basement quashed

your body is great at detecting invaders,
but cancer isn't an invader. you grew it.

I was just sitting outside "smoking" my e-cigarette (vanilla mmm, but with no nicotine, just flavouring) and watching my kitty Munchy luxuriously sun himself (I am so jealous that cats can make lolling about on concrete seem comfortable). Suddenly he spied something up the driveway and jumped up, on alert. I looked over and saw my other kitty, Guppy, come racing up the path as though a million soul-eating devils were after her (and maybe there were; I am sure she can perceive things that I cannot). She came to a halt in front of him and they touched noses before she went to jump up through the window to go inside.

As she leapt, Munchy took a swipe at her hindquarters with his forepaw and missed. I was reminded of something I had read that said if you have two cats that sometimes playfight, as they seem compelled to do, you should put a bell on the more aggressive cat so that the more submissive one can hear him coming and be ready. IF ONLY 'TWERE SO SIMPLE. Munchy, the more aggressive cat, is of course going to be the more active and daring; more likely to climb precarious treelimbs and wiggle into tiny nooks and thereby lose his collar and thence the bell. I just can't keep a collar on him.

Today I have off work, hooray. Oh how I shall treasure my short time of three day work weeks! My boss asked me yesterday if he could increase my hours to full time. I would prefer four days, or a nine day fortnight, to full time, I said. He is going to get back to me, but I am almost sure he will want full time from me. This just means I must finish my program for full registration as a psychologist before the increase in work commences. So today, day off, is to be spent finishing writing up my research project report on online counselling. I can surely get this done today. As soon as I finish this entry, then make some breakfast, then put some laundry on.

Last night during supervision I was writing furious notes as my supervisor outlined her treatment plan for Anorexia and Bulimia, as I have had a sudden influx of young women with eating disorders at work. I filled three pages as she spoke for a ceaseless half hour.
"Jess," she eventually said, "your poor hand. Do you type faster than you write?"
"Yes, of course, by a million miles."
"You should sit at the computer then, to take your notes." How reasonable of her!
"Um, no," I howevered, "I find that I writing by hand lodges information more firmly in my brain. I used to take my laptop to lectures at Uni until I realised I didn't retain as much when I typed my notes as when I scrawled them fervently." (I may not have actually said "scrawled them fervently" but whatevs.)
"Wow, how interesting," she said. She seemed intrigued, and we talked briefly about possible explanations and implications.

I felt mildly guilty, as I don't even know if what I'd said was true. It seemed like it would be true, but really I think I was just comfortable sitting on the couch and writing by hand. Seriously I do not know why I sometimes come out with these silly lies. It would have been so much easier to simply say, "Nah, I'm happy here."

I do it with friends, with family, and have for years. An unfortunate throwback to the entire lives I used to compulsively fabricate as an adolescent, mayhap. Usually, with people I know super well, when I catch myself doing it I'll say pretty soon afterwards, "by the way, that wasn't true at all," and we'll laugh etc. So it's not a huge problem, I just would like to know what the fuck is up with it.

In conclusion I think I will attempt to keep a log of when it happens, along with my thoughts around why then, there, with that person... and eventually uncover the deep-seated, firmly lodged personality flaw that is undoubtedly lurking in my bowels motivating this behaviour, and potentially others as well. In my quest for utter perfection as a human being.

Yep.

I just watched Brene Browne's TED talk on vulnerability. It was okay; she was very engaging and amusing, but it could have been half the length with the same weighted message. Anyway, she was talking about "whole-hearted" people: people who have a sense of worthiness, of love and belonging (compared to people who struggle for it and wonder if they're good enough). As I was listening I was thinking, well, I would most certainly be hearted wholly. I do believe I am worthy of love and belonging (and thus am loved and do have a sense of belonging).

As she began to list those qualities that the whole-hearted have which may contribute to this, I was ready to hear a list of my own admirable traits:

Courage: the courage to be imperfect
Compassion: to be kind to themselves and others
Connection: the ability to let go of who they think they should be, and just be who they are.. and thus enable connection with others

Yes, yes, yes, I thought. Absolutely she is describing me. I knew it.

Vulnerability: having the willingness to risk uncomfortable thoughts and feelings when there are no guarantees.

Oh. Well, sure, I do believe that what makes us vulnerable makes us beautiful, that vulnerability is absolutely necessary... sure, yes.

For others, I mean. Maybe it would be true for me, too, maybe maybe. But maybe it would just hurt. Maybe it would be catastrophically awful.

I will not say "I love you" first. I will not ask for help when I can muddle through by my own insufficient ability in thrice the time. I will not put my hand up in case I am not chosen.

I will not risk shame.

Gosh, I was so sure I was whole-hearted.

out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
and I eat men like air

so! classes start this week.
...prompting the cessation of thought.

every now and then I become overwhelmed with the desire to cut everyone I know out my life. and everyone I don't. but I think I adore everyone I don't know a little bit more. like when strawberries taste like dust. teeny tiny flakes of skin and dead cockroach.

fairy floss & fairy bread
sulci and gyri
myopic rods and blue cones
prop open my spinal gateway

I am terrified of my own sclera

ain't it funny, that
pale-faced captivation could be
coupled with a bleak mouth, funereal
silence.

like when people on ICQ expect me to answer their black&white "wanna chat?"s

past creations generally have this talent for making me cringe. sometimes I can bring myself to recreate them.



the most adorable thing in the world is a yawning numbat. if you ever see it you'll know instantly why.

I made my nanna a website. get married. it is fun.

I can't pay my rent. I should be slightly concerned. instead I sway and giggle.
modest mouse make me smile.

edit: when Felon stalks geckos and sparrows and houseflies she does this very weird vibratey thing with her mouth. i've never seen any other cat do it (and i've seen lots of stalky cats). I call it rattling. well I shriek it rattling. I mean it fills me with so much glee to see her do it because it's so cute that I scream "she's rattling!!"

anyway? I just learned it has a name, and an evolutionary explanation! I am slightly thrilled.

k, it's 4am, if i'm not asleep within the hour i'll suffocate myself to get there, dammit.

I have been thinking about love, lately. Love love love love love you dark and long, like midnight. Well, I am confused about it, as we know. Wonder lots about it, about the people in it, whether I have been in it.

Today I had a talk about it with Dennis, who estimates it will take him over three years to let go of me, with whom he is in it. Love. Three years is unfathomable to me, I say, thinking of how long it has taken me to get over people. Three hours, usually.

There are two people with whom I think I may have been in it. One of them has been waiting a month for me to reply to his email. I would feel quite fine with never seeing him again, as I did two weeks after he left. That previous 2weeks, though, I would have happily died. Miserably died. Been okay with dying as long as it meant I did not have to be all alone thinking of him.

I think if I were to see him again I may fall back into it, however it is just too hard to find out. Too complicated. And anyway I am fine with not being in it with him. I think this may mean that I never really was.

He is probably reading this. I am sorry. I will write you soon.

Then, the other one, my ex-husband. Oh, how confused I am about our ex-relationship.

My memory is foggy. I left him four years ago. I am, though, quite sure that I was quite happy with him, that I would have been quite happy with him for four evers. I only occasionally and briefly considered leaving him when we were together, and that was largely because I wanted to leave his horrid country. He was my longest ever relationship, and it was remarkable because I did not grow bored with him. I generally grow bored with people rather quickly. Three months, for example.

Ah, yes! I used to hypothesise that after spending three months with someone you were bound to be in love with them. I must have mentioned this theory at least a dozen times here. Well, it has changed. If you are incapable of love, as I often consider myself to be, instead of being in love with them following three months, you will be bored.

But the point. I was not bored with him, Chris, after two whole years. Then, after I left him, I cried myself to sleep for weeks afterwards. It may have been months. I was so unhappy to be out of his horrid country, so lonely for him, so hurt by him.

I was talking aloud about this to myself this afternoon, pretending to talk to Dennis, as I do with almost everyone, when I began to cry.

My goodness. I thought this a long dead issue! Four years later! In fact I have hardly thought about it, about him, at all in this time.

But, but, but. I think I am still hurt. Perhaps I should have. Thought about it.

I am beginning to think I am not so hard hearted, not so cold and impenetrable, not so duck-feather-backed as I have lead myself to believe.

How much do I feel that I hide from myself? This is not the first time a storm of emotion has taken me by surprise. Talking to someone about my father a while ago something similar happened, a great bitterness came to my attention. A great disappointment. A great feeling of.. loss, missingness, a gaping hole in my life where a father should be.

He is probably reading this. He took offense at my mocking post about the goldfish incident and I have not heard from him since. Even on my birthday, which.. oh, yes! I cried then, too. I don’t care if I never hear from him again, and do you know why? I am BITTER. I am disappointed. I admit it. I can be hurt.

I always thought myself so resilient, so independent, practically antisocial; emotionless. What an idiot, what an idiot. My armour is so leathery, so robust, even I cannot breach it, myself. So well developed it went undetected for twenty-five years.

Why?

I will die of cancer.

Edited 30/06/11 to make public. I am not sure why I posted it privately. *shrug*

today was a highly unusual day.

I have always really liked to be on my own. i've decided many times that i'm best on my own, and am thus meant to be so. I only seem to deeply think when alone, and to be creative, and to be myself.

well i'm on my own for the first time in around a year & a half. and i'm not used to it.
i've been craving alone-time for months, and now? i'm bored. i'm lonely.

me! lonely!
why, it's absurd!

in fact after a weekend of moping I only just admitted it today, when, after my 9am class, I found I didn't want to go home. to my lonely home.
so I didn't. instead I spent NINE HOURS
at uni, simply sitting and talking to semi-friends.

and had some very enlightening conversations.

Anjali reports that I stand out because of my blackness, after I told her I wear black so i'll be invisible. I think it was the most honest answer i've ever given to "so why do you always wear black?" yet.

James reports that I am MACHO. I was horrified.
he didn't say that. he said I have many masculine qualities, e.g. a huge protective shield I never let down, etc, that he figures I modelled after a macho male in my early life. this is because I am apparently hiding my devastation at breaking up with Dennis. come to think of it, Dennis also pointed out that my lack of devastation was male-like. hmm.

Liz reports that Anais is a frightful role model. and I realised it's true. but I can't help it! she thrills me so. she makes me think she's me. (she has masculine qualities too!)

a girl whose name I never processed so couldn't remember if I tried (I seem to never be listening when people tell me their names) reports that I am possibly the only person doing honours who hasn't begun writing their introduction. hello? I haven't even begun researching it!

she also asked me to live in Italy with her. I can't wait!

so I am feeling hopeful. tomorrow I think I will go into the city and take many pictures.