girl Genius and ate spicy fries to pass the time before the show, and the table near the pillar next to the sound board makes up for the kitchen noises by inspiring next to no claustrophobia. I'm not looking forward to any part of the holidays yet, and I'd like to be. One of light's gifts has already come in the mail, a couple more to follow, and I'm hoping to order Mech and Media and Junkyard's presents from ThinkGeek tonight. But mostly, I think I'd just like to fastforward to late January, skip his sister's wedding, skip Christmas at my parents' house (after two years of not being there), skip having to try and figure out what to do for New Years, skip turning 30, and have all those things in the past, rather than in the future. I'm trying to find nuggets of anticipation to scatter in the upcoming weeks, a Christmas tree, dinner with Tulip and Algonquin, Light painting the house in his week off, and I'm trying to recapture perspective, but it seems like perspective's feeling particularly elusive right now.
