This whole being open thing is difficult. Had a great talk with honeyfields about her post about how stressed out she's been. Basically we talked til 2AM and I spilled a lot of stuff that I don't normally tell people. That was really good - it felt good to say it, felt good to be heard by someone without an agenda, felt good to listen to someone else too. It felt good to talk about things beyond the normal surface things we always talk about in our crowd. But then I tried opening up with other people as well, and sharing other stuff. And I remembered why I don't share stuff - because it comes back to haunt me. (more)
I've been sitting and pondering something that came up. Basically, I feel like I misrepresented someone because all my friends ever hear is my anger, my frustration, my pain about dealing with this person. But it's someone I love, so it hurts me too that they think bad things about the person, because they don't know her. And now they'll never get the opportunity to know her without all the negative stuff I've said coloring their opinions.
I don't take back the things I said. They were true. But they are only one side of the truth, and don't take into account the subtleties and nuances of real life. I've painted her in black and white, but like everyone she really shows up in every color under the sun and I feel like I've done her a disservice. It's not even like she's going to know that people think negatively about her based on things I've said. But hurts me that I know this, and that I'm responsible for this.
I think much of the negative stuff I've said comes from the fact that I'm struggling to deal with issues with her, and because I don't know how to deal with them, my frustration comes out, causing me to say negative things. I'm trying to remember in the midst of the issues we're dealing with that I do love her, that I'll be unhappy when she's gone, and that I'm definitely the person I am today in part because of her - in both good and bad ways.
Maybe it's the time of the year (that with Halloween I should exorcise my ghosts and demons), but I've been reflecting on lots of things. I'm turning inward (maybe in anticipation of winter), trying to remember to appreciate the good weather and the turning of the leaves and the extra hour of sleep. I think that I have to remember that while it can be bad to share too much with people (in the sense that they use it against you, or that it comes back to bite you in some way), sharing feels good. It both feels good to let stuff out, but it also feels good to let people in. I wish I could find a way to do it more naturally, more freely, like I used to be when I was a kid (an open book). I just need to work on the happy medium - not sharing too much with inappropriate people, but not sharing too little so that the people who are my friends (as opposed to acquaintances or co-workers) know the real me, not just the person they see on the masks or walls that I put up.
I've been thinking too about love and romance. I'm wanting to see romantic comedies again, and thinking about trying the dating world again. This could just be because I'm between crushes right now, and I always seem to need to find at least one crush to focus some energy on, or I get cranky and out of sorts. But at the same time, I've been a bit crushed by my recent crushes, so maybe the whole dating thing is a crappy idea. Bah. Maybe if I keep a little tiny crush flame alive for a while, I can work on other issues but not be entirely lacking in romantic outlets. Perhaps I should light a candle or two in honor of Saint Valentine and ask the patron saint of love to help me out in the romance department? (Can't hurt, it's an aroma-therapy candle ;-)
According to this, Kerry should win. Woo hoo!
Ok, I'm being a bit of a tard today. Not as much as yesterday (when in my emotional state I thought I was going to get fired), but I can't seem to keep a coherent thought together. So what am I going to do? Write. Of course! (more)
Ok, I have ideas/thoughts about other people's posts that I haven't responded to as fully as I would like (ok, at all). So here are some thoughts on other people's thoughts (in no particular order).
Meta's thoughts on hormones - Having been tormented by hormones on and off for the past week, I definitely know the power of those infernal critters. Or at least I'm chalking it up to hormones, because otherwise I'm crazy. Which is not to say that that's not possible, but it's much more comforting (strangely) to think it's hormones. Because those subside eventually. I think crazy is probably more permanent (although that may ebb and flow with the moon as well...)
Are men not affected by hormones? Or are the effects more subtle and/or more easily attributed to other things? I joke about the testoterone level in the room getting toxic at work when the guys are obviously trying to one-up each other, or trying to impress the woman in the room in some way. Maybe that's linked to hormones as well, but we write off that behavior as simply male posturing?
I know that hormones seem to turn up all my emotional responses - my temper is suddenly hair trigger and I'm more likely to seek a violent response to situations (not that my temper is ever something to be trifled with). When not under the influence of hormones (interesting choice of phrase now that I think about it - it's like being intoxicated), I can mediate my responses. While something may make me mad or hurt my feelings, I'm not likely under normal circumstances to cry. However, throw some hormones into the mix and suddenly every emotion I have is right at the surface and takes nothing to make it bubble out of my control.
I have to wonder what evolutionary purpose hormones serve other than procreation? Is there some link to emotionality and hormones that served a purpose in caveman times that now does not serve as much purpose but we're already adapted for it? For example, I can see a benefit (in animal terms) to males becoming more protective of the females in their care during estrus - in a sense they are protecting their territory, and it helps the women if they have a strong protector, and if they don't have a strong protector, then the strongest suitor is likely to be a good genetic match. However, applying this to people makes it suddenly rather icky. But why the heightened emotional response during PMS or your period? Does it help us to be more attuned to things around us (read hyper-alert/aware)? Hm...
In any case, I think that messing with hormones is scary as they don't really know what all the affects will be, nor (as Meta says) do doctors seem to take the emotional effects into account as fully as they should. Having tried different varieties of the Pill and having to change pills every couple of years as my body seemed to adjust to them, I know it's disconcerting to talk to male doctors about the emotional/physical effects without feeling like I'm either hysterical or crazy. The only thing that gave me the gumption to MAKE them listen was that I couldn't live that way (overly emotional to the point of worrying I'd somehow damage someone or myself 5 days a month). I can't imagine doing that to yourself all for the sake of a little height. [Shudder.]
For something only marginally related - linking both Meta's comments to my last post and honeyfields' post of 10/20 - some more random stuff... Meta was talking about online connections being real connections. And they are. To the degree that I get something from them that keeps me coming back (even if it's only occasionally). It's just that so many of my connections are like the online ones - emotions are expressed, but not openly with an immediacy of give and take about the emotions, and no opportunity for the reassurance of touch. I almost cried today when I realized that I can go weeks or months without touching someone else or being touched by them. And I wonder why I'm lonely? Ha. But {hugs} back to Meta too ;-)
And to link back to honeyfields' post, she admitted things in her blog that I didn't know about her and probably would not have had a way to get to. And it makes me feel closer to her, even though that closeness has not been acknowledged (other than here). It makes me realize that I let so little of the real me out because it's messy and squishy and a wild mishmash of color and blackness and shades of gray and form and texture and eclectic musical styles inside me, and there's no great way to express all those things.
One thing she wrote that really resonated and I wanted to try to respond to:
"i'm tired of how everyone puts up a front of being ok and everything being fine when they aren't. or why people don't talk about anything more important than what they saw on tv or another factoid or trivia while ignoring the vast gaping need that everyone else can see. i don't understand why people have to be lonely when all they need to do is talk."
I know that I put up the front because it overwhelms people when I let out all that's going on inside of me. It can be as simple as having a bout of verbal diarhea, but you can see people recoil, pull back, that it's too much to deal with. Besides, it's easier to ask the "how are you" without waiting for the response, without really wanting to know the answer - it's simply social lubricant. Both sides of the interaction know what's expected, and it's easy and even comforting to have a ritual interaction where everyone knows the "right" ways to act. The fact that there's not a deep connection in that interaction doesn't mean there's *no* connection - it's just not the kind we want or need.
Another reason I put up the front is because I don't know how to break down the barriers to let people in anymore because it's ingrained to hold people out - to do the smalltalk thing, to not acknowledge the real things that are going on - that people are lonely, or hurting, or depressed, or overwhelmed or otherwise dealing with things that might make people uncomfortable. It's scary to make yourself vulnerable, to give other people enough information to hurt you (by going away, by not supporting you, by abandoning you, by saying hurtful or demeaning things to you). In some sense, why would you do it, except that being alone must be more painful or we wouldn't reach outside of ourselves at all.
The stupid thing is that I think it's my friends' failings and frailties and quirks that make me love them. I love it when my friends let me into their hearts and minds by sharing things that are personal, or that let me glimpse their pain or their joy or their passion. It makes them more real to me, bonds me to them, and makes me want to help and protect them and be joyful with them more. So why can't I let other people into those parts of me? Because it's scary to be vulnerable, it feels like weakness. But maybe it's only humanness - being scared/lonely/hurt/enraged/fearful are as much parts of the human condition as being brave/laughing/feeling joy/being fully engaged.
(Huh. My original intent to post when I got home was about gadget lust, and all the many things that I WANT to spend my money on, versus the crappy things I'm HAVING to spend my money on. Hm. Maybe tomorrow - gives me more time to shop online.)
Long time, no blog. So here I am. It's really weird. This morning I had breakfast in Vegas. And now it's like the whole weekend didn't really exist - I'm back to my normal life as if I didn't walk up and down the strip, gamble, drink and step out of my normal life. More.
The good news is that there was nothing for the CSI folks to do as I did NOT kill my mom. That was a good thing. Nor did I lose as much money as I had budgeted to lose (an even better thing). I didn't win (or at least didn't come home with more money than I went there with), but was able to have fun at various casinos for a number of hours on small amounts of money.
We stayed at Monte Carlo. I liked it. While there is still smoking allowed (it's so weird to go places where smoking is allowed, and where you're asked if you want smoking or non at restaurants), the hotel didn't have that dingy/smoky look to the interior. It's sort of midway down the Strip, next to a pharmacy so it was easy to buy water and stuff like that. I think I'd stay there again on another trip.
This time we didn't actually go many places, or go see any shows. There are some new Cirque du Soleil shows (Zumanity and something else) that I wouldn't mind seeing some day, but they were rather expensive, and I didn't feel like spending that much. This trip was definitely a much more low key, less expensive one than in years past. No dinner at the nice restaurant at the Bellagio this time, no staying at the Venetian and going to Canyon Ranch Spa and dining at Aureole on this trip. Sigh. I miss the good old days. But we had fun nevertheless - walked up and down from MGM to New York/New York to Bellagio. (Actually, there was probably less walking on this trip than on trips past.)
As gambling goes, I obviously didn't get that gene from my mom's side. She and my grandmother can gamble all night, and think they're going to win and happily give money away while thinking they're going to hit it big. I, on the other hand, quail a bit at the thought of putting yet another $20 into a machine just for a bit of flashing light and noise. While I was able to play all night on $20, that wasn't enough to keep me at it all night. I think I only spent $200 on gambling the whole weekend, so that's not bad. I had taken out more money than that but managed not to lose it, so that just proves that I'm not a gambler. (I think my mom's motto is that if there's still money in your wallet, you're not done gambling.)
I was also realizing that I hadn't been away from work in 3 months (I took Friday off). And that I'd be without email for 48 hours (or was it more?). How sad is it that I miss being connected, when it's not real connection that I get from email, or even being online? It's not a real connection in the sense of really interacting with people, seeing/hearing them, knowing how they feel, having them know and feel something about me. Then again, I'm not great at that anyway anymore, so it's not that much of a surprise that even though being online isn't a real connection, it's about as good as I've got and so I thought I'd miss it when it was gone. But I didn't really miss it. Huh.
It was kind of nice to go there and disconnect from my normal world for a while. I could just watch the pretty lights and tune out the variety of noises since all my senses were on overload anyway. I thought I'd enjoy people watching more - I didn't pay that much attention. (Except for the Parrotheads in MGM for the Jimmy Buffett concert - they were kind of entertaining.) I didn't really see any obvious batchelor/batchelorette parties or married couples going through the casinos. I got some reading done, and I took naps. I didn't go to the spa as I'd thought I might, but I did get in some relaxation. I knew I needed it, but didn't realize how much until now that I'm home. Must remember to not stress so much. (ha.)
I watched Oprah today (no comments from the peanut gallery). Tatum O'Neill was on touting her autobiography. What struck me about this was not the sensationalistic nature of the stuff she "revealed" in the autobiography. It's: why did she write it? ...
I think the reason people write autobiographical things is to tell their truth. This applies to blogs or books or anything I think. Maybe fiction is about that in a small way too, that a truth has to be told, but maybe it's easier to couch it in other people's lives?
I was struck by all the bad things that had happened to her. And struck too the way she really didn't seem like most people on the autobiography circuit - empowered by all she'd been through and having come out the other side a happier/smarter/healthier/wiser person. She still seemed like a lost little girl, and a broken adult, and for all that she had been able to tell her side of the story, she didn't seem like she was getting any release from being heard. It looked like she was just reliving the crap, and feeling attacked from the questions being directed at her (some of which were valid, and most of which were pretty soft).
I suppose I'm just soul-searching out loud about why do I think I want to write when I don't feel like I know what I want to say? I've always had this idea that there's something in me that's buried that wants to write, has something important to say, but it's hidden even from myself. Like anyone else I just want to be heard/acknowledged/validated, but maybe I also have some backward hope in the back of my head that I'll get that validation from something I write. Why would that be true when I can't get heard when standing in front of someone screaming (literally or figuratively)?
It sounds really stupid, but I was having a conversation at work today where I realized that I had said too much. Not about anything that was a big deal. It was more that I had a case of verbal diarhea about random shit to someone who didn't care and just wanted to get her coffee and get the fuck out. Afterward I was wondering what the hell brought it on. I had the amusing thought to myself afterward that I need to get a cat or something so there's at least SOMETHING to listen to me at home so I don't inappropriately dump crap on my poor unsuspecting co-workers. Sigh.
It seems like all my life lessons lately revolve around being heard. While I'm getting a tad better about realizing I'm trying to get heard in inappropriate ways/places (figuring it out sooner), it's still pretty clear that I have a long way to go. It feels like nothing works - not saying anything doesn't work. Saying things doesn't work. Trying to say things in a more subtle way doesn't work. Being more straightforward doesn't work. So what can/should/will I do differently? I'll let you know if I figure it out.
(I was thinking about whether to make this a public or a private post. I wrote it to be public, and then as it progressed it got more personal, more real, more close to the real me. So my knee-jerk reaction was not to share it, to protect myself, to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve. Except that putting the thoughts out there feels like a small way of validating myself since I don't think other people can help do that for me. It's also true and real and something that I would say in a conversation with a real friend. And maybe that's what the autobiography thing is about in a way - that's you no longer wish to cover up, that you want to show yourself, warts and all, so that if you're being judged, you're being judged on the real you.
I think I'd rather be seen as the real person that I am - all of me - rather than the the person I let out in dribs and drabs and carefully constructed personae to suit who I think you want me to be. It's just hard to let that person out when I've protected that for so long - when I felt the only safety I had was in retreat into myself. I feel like I've been an actor wearing masks and makeup and saying other people's words and faking the appropriate emotions so long that I don't know what I am underneath with all the props taken away. I suppose it's scary to step out into the spotlight and improvise, but then your success or failure is based on you, is based on truth rather than props. And maybe if I can learn to love my faults and vulnerabilities (like I love it when people let me into theirs), I can be someone who can learn how to love again?
I guess I'm feeling a bit pensive and even philosophical tonight. Could have chosen to be with people tonight, but chose to be alone. I know it was the right choice, because this time alone is giving me some time to think, to process some stuff, to get some stuff done. To breathe, to remember and extract myself from the frenzy that I've been living in.
I'm finding questions: Does any girl ever feel like she's really good at being a girl? (I know the non-girly girls always feel a bit inadequate that we're not living up to some girly ideal. But do the girly-girls feel inadequate that they aren't the ball-busting types?) How come I'm so compartmentalized when I try to live as if I have nothing to hide? (Because I'll always have things to hide, because my trusting nature has been taken advantage of and burned away. Do "real" writers feel the urge to write come and go, or see their writing has flashes of greatness lost in a sea of mediocrity? Do they write for these glimpses of gold in the mud? (Yeesh, I even wrote a poem for the first time in ages. And no, it's not ready for blog publication.) Why do I insist on trying to read things into things that are not there?
Major brain dump:
Wish I had anything interesting to say after the debates. I'm not even sure how I feel about who won or not (I'll have to see what happened to approval ratings after the debate). Clutter at my house has reached critical mass - I freaked out and did a major de-cluttering. I can live with small amounts of clutter, but when I can't find things, or have to dig like an archaeologist to do so, then I can't stand it any more.
I have the most bizarrely eclectic musical taste - recent amazon purchase: Frou Frou, 2 Ani DiFranco, latest Alanis, The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Carly Simon, Ultra Lounge - Mambo Fever and Cocktails with Cole Porter. I suppose it's still vaguely within the realm of chick music, sorta. And/or I have some tendencies to different musical eras than I grew up in. So what am I actually listening to as I upload those to my computer/iPod? Stuff from the last time I bought CDs.
Must stop the stress-eating and spending. While I'm actually enjoying some of the stuff I've bought, there's some clothes that I bought that I'm already not fitting into correctly - I REFUSE to go up a size, so I'm hoping a good mental shake will help snap me out of this. Then again, the fact that my mom will be away for pretty much the month of November is good - I can get some space, distance, time. Helps cement my resolve to take the week of thanksgiving off and go somewhere, but where? (Still don't want to go by myself, but maybe a week in Hawaii would be a good idea? Perch myself somewhere overlooking the ocean with my ipod, a journal and time and see what flows out?)
It was good to spend time with my mom today. We laughed a bit, and I could let go of a little bit of my anger toward her (and/or not let it out at her - passive agressively or otherwise). I got us new phones and both on the same AT&T account. It makes my cell bill a bit more expensive, but we got a good deal (and pretty randomly because I had on an shirt with my company's name on it, and apparently we have a discount deal with AT&T of 10% off per month, only a 1 year term and other stuff I'm not remembering), got 2 phones for $50 each that are apparently priced in the store for $199. Looking on amazon it looks like I could have gotten them cheaper, but I would have had to fill out paperwork and such, and would have had the 2 year commitment. Small amount of good news is that as my last phone was a Motorola too (this one is a v505), I can reuse my accessories. Plus I now have a camera-phone (a feature I'll probably rarely use). Also, this means I can donate my old phone and my mom's old phone to victims of domestic violence. Woo hoo!
Note to self - even if caffeine late at night (ok, technically for me this means any time that could even be considered evening versus afternoon) sounds like a good idea - it isn't. I want to sleep, but know I won't. I want to read, but am feeling to restless to do so. I have gotten a surprising amount done, certainly more than I even intended (I can see the surface of my desk, I put away a ton of clothes that have been piling up or being hung in the wrong places, I did some laundry which I even folded/put away, I did dishes, I paid bills, I downloaded a shitload of newly purchased music to my computer, I moved all the phone numbers from my old phone to my new one - yeesh). But I'd rather be able to sleep. Sigh.