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I give up on cleaning the living room for a while. It's not a priority. The office needs to be sorted so that I can get computers built. That will take less work than trying to figure out my dining table. I've let cleaning the apartment be my Sisyphean scene.
I was about to explain the Sisyphus ref, but I figure any of who that don't know it will Google or Wiki it. I miss explaining things to Maggie. She used to roll her eyes when I'd go too far on an explanation. She helped me reign in the topic at hand. She was a good listener. However, she was also the victim of my need to explain everything.
I'm finally getting beyond that time we had. I am starting new tasks that I couldn't deal with before. I am rediscovering old bonds, sorting my psyche to establish a more certain sense of self.
I'm also listening to BNL right now. I loved the first album and hated the next one. I felt like they had a choice between silly songs and crappy love songs, but they chose crappy love songs. Their regret fueled a slow redevelopment of that plan. However, this doesn't change that many of their songs are simply directives from passive-aggressive people.
Certain songs speak to me at different times. A lot of the one that hit me the most right now (such as the title track for this entry as well as "The Other End of the Telescope" by Aimee Mann, "Otha Fish" by Pharcyde, "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran, and even "For No One" by the Beatles) are really about the same thing: understanding that a relationship had to end and discerning whose fault it was won't fix anything. We were scared of ending what was falling apart because the structure of living together kept us from the big, scary world.
I don't know what's next, but I'm finally happy about that. I'm getting closer to turning 30 each day and I shan't be married by my birthday. This does not mean I'm incapable of adulthood. In fact, it means I learned to confront something very painful and not give in. I am not a wuss. The parts of me that thought I was a wuss are dissolving.
I'll admit I'm still not ready for all the aspects of being over it. I've wanted cleaning the apartment to be the moment that would signify my New Life (tm). All it'd mean is that someone could have a meal at my dining table. A part of me has been scared to invite someone to my place because it's messy and that this would make me look less appealing as a suitor. I haven't felt ready to open myself to courting, but it took this push for cleaning to understand that. My heart is still closed for alterations, even though there is no longer newspaper covering the window. (Oh shit, that set off the Metaphor Tangent Alert...)
The laptop has been another strange aspect. I confront my mind best when I write about it. I've been unable to sit at my office desk to write about anything. I used the excuse "well, nothing's installed yet" for a year. I realize I've been avoiding finishing the computer because I don't tend to create when I sit in my office environment. It's too formal. Right now, I'm sitting on the couch. I sit here a lot. It's comfy, but not wicked comfy. I have to get up every hour or so or my coccyx starts to smart. So I get up. I still take the laptop with me and I keep typing. I use the battery's first warning as my wrap-up notice for whatever I'm working on. I post and then surf until the second (final) alert comes up. That's my hint to change to another activity. I move around and it lets me move. It takes the formality away from my creativity. Thus I seek a tool that will let me create more directly. (By the way, I may have found one. More later.)
So yeah, I feel good. That's good. I mean, I'd like to get laid but that'll come in time. It'll also have nothing to do with getting laid because, well, that's how it works. I attach. I know this about myself. This means I can't have meaningless sex -- I've failed each time. This must make me a preacher's wet dream when I say this. Then again, I am a pervy bugger so it's not like I'm innocent about it. I am confronting myself and seeing what I can live with.
I was about to explain the Sisyphus ref, but I figure any of who that don't know it will Google or Wiki it. I miss explaining things to Maggie. She used to roll her eyes when I'd go too far on an explanation. She helped me reign in the topic at hand. She was a good listener. However, she was also the victim of my need to explain everything.
I'm finally getting beyond that time we had. I am starting new tasks that I couldn't deal with before. I am rediscovering old bonds, sorting my psyche to establish a more certain sense of self.
I'm also listening to BNL right now. I loved the first album and hated the next one. I felt like they had a choice between silly songs and crappy love songs, but they chose crappy love songs. Their regret fueled a slow redevelopment of that plan. However, this doesn't change that many of their songs are simply directives from passive-aggressive people.
Certain songs speak to me at different times. A lot of the one that hit me the most right now (such as the title track for this entry as well as "The Other End of the Telescope" by Aimee Mann, "Otha Fish" by Pharcyde, "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran, and even "For No One" by the Beatles) are really about the same thing: understanding that a relationship had to end and discerning whose fault it was won't fix anything. We were scared of ending what was falling apart because the structure of living together kept us from the big, scary world.
I don't know what's next, but I'm finally happy about that. I'm getting closer to turning 30 each day and I shan't be married by my birthday. This does not mean I'm incapable of adulthood. In fact, it means I learned to confront something very painful and not give in. I am not a wuss. The parts of me that thought I was a wuss are dissolving.
I'll admit I'm still not ready for all the aspects of being over it. I've wanted cleaning the apartment to be the moment that would signify my New Life (tm). All it'd mean is that someone could have a meal at my dining table. A part of me has been scared to invite someone to my place because it's messy and that this would make me look less appealing as a suitor. I haven't felt ready to open myself to courting, but it took this push for cleaning to understand that. My heart is still closed for alterations, even though there is no longer newspaper covering the window. (Oh shit, that set off the Metaphor Tangent Alert...)
The laptop has been another strange aspect. I confront my mind best when I write about it. I've been unable to sit at my office desk to write about anything. I used the excuse "well, nothing's installed yet" for a year. I realize I've been avoiding finishing the computer because I don't tend to create when I sit in my office environment. It's too formal. Right now, I'm sitting on the couch. I sit here a lot. It's comfy, but not wicked comfy. I have to get up every hour or so or my coccyx starts to smart. So I get up. I still take the laptop with me and I keep typing. I use the battery's first warning as my wrap-up notice for whatever I'm working on. I post and then surf until the second (final) alert comes up. That's my hint to change to another activity. I move around and it lets me move. It takes the formality away from my creativity. Thus I seek a tool that will let me create more directly. (By the way, I may have found one. More later.)
So yeah, I feel good. That's good. I mean, I'd like to get laid but that'll come in time. It'll also have nothing to do with getting laid because, well, that's how it works. I attach. I know this about myself. This means I can't have meaningless sex -- I've failed each time. This must make me a preacher's wet dream when I say this. Then again, I am a pervy bugger so it's not like I'm innocent about it. I am confronting myself and seeing what I can live with.
