I haven't written in over a year. It doesn't feel like that to me but that's because I have written, I just haven't published. Below are my unfinished thoughts from the last fifteen months or so.
On Friendship and Being "Bored"
Near the end of summer 2013 I went to a big annual house party thrown
by some friends. It has a cutesy name and is generally populated by a
mixture of a bunch of people I genuinely like that I see all the time, a
few people I genuinely like that I don't see often enough, a bunch of
people I never see but like fine in small doses and few people I really
don't like at all. This year I was feeling really into this party.
Like seriously looking forward to it, pre-planning to get pleasantly
(ok, unpleasantly) drunk and attempting to rally the aforementioned
"friends I genuinely like that I see all the time" up to my level of
excitement. Truthfully, I was at one of those social low points where
it felt like I hadn't done a single fun thing in forever, my life was
boring, etc. And internally I was blaming it a little (or a lot) on my
friends. My friends who mostly have spouses and kids and busy schedules
and were failing to entertain me to the level I demanded.
got an little insufferable at this party, calling everyone boring and
generally airing grievances through a comfortable cloud of alcohol. I'm
not sure anyone really noticed. It was definitely one of those times
when my feelings manifested themselves through mostly excusable
drunkenness. Still I did feel somewhat guilty afterwards since I knew
that I was basically feeling unsatisfied with my life and choosing to
blame that feeling on others.
A scant six months later
and those feeling are all but forgotten. In fact, probably the last
couple of months I've been going through a real introvert phase where I
have to make myself do anything social. The truly odd thing is that I'm
probably happier and more satisfied with life at the moment than I was
when I was craving social interaction. For me content equals alone time
is great and unhappy equals hang out with me and distract me.
Reason and Imagination (I imagine this made sense at the time)
Reason and imagination don't seem likely companions. Reason equals
fact based conclusions, measured analysis, sanity. Reason. Reasonable.
Imagination equals flights of fancy, outside of reality, what is not
real. Imagination. Imaginary.
Reason: the power of
comprehending, inferring, or thinking, especially in orderly rational
ways. But how? How do you comprehend? How do you infer? How to you
think? To comprehend you imagine the problem into perimeters that you
can understand. To infer you imagine future events, consequences,
reactions, possibilities. To think is to imagine.
Who says imagination can't be orderly or rational.
Why do we think that to be rational, reasonable, realistic that we have to accept, accept, accept?
Unlikely to Take a Husband
perpetually single and seemingly about 80% less interested in changing
that then most single women. It's true that I have some barriers, which
are obvious to people in my life, to finding a significant other.
However, surely if I were really serious about finding myself a big hunk
of man I could work on these.
Fundamentally I think I
do have less of whatever it is that makes people need romantic
relationships. I do lust, but I think less than the average person. I
do feel lonely on occasion, but again, less than the average person.
More than the average person, I am very adverse to allowing a
significant other control over my happiness and well-being. In fact, I
know that I have never met a man that made me think I could commit a
month to him, much less the rest of my life.
Perhaps I am just weird. Generally what I think, undoubtedly delusion-ally, is that
I'm just really independent and self-assured. That I look at couples
and think, "that looks nice," and not, "I must have that now or I will
surely grow old alone and die unhappy." Also, I am scared. Scared of opening myself up, scared of rejection
and just scared of having someone possibly really fuck up my life.
this it must seem like I have some serious issues. Like I had some
horror show childhood where I was abused and mistreated. Some reason
for being so guarded. The truth is that I had more of a storybook
childhood. That I am blessed. That I mostly like myself. That I like
to spend time alone. I trust my own decision-making capabilities. I
require little input from others regarding how I live my life.
Arthur Jones is not his name
Arthur Jones was the name of the boy I chased around the swing set
behind our Nursery School, or maybe he chased me, but I doubt
it- I probably chased him. It is the name of the familiar, nerve
relieving face I saw on my way into the first day of kindergarten. The
name I idiotically gave when another kindergarten boy asked me who I had a
crush on and the name that was subsequently repeated to the
Had anyone asked me, I would have given
the same name in first grade, second grade, third grade,
fourth grade, fifth grade, sixth grade, seventh grade and eighth grade.
The name of the boy across the street. The name of the boy who I helped
with his homework and gave advice about his girlfriend. The name of
the boy who would let his friends make fun of me and then apologized
about it later, rudely disturbing my active campaign to forget . The
name of the boy who told me his secrets while I kept my secrets to
In January of 2011 my maternal grandmother passed away unexpectedly.
As unexpectedly as an 80 something year old can pass away. I did
expect her to die sometime, just not that month or day or hour. It was
sad but, in a way, not sad. She wasn't a happy women. Maybe ever, but
certainly not for quite a few years. She suffered from depression,
which went untreated when she didn't take the medication prescribed to
her. Her marriage was not good. It was never ideal but it had
deteriorated with her mental state. It was hard to see her unhappy, to
see the lady from my childhood disappearing. Death seemed like a kind
escape. Missing her would be a privilege as I'd started to forget the
woman that I'd actually miss. As time goes by I remember that women
My maternal grandfather followed her in death a
little over two years later. His death was expected, he was on hospice
care for several weeks. I saw him waste away from kidney failure and it
is something that will stay with me for my whole life. For a dignified
death it was decided undignified. As I'm beginning to expect is true
of most death. But still, perhaps it was a kindness. He had a good
life that he was no longer able to live. The books he loved were lost
to his diminishing eyesight and ability to concentrate. His hobbies
lost to his decreased mobility. Even arguing about politics and
religion had lost its luster. Politics don't matter when you were on
your way out and religion is maybe a little too close for comfort.
After all, you are about to find out about the afterlife firsthand.