C a r o l y n ' s D i a r y
diary.carolyn.org
|
||||
|
vIRTUALLY yOURS:
mY
cOGNITIVE
aND
... Today |
|
|||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| be warned: this is my diary... clb | page 51 | |||
|
||||
C a r o l y n ' s D i a r y
diary.carolyn.org
|
||||
|
vIRTUALLY yOURS:
mY
cOGNITIVE
aND
... Today |
|
|||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| be warned: this is my diary... clb | page 51 | |||
|
||||
Four months ago I turned 35, and enjoyed that. I remember comparing my life to my mom's as a yardstick. A lot of people I know ue their peers to measure against, but I've always used her life. Funny, I was about 7 when she was 35. I knew her then. the biggest divergence, the one that stood out to me, was my 29th year. She had her first child when she was 28. I sure didn't. For all the differences that arose in my life compared to hers, that one was most important. it wa her decision to have kids that led to the really miserable first 20 years of my life. Somehow, she bore the brunt of my wrath on that all the way through. It really is no wonder that we don't talk at all.
Brett went off to buy presents for his dad yesterday, and Bruce visited him mom. I found my high school online by accident, and chatted a bit on the message board instead. I don't feel comfortable talking there about my memories of going through high school hell. It's not fair. And I don't think anyone but me came away with that sense of a time wasted. Then again, i didn't know how to lighten up then and just be a friend or a person. was still a bundle of raw nerves and emotions.
Did my mom ever reach back into her past to touch memories? I don't recall her ever doing that. She left her homeland of England in her early 20's and didn't revisit relatives, friends or the man she should have married there. I wonder if she lives with regrets about moving to a colony. I asked her why she stayed here... We have better plumbing. Is that true Angela, really? It is too funny.
Here I have job envy, and my mom apparently had plumbing envy.
Touching bases this weekend with the past, with memories, with where I was and how i got here. It's not all just building companies and trailblazing through corporate ecosystems.
Timeout.
Metal screeching streetcar wheels 12 stories down bely the alternate routes organized around summe road contruction. Cats listening watching waiting for pigeons to visit. Smoggy misty skyline awakening. Angela and Bruce bubbling online line with chatter and life-filling caring. Planning to vacate normal life for temporary adventures.
To have a really new and interesting place to be, I need to supress the urge to change the foundations, and look to changing a few important structural elements. The fine line between overloading on adrenline reaction to the new and finding myself bored into oblivian by the never changing exists. I must walk it.
I will laugh at the vampires.
Around full circle to stories again. We tell them to create our thought space in others' minds. Tell mine for me.
How to make my day memorable... Do somethng that really stands out to me. That will be this day's challenge to myself.
This morning I feel like writing. The density of thought is too great to keep inside any longer. I shall be vague.
Vague: people. Vaguer: life. Vaguer still: whatever. And yet the details are where my thoughts dwell. The challenges of living pop up constantly, and yet mine are so dilettantish. Do I like my shoes, should I have my hair done in some new colour, wikll I like our new office space enough, ... and on and on.
Where is the deeper stuff? Yesterday we broke out over lunch into a chat about what we'd each do if we didn't have to do anything. I could see that everyone had an opinion, and that they also understood the utter boredom that'd click inif they didn't continue to challenge themselves. Do they realize that I am already doing that? Doing what I want (sort of mostly) because I can? Do people (vaguely) realize that each and everyone one of us can actually just do what we want. Obviously constraints exist on everyone. Constraints though *do not* stop us from doing the things we want to do. They may limit frequency or duration or depth or even timing. They don't stop us though.
If I decided today that getting into outerspace really is my goal, I could do it. I'd join the US Army, acquire a couple of Ph.D.s and stupidly behave like one of their jockish astronauts. Or I'd assist in the finance of the commercial projects underway currently.
IF
So when should I say yeah, IF is now. I'll do that one. Isn't it the choosing amongst many possibilities that makes me feel the loss of the others? Does this prevent me from choosing one or two possibilities. I have freinds who focus for awhile on one thing and acheive stuff related to it. Then sometimes they move on to the next. Sometimes they don't. But they accumulate these things. within the bounds of finite constraint.
Time to start picking... That's not vague. (Thanks to Ara who worried about showing up here, and to Leesa and Tanya for talking about the moon with me.)
Braided trails to follow, detours in the journey leading inexorably to the same destination. The moments pass and we wonder why they seem to pass faster as we dwell on bank accounts instead of blades of grass, instead of the stars. Momentary twinkles of delight. A cat dies. We pursue the meaning of each, and wonder.
The dawn woke me, not as a chorus of birds or through the elegant sighing of trees. The street cars scratched long metal tracks outside the window. I drank several cups of coffee and traveled through the dungeons of doom to meet the Elven King. outsmarted, he retreated back to his darker domesne. Young males watch me online hoping to jiggle my curiousity, but they are no match for the elven king.
A story of galactic conquest and our place in it, a warriour species, ends.
Another weekend.
I fill my mind with stories. If only my life were something I could watch. Orchestrated by master puppeteers, scripted with f/x and shadows. Costumes and makeup. Drama, humour, and life. To watch instead of pushing forward. A detour through the streets into each home. I sit in your living room. I know that you do not push or pull your own strings either. I wonder that you can stand your own existence without chemical persuasion. But you do.
Each brick stacked as your home shadows the sidewalk, your pet distresses the neighbours' attitude toward you. You forget to sweep the porch, and instead move on to encompass the insides of your car as you drive away, to work.
You forgot your television. It drones on without you to absorb its radiant pleasures. Are you real?
I ask what you really wish to be, who you are in your dreams. I have forgotten mine. The pretense of normalcy driven into my every motion. There are worse things.
In order to comprehend me, I have to wonder where the limits are in my behaviour. Where do they come from? Have I ingested the views of society? Have I tortured my desire to break free? Will I ever just do what I want as each whim hits?
Your car returns to its nest, hatching you, a birdling with mouth open wide, come to feed. Sitting back in your chair with a glass of whiskey, you watch what we all call a game, ritualized combat, gambling, leisure class soma. Where did we go wrong in this anthill?
Does living closer to the edge of convention, outside even, bring forth more delight? Did it for me?
The braided merger of the norms with the delight of the edge. Safety and risk. Me.
And while I do not have a television or a car, I have two cats, and a computer, and several phones. A microwave sits on my kitchen counter in my condo. My friends think I'm a yuppie, and I wonder frequently where my spirit disappeared to. Or where I've hidden it. The fight to be liked and to be respected and finally to be loved. I feel as if I'm losing that fight. Perhaps last years battles have left permanent scars.
Three weeks later...
I've been reading and playing with people and I took on a arge project for a client last week which kept me 150% busy all week. My quest to have a job was filled by tis finally. Joy joy.
I've been dreaming a lot lately about everything. I wonder how each day trickles by with a to do list, and tasks. What are we but machinery cranking out completion for the bigger whole. The world will be a better place exactly because I do this? I ask this every third second. It will alter slightly. It will not be worse. There is a chance peoples' lives will improve a smidge.
Mine will. Over the top. A suggests she'd rather be a musician. P is a musician. They agree that the freedom and joy found in creating outway the harsher realities of Darwinian shoving in business. B stopped being a musician. I will never be a musician. I lived iun creative space for 15 years as a student, and as an anarchist rebel. Now I live in the business spaces... wiggling and sculpting methodologies instead of ideas. There is a creativity in this, and there can be an elegance when I jam with other sophisticates. The ethics of business are the same as those of the arts. Artists do not see this though. Bearing the naivete of a person refusing to politic in either genre / job will in the longer run lead to nothing except the joy of the moments. And this is of course beautiful, but frustrating. Looking instead to sculpt the future into something grand or graceful or strong... this is what I do instead. My art is painted against a tableau of life.
People still ask me if they'll be included here after telling me something personal. i try to reassure them that my old style reporting isn't used anymore, that this place is about me, not them. And yet, I find my regrets still abound . the frank and open demeanour of the early writings was much more satisfying and fun. It's a true reflection of our society that we require closely held secrets both perosnal and public. C'est la vie. that to shall pass.
buzzing to work at 7am... ciau
Resting this weekend after a lot of things this past week. Introverted pursuits of carelessness. But a tang lingers. Verve and dynamic puppy-energy wold be nice. Imagine bounding around every corner with a keen desire to sniff at everything new.
Perhaps I should get a set of kittens, two or three. Orrent the apartment above mine too, blow away the dividing floor/ceiling, and hang a trapeze to sleep in.
But no... the physical dimensions of my life are just so terribly uninteresting. I like the tweaky pull of an idea hard to think through. Perhaps the how details of life don't really need to be noticed. I'll go backto my brain in a vat youngling wishes knowing more thoroughly that space is there to learn about and put new things in, not to gather cloned molds of old things. Or maybe I watched Fight Club the other week and am precociously demeaning Ikea-materialism wtihout justification.
Maybe I should write rap song lyrics and funk out. I continue to fail to understand in my soul what being successful really is all about. Joy. Enjoy.
Between me and ecstasy. Oh.
Yesterday, I took my much needed weekly rest from everything. I stayed home and played. I'm feeling perkier and more relaxed today, and I'd like to grow that feeling further. Refreshed, i think, is a good way to describe this. Standard stuff. Standard life.
I used to wonder about the differences between people, that each of us seems remarkably unique, and really challenging to get to know.
Upon further in-depth inspection over decades, I'm realizing that I switched the figure and ground. There are so many commonalities amongst all people, and amongst clearly delineated subsets that I well... I'm astounded that I didn't notice. My ability to hold an overriding assumption is pretty powerful. Vision cleared now though, and I am proceeding to look at the variations as the wonderful colour we share with each other. Although it seems obvious that many people can't help but be colourful , I want to retain some of my character to share with others.
Lately I've decided that the most elegant manner of doing so will be to truly master the art of being civilized, professional, stainless steel perfection. Afterwards, i will re-merge the character of Carolyn. Laser-etched personality on stainless steel. Holographic projections of me onto myself, coated for eay digestability by higher society, and entertaining to me at least and hopefully to others as well. In a society geared towards the leisure set, I morph from being luxury creature to leisure creature. I will project a warmth and sincerity, truthfully, with the elegance that cats share with oak trees. So the plan goes.
The passion with which I have wrestled with professionalism and personal intimacy will become my transcending mantra of self-fulfillment. I will have both goals: being me, living snuggly within society. And as usual it will take a little longer than the quest for half of this potential person stuff would. And as usual, the ramifications will shine brightly.
I shouldn't drink coffee upon waking up perky.
And no, I didn't succeed in quitting smoking. And yes, I am enjoying attending the gym every couple of days. Noone who knew me when i was 16 would have guessed tht I do either at 35.
Phasing out.
Teachers sometimes learn more than their students.
Sometimes I feel like the Medusa looked at me recently. In my heightened state of shock, everything slows down and I feel skin crackling, eyes changing state, eyes planted. It's so peaceful. The shock put me here, I realize. Fear of it happening again plasters a strong acceptance, covering the etching of facial features.
Were Greece's gods formed this way, stunning people, honoured rarely to meet the great beast, turned solid, and worshipped later for their obvious strength?
Slowing..
Quarter to 7am. Sun rising. A long weekend and I am left to my own devices marvelously. As I descend into the how-person lifestyle, I wonder why I bother to. Going to the gym every two or three days, working hard, collecting success. I feel a tad unimaginiative.
Reading 3 books a week though can drain one's sense that something special is happening in one's life. The uniqueness, that sense that I count for something important, is missing. Sure I count in the local surrounds. Sure I make a difference to the poeple I work with and my clients, and even the bum ont he street corner who calls me his cousin. I certainly do not make a difference on the world scale. Oh this bothers me. Each character in each book ignores this. Each wonders in and out of plot devices oblivious to their own position in the world.
So do you. How funny that we watch movies about presidents and the richest corporate execs. We read gossip rags about the beautiful, the rich, the famous. We share this veil of fairy tale letting it overlap or even smother our own personal sense of being. Well I certainly do.
I look at my ICQ list, a long one, and realize that most of the time, I don't have anything to say to most of the people. There's this cultrual demand to have something new to discuss. I don't usually have anything new!! I don't like lying. Gossip doesn't regenerate quicly enough in most cases, and I create long term things, things that will never look new at any one point in time. I feel like a cultural hermit in some sense.
"What's new?"
I bought some cat food.
Focus.
Life meanders along. Fresh air. Fresh goals. The knowledge that life is what I make it. So be it that I'm a naturally easily depresed sort of person, and that I'm still exhausted. It's fair to say tha I'm doing so much better than I have for several years though too. And I'm reaching out for a lot of help and assistance although no longer to friends.
|
What I'd love to do is be surrounded by people I love, and who love me. We'd work together. I'd feel the strength and warmth from the love and companionship that is there. Why do I remain so distant anyway? It surely is a matter of being willing to take risks. Each tendril of a risk though becomes a leap of faith that I only continue for a fleeting second. i don't know what else to say or do. Am I so spacey? The memory thing is a silencer. i used to just wander onto hypotheticals. Those were my alternative. Now I remain silent, an overbearing concern beaten into me by the local bullies, for the reactions of others. I suspect now that I was never meant to be great. It's an odd realization after not really caring about it in the first place. That's alright. Life seems to grow heavier as i move along the path. I still cannot imagine what death will be like. I don't worry about it though the way I did years ago. It will simply be. Dreams the other day of just stuff. But the stuff was within my childhood scape. This time I was in the schoolyard. goldfish were there. I learned that the scape was the longest place I've ever physically been. And as a kid, I got to know it more intimately than any other scape since. Even FSC is young in compariosn. I also noticed that the events attached to differnet parts of the scape. I can map them onto the scape pretty easily. I'm surprised at this. i pattern recognize so much, and here is this big unrecognized spot within my own existence. I's so simple. I have a framework, one more constant than anything else, with an intimate familiarity. And Ihave this awful memory. i've tagged things onto that framework over years. Each is layered in echoing similarities. Peter used to say that memory was emotional. |
|
||||||||||||||||||
What I'd like to do now is to take these layered associations into my "fake" world. The old forest with the new waterfall and pathways coming in from the outside world. The silence and wisdom and love of old trees. Its been clean there for years. And it only associates to one thing, a grand sense of calm. Now I will overlay parts and pieces of that childhood scape. I'll add in places to file my reactions, and paths between them so that I can move where i wish to be at will. I find it all so beautiful.
With three days off: one to have the dream, one to write it out, and one to understan it. My first good use of a long weekend.
Now do I let this feeling that there is a me inside me drift back into ennui? Oh god don't.
It's enough to be childishly and simply happy. Don't be afraid to.
And the 3 days of clouds blow away under the blue skies.
sunrise
cats purring still after sleeping warmly nestled with me all night. perhaps my purpose in lifeis simply to keep cats happy. that is a challenging idea.
Met my neighbour last night. He has a young kitten. We'll have to play. Spring time indeed.
okay... time to go to work.. the idea that i could spin off a meaningful (to me) entry instead of getting a shower isn't succeeding. interesting that it used to though. i wonder what changed.
ciau
.Its really hot today, sapping weather, lazy tired sky. People space is quite too. I'm sure there's a way to incorporate lazy tired with people but I'll leave tha to teh extroverts in the world.
Left on my own to long though I wind down. A remnant sense of despondance washes over me. Its like I need the people space to remind me to smile and to say things, and even to just simply bother. But I don't bother to encourage a people space. I'd rather spend my time simply resting. Do I write this?
Enough.
Several things..
My mood is crashing lately. What's the effort for? Why am I trying to get out of bed everyday? What do I want to do each moment? How do I remember the little things I enjoy doing, but always forget? What are friends for?
What the hell? Why am I not feeling great? Is it because having friends doesn't matter? Is it because everything I do is about working instead of enjoying my own life?
Just tears now, and I have to go in for a meeting. Please just like me.
Q day. Better than yesterday. I don't know where or why that splurge of emotion came from yesterday. I needed a few smiles, and hugs. It's quite amazing that when i say I need those things, people pop up to assist. I'm going to visit Angela for sure now. We're working out the dates. And I'm going to Pittsburgh for sure in a couple of weeks for JournalCon to speak and to meet everyone in the OLJ community! I wonder who I'll get to know.
But I am worried that I'll slip into a funk yet again. I've been reading Ulysses by Joyce this week. Funk is something they do in this book too. Old word with a New Society spin.
Don't need funks. Do need goals, and a sense that meeting them is an acheivement! Life isn't an ongoing effort to keep up. Its the careful sculpting of the future to be something I'll be proud of. Boy I am perkier today.
Meeting in 30 minutes. Gotta run off to meet. Be presidential despite B's protests that there are lots of president n the world. Sure there are. That doesn't make being one and doing it well any less. I think I'll caht with him on the weekend about jealousy and being proud of what one has accomplished. :) Smileys everywhere. And writing is perking me up even more... I don't want to leavestop. Get away with you, busy worker bee.
Date wrong yesterday... Today it's right.
More of this and that in my head. Feeling the urge to do something, to create something. So I came here. What else do I create? I like losing myself in creating something witha scope to it, an end in mind. An entry here has that. A whole process of losing myself in introspection for a few minutes.
Is it the self examination that I like, or the loss of real time awareness? Or what? And why in public these days, after years of learning the ups and downs of doing so? What on earth do I have to hide though? Isn't better to let out who I am and whatI'm thinking, then to remain enclosed in my social roles indefinitely? I'll be a happier person if I don't have to hide away inside clothing and facial masks. Like a poem I know well.
Treat myself well.... a discussion two days ago reminded me that I'm good at that. And I haven't been paying attentiont, mainly because I've lost touch with what that is about! Is that what's been pulling me down lately? What is well though? Is it long term strategizing, planning and creating the future of my world? Or is it the shorter term pleasures of leading a productive and constructive life? Is it eating well, and having good conversations over dinner like last night with Janet and Richard? Is it visiting strange new ways in the world? Such a rubik's cube of possibilities. I doing well metaphorically equivalnet to a scrambled cube, or to teh one end goal of a solved cube? If its the latter then life is close impossible without the simple tricks one needs to order the colors in the cube. Perhaps though a good life is the process of descrambling the cube without knowing the tyricks. There is a sense of satisfaction in getting half way along successfully, and then finishing. Even more enlightened cube theory ... acheivement is in the willingness to scramble a completed cube.
Scrambling off now... writing is indeed therapeutic for me. Perkier me needs to run now.
House proud. It's time to move on, get in gear, embrace change, and simply go for it. If something doesn't work, duck and weave, change it, move on. If it does, embrace and maintain, and improve. My life now sounds like the product spec sheet for a fast-moving dot com business. Duck and weave indeed. I'm more elegant than that. I'll flow and ebb. :)
But confidence rising requires even more get go with the proper personal infrastrucutre. (Can you tell that we played buzzword bingo at the office this afternoon. Yes, on Sunday.) I wonder if using buzzword bingo terms will be like having spent too much time in grad school; the strength of my vocabulary narrows down to consume a sliver space of the real verbal landscape.
Be that as it may, it's fun using toys and tools to create new things. Perhaps as I was expounding upon a couple weeks ago (here?) that people just love playing games. Cats too. We figure out what the rule set is and start trying to win, or to cheat, or to develop better rules, ever evolving into yet further variants and new games. We just love playing, and gaming naturally defines so much of the way we interact with others.
The evolving game is most fun to me. Each turn, the person is allowed to make a move, and at the same time can also push teh envelop of the rules by taking advantage of a loophole or simply altering how the cooperation in competition (even that may be absent) moves along. Nomic was the most polished of these self-evolving games. 1 2
Anyway, here's the plan. It's weird. It's outlandish, and it's really a very normal plan. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I went through a couple of years of really troubled times. I stopped writing here becuase I couldn't write about the troubles. They centred around how Richard and I related. And to all concerned including me it looked like Richard and I wouldn't end up maintaining any sort of contact, either friendship or business. We worked really hard on that, giong to some elaborate extremes in the end to change things.
It's been over a year since those things changed. I'm under no illusions that the same sort of thing (not spelled out here) won't happen again. It may. It probably will given enough time, and enough adventuring into the future. Fine. I handled it then, rather well actually, and I'm quite quite proud of what i managed to accomplish. As a consequence I fell behind in my life travels by at least 3 years though, and am only now back to where I was before that stuff started. and that's taken a year of hard work. So somehow I'm back to where I had worked to 4 years ago. Again, that's okay. i've acquired really incredible bits of wisdom and self-confidence because of everything that happened.
So here's the deal. That's all settled down. Over the past year I've become a workaholic in many ways. Really my time is spent on developing my company, and working thrugh planning the long term future of it (as well for my other company). And I'm in the middle of legal dialogues another ex-friend unfortunately. It's a fascinating world, and there are many lessons I'm learning about who not to trust and why. After a decade of learning to trust other people, I'm refining the skill to be wrapped in good judgement. I wanted to speak with Peter about this tongiht, but he's off somewhere. So I'm writing instead -- my wonderful theraputic space here.
I want changes in my life. I want to throw parties, adn have guests over. I want companionship, and a space to live in that is beyond basic needs. I want to shed the last remnants of my old student life (even the old unfinishd planks that serve as bookshelves). I want to be a completely transparent member of society. And what does this lead to?
Richard is buying ahouse this month for various reasons. We began talking about this since he needed to stay in the guest suite here in my condo for the month. So we talked a lot (more than usual anyway). We got to talking about what we wanted in a space, and in companionship. Now I won't pretend to think that he'll make my fantasy roommate. He isn't. Neither am I. But the idea of living with someone, and living in a great space is too intriguing not to do. So I've been looking at houses with him. Between us we can get something spectacular in a modest way since we both like saving money more than buring it on consumables).
I'm spelling it out here so that I can't hide behind illusion. My hesitancy in all of this centres cometely around two things: the war Richard and I had two years ago; and the complete and utter lifelong friendship I have with Peter. The first stands on its own. If ever even an inkling of htat war resurfaces, I will immediately move out and cut the personal ties. The second though is complicated. Those two men hate either other, despise each other...
How can I maintain the warm and loving admiration and respect of the person who means most to me in the world while seemingly sharing a lot with someone he is thoroughly disgusted by?
How do I navigate this? I've been trying to srt this through in my mind now mulling over the scenario. There isn't a way. These things that I need are not compatible really.
What do I really want? A magical solution to everything. :) Indeed quite a trip. Ill let it settle itself mostly. the big thing for me is that I'd be changing the basics of my lifestyle to something more functional.
Another drawback is the sterility which I would be surrounded by. I love so many things that wouldn't emerge as important in that situation. But that's just it. I'm not bubbling into those things anyway. There's more to my healing and growing still. I'm still missing the bold and brave risk taking me. And yet more and more, there don't seem to actually be risks to take. The challenges I face are easily thought through and manageable.
So maybe my fears are gone. My fears are gone. No more stage fright. No shyness. Not even a calculated form of "handling the situation" needs be used by me anymore. I'm ready to elegantly and smoothly do anything. 4 years of hell and back again have removed the hesitancy I had to live fully. Now though its a time tha ticks by taking with it opportunity that I should simply jump on. With that view, one learned (relearned) from a brave woman at the office, I can cahnge again if this choice is wrong.
Maturing before my own eyes. I will take that to Pittsburgh this week.
Thanksgiving and me: The scheme of things...
I was angry this weekend for being that sort of person. In my head I have a thousand things to say. To others numbering more than two though, I remain mostly silent. I'm left with only becoming the conversation pirate that Norbert used to be - duck and weave with witty one liners, though my are usually too eclectic. Groups are beautiful, terrible. And where public speaking is a soothing pleasure, orchestral tunings leading up to a hoped for echoing performance of people contributing wisdom and creating the future; so group conversations are tediums framed with LCD grade school garbage band yearnings.
That was my rather dense intro to my experience at JournalCon.
I loved the role I played. At one point in the conference, long after my opening address, I raised my hand. I vented. I burst forth with annoyance that these people too were falling for the "carolyn" facade. Heh. I called myself a bullshit artist, hiding behind a carefully constructed artifice designed to various ends (or some such semantically related verbiage). I disagreed with a large percentage of the "online journalers" (I'm an online diarist) in stating that you know me much better through this medium than if you meet me F2F. For me, this act of bravery went unrewarded, and I retreated with more satisfaction and a sense of self-confidence into my own carolyn view of the world.
Bought the house last night. I named it Arugula already. It's in Cabbagetown, a really historic and beautiful neighbourhood of Toronto [see (12) on the historic map].
I probably need a bit more sleep yet again.
Little time this morning. Making this count.
I want to write about the house, about my reasons for getting into it, and how indeed it is to me like buying a new dress. Angela is right about that. It is not the experience that two people at my office have been going through -- excitement and intensity. I'm changing my lifestyle and the day-to-day rituals. I'm shaking up the expectations my brain has adopted about what the how things will be. That's good for me.
I'm shaking up others' expectations too. Will I really take my growing energy space / sphere and "risk" it? C'est la vie. Yet again.
So...
I really must run now, and I have more to say. More internal meandering to go through before I simply burst. How honest can I be again?
So today... I'm in the office eating lunch. The house deal hit its first snag... we need an appraisal on the house. :) So now I'm coordinating that for the insurance company. We'll see how that goes.
3 phone calls.... Okay... the guys are all coordinating the next step. I can relax about this for a few minutes. :) I guess I already was.
More and more this is become an impulse purchase, an impulse life style change. It's a lot of fun in this way. No pressure, no worries. I wonder why anyone would ever worry through something like making a voluntary purchase.
Back to the work...
What is it like to be a person?
Inside a warmly fragmented landscape of visions and memories and decisions and a lot of will power holding all of it together, inside here are landmine-like spots that explode almost all the time. I sense an object or a process in realspace, and this in turn tugs gently at first on something familiar -- something from the past.
Colours blossum into a spectrum of intense knowledge, a past event displacing all awareness of nowspacetime. I'm confused and troubled that I won't distinguish between the two (just two?). Insistence burgeons forth and I, a whole being, insist that realspace win this struggle for attention domination. It always works. So far, so good.
A lingering tugging back to thenspace crumples against my will power. How much of who I am is this crazy glue? How on earth can I fight this fight over and over, repeating each gaze with a flash back into a different world? When my ears tingle and twitch with a new sensation, will I listen enough to absorb that present sliver of the real? When will I instead allow myself, my self, to be teased away into some fantasim (sp?) reality, disjunct and devoid of other person interaction?
Ahh... and that is why the crazy glue continues to be sufficient. There is no company but in the now. People are truly real only when fully sentient and interacting. A full tautology brings me to a halt here. What it is like to be a person is in the interwoven social dances with other sentients, other thought provokers.
No wonder the constant war I engage in against the small talk minutia of day-to-day lemmings. No wonder and no loss any longer. I enjoy too much the feel of textured interactions to bother with plastic imitation.
I'm smiling now. I've just made peace with the remnants of a long work week and with the mixed blessings of JournalCon. The warp and weft of doing requires extensive exchange of important details. the indulgence into being a person simply does not. And I am a person first, a professional person, long before I am these other things.
The bedrock of being a person supports all that other crap. I guess part of that rocky core is indeed the visionary memories that fling me through timespace.
Do you understand what it is like to be this person, this morning?
5:30am... finally getting up early again. Watching the sunrise. Feeling the quietness of a sleeping city, the simple chill of a place waiting to be sun-warmed.
I wish I'd met Hemmingway. How do vibrant people stand this world?
Cabbagetown -- Arugula is located at (12) on the map
Life
Playing is one of my most essential pleasures. I've realized this morning as I was reading Robert Sawyer's latest novel, Calculating God. Into my awareness came the understanding that playing doesn't have to end with youth. We play with those things that intrigue us, I do.
Playing is a form of learning, a form that intrigues mammals generally. We bat mice about, try to count to infinity, and play with toys that liken themselves to adult "games".
...
| CD extended |
| CD Conversations |
|
f.i.n.a.l.e |
...continue into the future... | |
|---|---|---|---|
|
|
|||
All non-daughter writings of Carolyn's Diary are copyright © Carolyn L Burke, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000 and may not be copied without permission except for non-commercial gain. See what your lawyers can't make of that.
|
|||
