These paragraphs first appeared in DA; some are my posts and some are my response to posts; feelings and emotions expressed are subject to change, the facts are not.
response:
For the longest time, my motto was 'an examined life is not worth
living'
see #1. I believed this until I was in my 60s - why? Because there was
this big emptiness inside of me - there was no me inside of me, just a
vast wasteland. I read books - hell, I read one entire encyclopedia
from cover to cover for each of 3 years (worked out perfectly, the library ran
out of them just as I graduated - I graduated 52nd in my class.
beat
beat
Number
53 did not graduate, there were only 53 in my class.) I read philosophy
books, I read science books, I read books about parapsychology,
meditation, to no great affect. I did read about some interesting
concepts in meditation ("first there is a mountain, then there is no
mountain, then there is a mountain") that even went on about facing the
emptiness within. I went to counselors and bullshitted them; they would
test me and i would use my mental Tai chi to turn it around on them but
never, ever let them see the emptiness inside (oh, crap - did I just
quote the Moody Blues?
"
If only you knew what's inside of me now You wouldn't want to know me, somehow But you will love me tonight We alone will be all right In the end"
that
is not the quote I was looking for but it fit me to a tee from age 22
to 38 - they did love me for the night but they all went away)
Things actually started to get better for me when I started to actually talked with someone who listened and did not judge.
post:
I can not watch an embarrassing situation developing on an effing
sit-com! I am bingeing on Unbreakable Kimmy and every time the setup
heads for embarrassment, I get freaked out. This behavior is really
beginning to grate on my nerves. When my ex and I would sit down to
watch a show, I would have to get up and leave the room - I just
fast-forwarded part of Kimmy. My stomach is all tensed up. Crap! I
forget about it until it sneaks up and kicks me in the gut.
This
is incredibly Pavlovian. I wonder how deep I am going to need to dig to
find what buried humiliation lead me to this impasse. I have the ability
to hide things from myself for later - in times of stress, I can
actually observe myself going through certain actions and commenting on
my behavior; other times, I completely block out what happened until
later. The implication of this is (in a certain way) frightening but
mostly confusing since I don't know that I blocked something until I
determine it is 'safe' to remember. I neither believe nor disbelieve in
recovered memories and am not sure this is the proper direction to look.
I
am already seeing a therapist but this is a short-term thing, his job
is to find a direction to look and, maybe, a long-term therapist. Adding
this to a list issues just leaves me motionless. Cascading
possibilities branching through multiple paths leaving me feeling like
an experimental rat that is shocked randomly so it/I can't figure out
the direction of least pain.
sigh, I think I need to melt some glass and make more puddles.
I know the stories I tell myself are the stories I have to change; I
started my 'Random Acts of Art' project to change the 'I am not a nice
person' story - I catch myself at that story fewer times now but i still
tell it, sigh. Baby steps.
Yes! I, also, get really upset over scenes of helplessness - I am so
glad that "Kimmy" glossed over the pre-rescue with "yes there was weird
sex stuff" and just did not go there. I don't worry about what I am
hiding from myself; I expect it will come up when it is necessary.
Today,
i was making glass puddles of one of my monsters (the kind I call
crackheads) and the glass stuck to the top of the kiln. I just have to
either remember the restraints within which I work in this particular
kiln or increase the working dimensions - working within constraints is
good for learning control but glass needs at least +10% volume over
filling the mold (even more boring details glossed over) so if I want to
cast glass in a 2 inch deep most, I have to stack glass half an inch
over the top of the mold which then touches the top of the kiln.
Usually, it works out because the glass subsides into the mold but
today, the piece did not subside, it adhered to the top of the kiln.
but
I digress. I will be spending the week of my birthday in in the
mountains of Montana with my sis and bil. Then we will go to their home
in Wyoming to watch the eclipse.
I consider meditation to be the elephant in the room; I talk to people
who hear me describe what I do and they say your elephant is not like my
elephant therefore what you are doing is not the elephant.
I learned
to meditate while at a monastery school when I was 15; we prayed on our
knees for hours; I learned to watch the second hand of the clock. I
eventually was able to be 'gone' within 5 seconds; now I can lie down
and let my thoughts wander - I do not hold on to them nor do I let them
go, they just are. I love this state but too much. I can spend a day
just wandering.
Since my elephant is not their elephant i still do not know if I am meditating and they say what I am doing is not meditation!?
*response
I am schizoid (at least that is the diagnosis in 1969) so I understand
you - I do not understand your friends (but I have never understood my
friends either). There are feelings that other people talk about that I
am unable to understand; there are feelings that I have that other
people do not (or at least appear not to have). There is nothing wrong
with you.
The struggle is the be-all and end-all of it - find your joy.
*Post titled "I know I am but what are you?"
(did you catch the play on words?)
I am not a nice person.
I know this because it is what I have been told all my life
I see it in how people react to me; I see it in how I perceive others; and it is what I tell myself all the time. (every once in a while, I catch myself saying "I am not a good person" phrased in different ways).
Please do not reply to say "You are a good person":
1) you don't know me
b) if telling me that helped, it would not be an issue.
I
am here shouting into the universe (sounds remarkably like shouting
into a large/huge metal pipe - the echoes reverberate off into the
distance and return, amplified).
I started a project which, for
lack of a better name, I call "Random acts of art". I give away objects I
make. It is actually pseudo-random since I have to have some sort of
connection. Example, I was going to pick up my contacts at the eye-glass
place and I was going to say "I have a project I call random acts of
art" and leave a random collection of glass objects (a skull, a star, a
t-rex, and a couple other items - I forget what all) but the person who I
normally talk to was not there and I had no connection to the person
who I dealt with so I left w/o doing or saying anything. Also, it has to
be some place I do not go very often because I do not want a big deal
made of it.
I have given a lot of items away at work - that is
comfortable because my job is so intense that I barely get to speak with
my team (who are as busy as I am) so I seldom get a chance to interact
with any one else (I am a seasonal worker so I have a new team every
year; with 12 people to a team and I have been here 7 years - #s).
Sometimes,
when I interact with someone like a person at an airline desk at the
airport (and who helps me) I ask them "skull or heart"? It is so out of
the blue and so not a normal customer interaction that I have to ask a
couple times while they stop, see me as an individual, and pay attention
- oddly, most ask for the skull, though the woman in Montana asked for
the heart (I told her, next time she has to take the skull). I had to
give this method up b/c there were not enough of these interactions to
help me get rid of all the crap I have made.
See, I make glass
puddles and my joy is looking into the kiln to see the world at 1,750
degs F but I end up with glass objects. I have this crap all over my apt
- on the window sills, hanging on the windows, hanging on my door,
little dioramas at work.
Sigh.
So, I think that if I give away
some pieces of myself in my art/craft (if it is perfect, it is craft -
if not, it is art - heh,heh), maybe, just maybe I might become a nice
person.
Or at least be perceived as one - time for bed
*this is a response to a response to this post:
I work
on the 17th floor of my building and I have about 300 co-workers who I
can recognize as having seen around; in that short ride to my floor, I
can find one thing to comment on to make a connection and get a smile. I
have honed this skill to the point that I can turn a 'cash register
moment' into a human interaction - where that person has to stop seeing
me as a customer and see me as a person. This is something I delight in
but it is a card trick all surface with no depth.
I know so much
crap, that I can find a connection and talk with anyone about anything -
for 5 minutes, then I start to get uncomfortable and move away. In high
school I read one complete encyclopedia set a year for 3 years, I know a
little bit about everything and not much about anything. I am schizoid
so even when I panic, I am observing myself panicking, sigh. Like I
said, I am shouting at the universe and your response is one of the
echoes I get back. Otherwise, I would be completely trapped in my own
head. I am here today to hear the echoes.
Thank you.
*this is a response to another response to this post:
The
way I learned the trick was during high school I had insomnia so I would
be up until 3 in the morning trying to sleep; the radio station out of
Canada (CKCK/CK62) had a '5th wheel' program for truckers that was 3
hours of comedy albums (Shelly Berman, and many others whose names have
been lost in the 50 years since) - this went on for 2 or 3 years before
they switched to country music. My last 3 years of high school study
hall were spent reading 3 complete sets of encyclopedias from cover to
cover. Then in the 1970s, I started doing acid; I did so much acid that I
actually started to talk with people about my experiences (one woman
said "I waited for 3 months for you to start talking to me"). I lost
weight (down to about 154 pounds from over 200), worked as a bartender, became a clothes-horse and got seduced a lot because I became a pretty-boy.
finally, I learned the trick because those 30 seconds on the elevator
are the only human interaction I have. I was married to someone who had
worse human skills than I for 25 years with the last 6 years of her
trying to destroy my mind. My current list of human contacts is a coffee
shop on Sundays, a friend's 4th of July party, a friend's birthday party in August and the same
friends' Thanksgiving.
I am schizoid - my entire life is lived
inside my head, my early family life consisted of me being completely
isolated from a mother who competed with me against anything I tried to
do. I learned to become just good enough at any one thing that I was
better than 90% of humanity but not good enough for my mother to notice.
My dad came home, said nothing at dinner, and retired to his bed, right
after dinner. I can juggle, I know 3 types of martial arts, can do
performance tumbling/gymnastics, I can throw darts and hit the bulls-eye
while so drunk I can barely stand up (to me darts are hunting weapon,
not barroom entertainment), but I can not talk to anyone for more than 5
minutes because I get really uncomfortable and expect them to turn on
me with insults. I can only think of 4 compliments that I got during my
first 21 years of life and none of the compliments came from family. I
was a passout drunk from age 14 to 19; the number of times I got home
from drunk from dances with no memory of how I got home is not
countable (sometimes I had to drive 30 or 40 miles to some podunk town
nearby where there was a dance). I was not an alcoholic, i just did not
know any other way to behave.
In the 80s I was sent to see a
counselor who asked me if I was an alcoholic - I answered "no". She said
"you know I am a counselor who specializes in working with addicts", I
shrugged. Many sessions later I was describing my behavior at parties - I
drink until my nose gets numb and I start drinking non-alcoholic
beverages and i am sober by the time I head home . She looked at me
stunned and said "you aren't an alcoholic!" - I shrugged, DUH! that is
what I said.
I earned the tricks I use.
My username in the past was GrimJack
- I have lightened up a lot.Lately,
I have been considering microdosing acid (I think the last time i did
acid was 1986) as I have heard some good things about how it helps but,
since i am a federal employee, all the things I used to do are now held
against me at a higher standard, I can't even smoke pot though it is
legal in my state. Hell, I used to smuggle Cuban cigars and 222s down
from Canada, crap no longer an option.
Apologies for the rant.
**digression**
This is my 'Grumpy' avatar:
*this is response to another response to this post:
Ooh - I
like that! It is an act of selfishness; I do feel it is sort of
conniving to try to convince people that what I have to give is of some
value. When I talk of 'puddles' of glass, I do not necessarily mean that
the puddles have no form - my heart series includes ones that are
transparent but have a dark center; for the twins downstairs, I did a
'shared heart' design that actually was kind of sweet (but then the
twins aren't even one yet so I certainly didn't want to show them my
true heart). It turns out that if I 'polish' the glass with a brass
brush - it gives the glass an interesting metallic patina, to be honest
though the patina disguises the nature of the object; rather than
looking like glass, it looks like metal and you have to touch it to know
its true nature.
Glass is the most amazing substance in the world
but that is a digression I do not want to get into. I am still trying
to determine my true nature.
*
So I get to the stochastic man in this scenario - I can handle it. But,
still, sometimes I have to shout at the universe with rage and
frustration (other times I shout love at the heart of the world).
*
When I
was in college in Billings MT, we would go up to the rimrocks that
surround some of the city. We had wrist-rockets and cherry bombs - they
would make it out over the city and explode in the air. Since it was
1967, it was not considered terrorism (besides, we never stood around
waiting for the police). Also, I still had some blasting powder and
blasting caps left from when I was working on a seismograph crew (part
of my job was to screw together 2 units of BP, insert the cap and lower
it into the hole we just drilled); I would scoop about 2 fingers from
each 5-pound unit - 2 units per blast and about 3 or 4 holes drilled per
day. I was finally fired when I drove over a couple tubes of BP on the
way to get more water. The crew boss jumped onto the side of the truck
screaming at me, sigh.
How I got so sleep deprived to make such a
mistake is a digression for another day. The BP was interesting stuff;
if you lit it, it would burn so hot it would melt through asphalt but
even shooting it with a .22 would not set it off. The blasting cap is
necessary to produce enough compression energy to set it off - driving
over the BP was not really dangerous but pretty stupid. When the ground
was too wet to drill, the crew would lay out some organic material
around a cap and wait for a gopher to investigate (this was not
particularly entertaining for me but I was not a Texas oil-field
worker).
I have only become 'enlightened' in the last decade or so -
before that, I am not sure I knew right from wrong - I did know what
would get me in trouble with the law and/or other people.
*
I am so concerned because I am so concerned. I give a shit so I do what i
do and I ask questions about what I do. I get something out of making -
though, to be honest, the joy is in opening the kiln and seeing the
world at 1700 F (and it is so brief and transitory - if I stare too
long, my gloves burn, then my fingers.
when I was growing up I used to
stare into flames in the fireplace; I used to take gasoline from the
tool shed and light fires in the sand but there is nothing like the
inside of a kiln glowing so hot that it is almost transparent with the
glass puddle almost cool in comparison). The glass puddles are just a
reason to heat up the world. The drudgery of making a mold, tempering
the mold, coating the mold, determining what colors of glass to use or
not use so that I have a reason to lift the lid off the kiln and stare
for a moment at molten glass.
You are right - I really don't care if
they like it or not (well, some minor part of me wants them to like it
and to think I am a nice guy - but mostly, they should just say thank
you and move on). If the object I make is perfect, I call it craft; if it isn't perfect, I call it art. I seldom make craft - I mostly make art.
*
Do I
know you? How do you know about my T-day meals? Have I been babbling
away on Ambien again? I loved those days! I remember one year there were
so many people in my apt that people could barely move - one of my
neighbors pounded on my door shouting "I am going to call the police" -
my detective friend answered the door with his badge out saying "we are
already on it", slam.
But the year between Thanksgivings is a long lonely time.
*
When I
was very young we played with stones, tossing them high into the air
over a lake, hoping it would would make a 'gloop' and sink without
making a splash or causing ripples; we called this 'cutting the devil's
throat'. I have a vague memory of standing near the pool at the bottom
of a water-fall (I must have been 7 or 8) trying to get this effect. I
bring it up because that is how I expect to go: quietly, with no splash
and no ripples. When someone recognizes me, I see a ripple.
An odd
sort of metaphor, but it might also explain why I give away my glass
castings - small ripples that might reverberate beyond my passing. I am
unable to find the source for this name or game - just something kids
pass down through the years to other kids. I am not sure most adults
even know about the game (er, does that mean I am not an adult?).
*
You have no idea. To be honest, I have no idea - I have to make the
assumption you and the rest of the people who occupy the world around me
have their own thoughts and motivations - that maybe you are all more
than distractions. I do not know because I am unable to make connections
with people that have more depth than a 3 minute conversation in an
elevator.
Sorry if what I am saying makes no sense but I am
responding to each comment as it comes up and so to me this conversation
is part of thread that may make sense in the context of what I have
said to the previous person or persons. And I will add this to the
thread as I respond to the next comment. So, yes I walk to the beat of a
different drummer, but it is not a dependable beat (I can't keep time
and can barely dance but damned if I don't keep moving, keep trying). I am here to be serious, though I often digress.
*
Agreed.
That is why I do 'drive-by' arting; I don't want anything in return - I
live every day in my head, alone. I get thanked all day at my job -
sometimes, the caller wants to talk to my boss to tell him how wonderful
I am (twice so far* in the last 4 weeks) - it embarrasses me and i don't
to want get my boss on the phone but I am required to. As soon as the
caller hangs up - I hate my job, then the next caller and I am totally
focused on helping and I love my job. Then the caller hangs up and I
hate my job. People tell me "I did not know that the IRS could be so nice". One caller said "damn you, I am angry
as hell and you made me laugh"
shrug
I hate my job. But I do
a damned good job and I actually love my job when I am talking with a
caller but I hate my job, otherwise.
That was a pretty long thread and it went a lot of unexpected directions
There is a deadline on this site - all topics are closed after
4 weeks but the MOD reopened it for whatever reason
so it went on far longer than it should have.
*This is the first of a few posts talking about work:
I got a good government job about 7 years ago but things got very strange right from the beginning.
The
first 6 weeks was training - in class, 2 classmates stood and yelled at
me in anger that I was lying.
The next week one of the instructors was
still talking when it was 2 minutes to the end of the day so I politely
said "excuse me but people have to catch the ferry". The next day I was
called into the supervisor's office and given a 'Letter of Reprimand'
for disrespect towards a teacher. Since I was on probation as a new
hire, this was pretty serious and the letter would actually go into my
permanent record. I finally went to my union rep and grieved the letter
so it was removed and classes were scheduled so that they ended 10
minutes before time so we had a chance to clean up before leaving.
Once
I was trained and on my first team, I had a team mate stand and shout
at me in anger that I was wrong, wrong, wrong. (all teams meet for an
hour each week to go over 'stuff'). There was dead silence, then other
team members said "'er, I think Grumpy was right that was the way to
handle it"
Later (I am compressing time here as these things happened
over the 7 years I was there), I came to work to find a note (written in
Sharpie) that said, roughly "your feet stink, if you don't do something
about it, I will report to your manager". I was stunned but just
dropped note into the shredder box. The next day, I noticed my manager
walking around going 'sniff' 'sniff' - so I went to her office and told
her about the note; it seems she got a similar note with a similar
threat about me.
One year a team member barged into my cube
shouting that I can't say that (while I was on the phone) and that I was
wrong (keep in mind, I am on a new team every year so the similarities
are not because of the team or team member). I ended up with my finger
over my head-set mic shouting over and over "get out of my cube, get out
of my cube". Then that person got angry at me for 'ratting her out' -
da fuck?! She was in my cube shouting at me and I was shouting at her,
there was no ratting needed - the whole fucking floor had to have heard
us.
In a skill up class (I am a seasonal so I work half a year and
am off half a year) the person sitting next to me decided to quit and
in her exit interview blamed me and said that I burped too much. I was
called in for meeting (with the same person who first issued the letter
of reprimand) and told me to stop burping, that I was annoying people. I
said "isn't this like that stupid 'stinky feet' note?" She said nope
that person was no longer with the company (this is the only reference
to the incident that anyone ever made - but at least I learned that
something was done about it).
I had a team mate tell me he was
going to rip my face off. There is more but I just get angry when I
dwell. Physical threats pretty much make me chuckle (internally) but I
am really, really not very well socialized so I just put my head down
and keep doing my job.
So this is the source of my 'random acts of
art' project - I seem to inspire very odd behavior in other people (one
of the 2 people who shouted me in the first event is still with the
company - we are cordial. Someone tried to explain it to me that strong
people evoke strong emotions. I seem to gather enemies and I have to
assume that I have allies also because, well, I have to believe that.
But I do not trust my co-workers - and does not inspire me to reach out.
