that feeling

thatfeeling

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the good and the not good

What is the point of being a good person if you don’t act like a good person? I mean what is the point of being good, of having goodness in you, if you don’t use it, if you don’t get a chance to use it, if you are not in situations that call for you to use it?

what happens to all of the good? does it atrophy? does it grow brittle like a leaf in early December? does it dissolve into the earth? And if so, does it come back again?

And if not, what takes its place?

And who takes its place?

If something else replace goodness, does that mean that this something cannot be good?

I’ve been struggling with these questions all day.

Yet I have not really been very good all day. I have not been bad. I feel that I’ve been bad. But it’s just an absence of good that is making me feel so bad.

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Stalker

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Words of the day

These are the only words I have spoken today. This was in response to the ringing of the iphone that belongs to the woman who sits next to me at work:

Hey. That sounds just like my alarm clock.

To which she responded:

Sorry, I hope it didn’t startle you. Sorry

To which I replied:

No it’s ok. I needed to be woken up.

Otherwise most of my attempts at communication in the past couple of days have gone awry.

I was supposed to look at an apartment in Salem that is owned by someone at work. I I told her I would be there at 6:45. But I had a dyslexic moment with Google Maps, entering 426 instead of 246 Essex Street, which led me far astray, like about a mile. And as I was making my way in the right direction, I was sending her email updates because I did not have her phone number:

I’ll be there in like 6 minutes

Followed shortly by another email:

I’ll probably be there in about 6 minutes

And one more email:

I should be there within the next 10 minutes.

When I finally arrived, 30 minutes late, she was gone. And I sent another 3 extremely apologetic emails, asking if I could still see the apartment, if it was still available.

But I never heard from her again.

This seems to be my lifelong pattern. I take action to move towards something that interests or excites me… and then once I am almost there, I freeze up or do something to sabotage whatever I am striving toward. Like not double-checking an address until I’ve walked over a mile out of my way.  It happens at work, in art, in apartment hunting, in relationships, in failed relationships, in toothbrush buying, in movie picking, in staying at home or venturing out.

There is always some hurdle to jump over, and if there isn’t, I create one. I create conflict, and uncertainty and struggle and fear–where there does not need to be any.

These days, when I am down on myself for not creating anything, I just need to remind myself that I am creating all of the time.

 

 

 

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185 days or 26 weeks and 3 days or 129 working days or 56 nonworking days

Time period between January 4, 2016 and July 7, 2016 (exclusive) equals to:

  • 185 days
  • … or 26 weeks & 3 days
  • … or approx. 6 months

Between January 4, 2016 and July 7, 2016 (exclusive) there are:

  • 129 working days (1032 hours),
  • 56 non-working days including:
    • 26 Saturdays,
    • 26 Sundays,
    • 4 federal holidays falling on weekdays
    • At least 56 days that don’t seem to work very well.

The numbers of weeks, months and years are rounded down to the nearest full value. The number of days is always exact.

But the sense of time is always inexact. Or unexact. I think it’s inexact. When I tell people the latest statistics, some people say that I am spending too much time counting and not enough time living.

And I tell them that I spend time counting (calculator-assisted) precisely to avoid thinking about living. I’d rather not think about that right now. I’d rather wish we could talk about something else. Because when I do not avoid thinking about living, I see this directionless person who can’t seem to focus energy onto any one thing or things. My distraction instinct is stronger than my hunger or thirst instincts. But less strong than my fear instinct. But stronger than my ego. I have no idea where my id went.

So what can one say, what does one see after 6 months? one sees that nothing has begun. No emergent impulses of creativity or emerging friendships or relationships of any sort. No sense of purpose. No foundation. No drive. No urgency. Nothing.

But I will not get discouraged because it all comes together to form a nothing that has yet to begin. Or a something that is no longer there.

 

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4 words

just returned from a weekend in Connecticut, a guest of my friend W at this 18th century farmhouse, amongst 9 other people. i don’t know why it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to find my voice. i can say that everyone speaks more than i do, but i always think they have more to say. and since I am trying to follow 5 simultaneous conversations occurring around me… something beyond my cognitive abilities… each conversation gets mushed together. the words have no spaces, no silences around them. they fly by too quickly for me follow. I get lost. and eventually i am somewhere else. there, but somewhere else.

this keeps happening more and more. and i wish it could not bother me. as I was leaving, W told me, “I don’t think I heard you utter more than 4 words last night.” i told W that actually i had uttered hundreds of thousands of words, a flurry, a flood of words, non-stop chatter. I just did not bother to speak any of them.

but this shyness thing… it’s really turning out to this huge inconvenience in my life. must figure out a new way to deal with it.

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breaking up

i guess i am beginning to get used to the fact that I will never get used to living in Boston. although i do feel a bit lighter now that I’ve removed myself from a context and environment that had grown unwieldy and stale. and I get great pleasure when I hear friends and family tell me how everyone they talk to is shocked that I left Chicago. We were ingrained in each other, rather than nurturing each other.

there’s something about the word “nurture” that makes me feel uncomfortable. it makes me think of sucking. maybe Chicago and I were sucking each other dry. Which is the opposite of nurturing.

So here’s the Jungian update. My 2nd appointment with Jungian #3  was very abbreviated because she rejected me from her practice. She said she thought I needed more of a “support system” than she could offer. Especially since she was going to be away for the rest of the summer and probably the fall and when she returned she would only be seeing patients/clients/customers one day/week. And she did not have room for me. And she said even if all of her patients/clients/customers chose to switch to Jungian #1 or #2, even if she had lost every source of income and was forced to perform Jungian analysis on the streets,  she would still not want to take me on as a new patient/customer/client.

I’m not quite sure what happened in between our first session when
she welcomed me into her practice and our breakup session. I think the
only explanation is that I did not hear her correctly the first session because she was speaking so softly, barely above a murmur. I probably misheard everything.

Which reminds me that you should always take notes while the therapist is taking notes. So nobody is forced to speak and the chances of being misheard are virtually nil.

I think it would be wise to take notes at all times throughout the day, and of course, when asleep.

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Ledge Hill

If anyone happens to be walking on the Ledge Hill trail at Ravenswood Park in Gloucester, MA, and if anyone happens to sit on a large boulder about 1/2 mile in, and if while sitting there, anyone notices some sort of beaver or groundhog hole right next to the boulder that appears to be bottomless, and if, while looking far down the hole, anyone happens to see an iPhone 5s in a red case, could you please let me know? I’d really appreciate that.

 

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7 Questions of the Day

How does one become?

How does one become something one is not?

When is something not what one is?

How does something become something one is?

What if there is no one to become something?

What if there is no something for no one to become?

What does it mean not to become something?

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a new age

i was under the assumption that today would mark the dawning of a new age. All of the signs were pointing towards it. astrologically. materially, physically. some of these things happen. others do not. on the consciousness psyche level, nothing happened at all.

they moved my desk at work from the 4th floor to the 5th floor. And I thought this would be as significant as my relocation from Chicago to Boston. And it was, almost the same. in both instances, i took my baggage with me.

many hours today spent staring at the screen. passively subsumed by it. the numbing hold it has on me. closing off everything outside the screen. tomorrow i will not allow this to happen. tomorrow will mark the dawning of the new age. this time i will be present enough to notice that it happens.

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“It’s Fathers Day and Everybody’s wounded. First we take Manhattan. Then we take Berlin.”

as i was leaving the Mexican restaurant, the waiter thanked me and then he said something that completely threw me off. He said “happy father’s day.” And I was shocked. Totally shocked.

you see, I have been fatherless since July of 1994. And I have never been a father. I forget that some people are fathers and other people still have fathers. And sometimes both at the same time.

i think the waiter was telling me something i needed to hear. but i’m not quite sure why. was he reminding me to think of my father? or was he sorry for me that i was spending fathers day dinner eating enchiladas verdes at Mexican restaurant all by myself?

it made me take stock of my life for all of 15 seconds before i decided it was all too much to take stock of and i really was not in the mood.

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Happy Saint Rainerius Day

I have not been writing very much.  So I hope we can begin or start over again.


I would like to write in a different way but that might take a major shock to my system because relocating and removing myself from friends and community seems to not be shocking me enough to write differently. if that is even a possibility. i’d like to try this, if only to impress my sister who expresses her dislike of (my) self-deprecating humor.


but this brings up the question of authenticity. and i have no idea what i meant by that. except i was thinking of real and pretend-real. and the notion that pretend-real can eventually become real. or supplant real. has that ever happened to you? and who makes these determinations of being real and being less real? my sister? maybe i can pretend to be less real. or but that does not mean that i am being more real if I stop pretending to be less real. i think that is what i must have meant about authenticity.


so this week i tried out Jungian analyst no. 3 (kathleen), and I am still trying out no. 2 (francine). so juggling 2 Jungians at the same time. But neither took me into the realm vast unexplored space i had hoped a Jungian might take me. I know so little about Jung or Jungians or analysis. But 2 friends of mine have tried it. And they are both people who I would like to pretend to be. I do not yet know what to think of Francine, neither positive nor negative. Her bookshelves are lined with books about various saints, biographies of saints, encyclopedias of saints, saint novels, saint manuals, etc.. when i tell her sad things, she tends to frown. for some reason that bothers me. i should be more tolerant.


no. 3 was nice but her voice was so quiet, i could only hear about half of what she said. and it was difficult for me to lip read because i had to look very closely at her, and she looked a bit like my mother. I had difficulty handling that. but she may have been a perfect fit because i don’t think she heard me very well either. I spent most of my talking time talking about my tendency to be too self-critical or to always feel at fault for things. i think she was jotting down notes, but i could not tell because I was trying not to look at her.

and towards the end, she told me that she noticed a pattern. that i had a tendency to be too self-critical or to always feel at fault for things. and she asked me if I had ever noticed that before. I told her no, i had not considered that before. so i guess it was kind of like watching your mother lip sync the words you have just spoken. very disquieting and awkward. of course, I will give her another try.

and if neither of these work out. well, perhaps that is a sign that this Boston experiment maybe was not such a good idea after all.

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a sentence

i keep asking myself

what am I, of all people, doing in Massachusetts?

it feels less like a question and more like a sentence.

why did I choose this place to be stuck when I could be stuck anywhere, somewhere less expensive?

 

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Custody

My eternal apartment search goes on. Today this woman named Dana responded to my craigslist post seeking a roommate either to find an apartment or someone who already has an apartment, but needs a roommate. She was looking for someone to share her apartment in Somerville. Somerville is inconceivable to me. I have no conception for where it begins and where it ends. It feels much longer than Boston, but maybe not as wide. That’s about as far as my geographic cognition goes. Places are either long, or wide but I don’t have any sense of where they fit on a map. Or places are the things that move while everybody else is standing around believing they are moving. The notion of motion is a myth.

So I was off to Somerville. I liked the neighborhood. The apartment was in a house that was pretty non-descript. It looked like it was made from red wooden planks that had been jerry rigged into a house that could be easily blown down. I could relate to this house.  The potential roommate who greeted me at the door looked like a teenager, maybe a 16-year old. But she said she was 30.

The room was also fairly nondescript. No closet. I’m not sure why closets seem to be such a rarity in so many apartments I have seen in this town. But the rent was so cheap and I tried my best to like the place because it would be huge relief to FINALLY find a place, especially at 1/2 the rent I would expect to pay.

Then we sat down to talk about ourselves. Dana was starting a job on Monday as some sort of financial analyst. And she was married. But her husband was in prison. She told me a long story about this woman who had this rare disease that nobody believed she had, but they sent her to what sounded like a psych ward. Somehow Dana’s husband had accidentally hacked into a network that had this confidential information about the woman and other confidential medical information, but this was not intentional. And they tracked this security breach to him and then sent him in prison/

Dana was hoping that he could be released on bail and come home soon. She asked me how I felt about it, if this was a dealbreaker. I told her it was not, but it would have been nice to meet him because I need to meet everyone who I might be living with. She understood, and told me how nice and quiet he was. I would really like him. And then she added that even if he does come home, he sometimes goes missing, like a cat who goes missing for a night and finds his way home. But to prevent that from happening, the court would have to grant someone to be his custodian, I guess. Was I willing to do that? For some reason they would not allow Dana to serve this role.

I was trying so very very hard to like the place. But I felt so rigid and ungenerous.  I just thought that adding ex-convict custodian responsibilities to my already bumpy adjustment to this area… maybe that would be a bit much. I still felt lacking in compassion. But Dana understand that.

And then she showed me this elaborate computer set up with this large server and a couple of flat screens on the wall and a couple of cameras that were not powered on. A surveillance system from Radio Shack. She said that this was just for security reasons, but it was a very safe neighborhood and in the 3 years she lived there, no one has broken in so far.

But there are incidents with people such as her husband who might go missing at any time. So although there have not been break-ins, there have been many escapes.

And I thought that must explain the cameras.

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Random poll

Random poll. Do you think the current workweek will ever end? Circle one of the below.

Yes
No
Possibly maybe  
I don’t work
I work but I don’t have a workweek.
I have a workweek, but I don’t actually work.
I don’t believe in work.
I don’t believe in the present.
I don’t believe in time.
I don’t believe in a belief system.
I don’t believe in thought.
I don’t believe there is an “I”
I would rather not say.
What was your question again?

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