I've been thinking a lot lately about posting, or rather why I haven't been. And what I've come to see is that my blog world has become a bit more like my real world, and I'm not particularly thrilled about it.
The first year of my blog, not many people were reading it, and so nothing I wrote ever felt like that big of a deal. I enjoyed writing stories, and the extra special goody treat was that a few people actually read them. The second year brought more people reading, but rather than feel scary or strange, it just felt more spacious, with more arms reaching out to me to hug, to be held, to hold hands with, to touch.
But in the past couple of months, a bigger shift happened, one that I posted about as my blog world becoming more real and how supportive it has felt, and other aspects of it that I haven't written about. It is the latter that is seriously cramping my blogstyle.
It has to do with two basic camps: people who like me and who I like and want to continue this like-fest with, and people who judge me and feel the need to leave the details of their judgments in comments and emails to me. It's no one's fault, the issues for my funk lying squarely inside of my own head and heart, all twisted up with desire for approval and the pain of rejection and fear of not being good enough, so if you feel as if I am alluding to *you* please allow me to say I utterly, totally let you off any hook whatsoever and fully embrace this mental shitfest as my own.
If anyone has come here and read stuff, and has continued to come back to read stuff, it has probably been at least partially because of how I lay my stuff all out here in the open, how I don't stop at the hard places and the messy places and the seriously freaking scary places, but keep on diving in until I thrash through enough of the spooge to emerge with a pearl, hopefully one that is useful to you, too. The few times I have been blogfully constipated have always quickly revealed themselves to be an indication that I had reached a place inside of myself that I was afraid to open up around, and that by talking to you about that particular stopping place, I was able to let go and let flow.
And so here goes my emotional laxative. . .
The drama of last semester has cooled and in place of the drama there is mostly:
Mundane Pains in the Ass:
* the heat in this funky ass apartment sounds like vintage autos gang banging a forklift. And at 3:30 a.m. when I have yet again been woken up by their frenetic din, if I thought turning the hose on them would help, I would.
* my evolutionary psych course is *not* about the evolution of behavior, cognition, and psychology, but rather psychology explained in terms of Darwinism, which means I am up to my patooty in genetics, the black hole nihilism of random mutations, and a professor whose favorite thing to do when he talks about a species that screwed up and bought the evolutionary farm, is to stop his lecture and scream "LIGHTS OUT!"
* I'm drinking coffee again. Slipping into narcoleptic slumps while in the middle of hearing about the differences between nominal, ordinal, interval, and ratio measurements just ain't going to fly. I just bought A KILO of macaroot so that I can "Feel The Magic of The Incas!" but it'll take about four weeks for my endocrine system to get revved from it, so until then, the creamy, beany goodness will be flying down my gullet and insomnia will return.
* in spite of the scale continuing to go down and working out til my muscles sing a castrati calypso, my ass, like the universe, is continuing to expand, and lately I've been waking up with three thoughts on continuous play: Fat. Smelly. Old. That probably wouldn't make a good personals ad.
* If you take away the Hip and you remove the Tech all you have left is Company which means that I stand on my feet and have people be mean and go get things for them and the lights are bright and I am shocked at the level of dental neglect most people have and all I can think about are my breaks and one of the managers today said, "did you go out and get drunk last night or something? you look like you are having an acid flashback" to which I could only think "acid? may I have some acid? valium? tequila? blunt object?"
* I mentioned to someone the other day: oh, this semester is going to be a lot easier than last semester. Was I on crack in that moment? Did I forget my two jobs and my co-op readings and my full time course load and the Statistics quizzes which come every week and a half and the writing for my play class and the tests and the midterms and the finals and the papers and the pages and pages and pages and pages and pages of reading? Did I forget that I have grants to apply for which each comprise ten pages of budgets and project statements and needs analysis and letters of recommendations to secure and goals and curriculum vitae? Did I forget that I at some point need to put a social life into motion and that this might entail leaving my home and spending time elsewhere? Did it slip my mind that I am now DATING SOMEONE and that this takes time, care, and attention???
. . . which leads me to:
Sensations Occurring in Other Parts of My Pelvic Area:
* yes. I am dating someone
* he lives in a foreign country so our dates consist of talking on the phone, emails, and IM. And mooning about him, though technically that isn't a part of the dating process, but actually sort of is, because he's mooning too, and since we are probably sometimes doing it at the same time, it can be considered an important mutually occurring component to the whole dating milieu.
* I want to write lots and lots about what is going on but a) he reads this blog b) friends of his read this blog c) I never ever have blogged before about someone that I was dating and d) oh, all right fine, I'll write some stuff:
* we are planning a second visit. soon. within the next month or so. I can' t really justify taking off for a foreign country when I am poor and without a passport and in the midst of the semester so he has sweetly agreed to come yet again to America. his work is freelance and can be done from his laptop wherever he is, so the return ticket will be open-ended. so its sort of like shacking up til one of us screams uncle or he needs to return to his country for various and sundry reasons.
* we've been writing and talking pretty much every day for almost five months so its not like we don't have a fairly good idea of what the other is about, but this is some wild ass shit and my panties get all up in a wad on an alternating hourly basis. sometimes the wad is really really good, sometimes the wad is very very bad.
* it is the bad wad that is incredibly blogfully constipating, because I am adamant in my refusal to allow the shrieking demons of my negative emotion any air time, and yet they are demanding their right to free speech. this blog isn't the only entity to witness the silence of my negativity lockdown. it occurs in real time when I am speaking to my dating-partner-who-resides-in-a-foreign-country, which I'm sure is a lot of fun for him as he confronts the dead air that is the signal that a tag team match is going on in my head.
* he is really really cute.
* and he smells good.
* and sends me emails so sweet that my body goes liquid like honey heated to high degrees
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, I feel better now.