I wish that hedline was a porn boast. It’s 3 a.m. and I’m wandering around my house like a ghost.
Took MindOverMary to the airport this a.m. and never really got going after that. I was very sad to see her go. I adore her and we had so very much fun while she was here.
Mary’s been replaced as far as Mom duties go by Mom’s sister, Marty, and Marty’s friend, Frieda. Marty’s hilarious and when she and Frieda get going, the Visa cards get all melty.
My 40th high school reunion is this coming weekend and I was class president, so I make it a point to show up, although others do all the organizing and hard work of putting the reunion together. My friend Rush Riddle is flying in Thursday evening and will be staying with me. Guess I’ll miss the lovely Juliet’s gay party at the Copa. Something about a drag show, but I’ll be at the airport. Rush is from L.A., so maybe he’d like to see a gay drag show, such things being so rare in Hollywood.
Well, gotta get back to stuffing emotions. It’s hard work and I may have to start outsourcing some of the work. Anyone you know have any experience with guilt or anger? How about some good old fashioned non-specific anxiety and stark fear? I could really use some help with that. Soon, the garage will be full of the stuffed emotions and I may have to get a storage unit. Maybe Bookmdano will let me use his pickemup truck to get all the Samsonite (TM) two-suiters and I’ll try to take the duffle bags in my car.
Where did I put that cosmetics bag? I’ve got a little vanity to stuff as well.
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I like what Susuki-Roshi said about emotions like guilt and anger; that they were a horse on a horse. You got the first thing happening and then you add guilt and what not – you really don’t need two horses to worry about. Just stick with the first emotion, whatever that might be.
From Anon.X
I have more experience with anger than anything else.
It’s usually an anger borne of impatience about something or someone.
Impatience leads to frustration, and the symptoms of THAT seem
indistinguishable to my layman’s eye and brain from anger. More to the
point, the symptoms seem indistinguishable to horrified onlookers. “Why
are you so angry?” “Annoyed is more like it.” “You need to see a
psychiatrist!” “And you need a roll of duct tape stretched across your
mouth.” Etc.
Anger issues? Maybe they’re just impatience issues…frustration issues.
Enjoy your testosterone while it continues to bubble forth. (Though I
must say, its diminished presence in my system ain’t altogether a bad
thing, especially considering the aforementioned tendency to twist off
from time to time. I’m looking forward to some estrogen, now. Maybe I’ll
take up knitting and cry at the sad movies I see.)
Guilt, not so much. I’ve had it from time to time but almost always for
good reason (because I did something hurtful to someone)…almost never
for anything non-specific or vague. Coming from a recovered Catholic,
that’s saying something. The Church has a lot of ways to make you feel
guilty about stuff. If you let them.
Chop water, carry wood.
I return you to your regularly scheduled thoughts, already in progress.
That’s a good idea, Dzaster, with only a single flaw: what if you don’t know the first emotion? What if you’re a male and therefore so separated from your interior life that you don’t recognize the melange of feelings you have until something spectacular like anger and/or guilt that emerges in a recognizable form? I’m always a little bumfoozled when I’m asked “how do you feel?” I always want to reply “how the hell would I know?” Even for a guy like me, it’s a pretty good guess to say that well, since my Mom’s been in the hospital with the most scary of all diseases and I almost smell death in the hospital walking by all those rooms full of sick people and since I’ve got all this family in town, that likely some part of this ickky-ness is likely all tangled up with old family scripts and thanatopsis. So far so good. what would it take to untangle all that and figure out which is the first horse? Well, about $10,000 and couple years therapy. fuck that. I’m stuffing and I’ll unpack later when I once again recognize that the taste of gun oil doesn’t go with scotch. Besides, my Baptist upbringing, no matter how firmly rejected in my adult life, still makes me afraid of burning for eternity in a lake of excrement up to my nostrils. And, then there’s my secular fear of dying alone in a coldwater walk up flat that smells of old grease and dirty kitty litter, decomposing in a plaid Barcalounger in front of a black and white tv with rabbit ear antennae bedecked with tinfoil, penniless and friendless. I’m of the opinion that if you’re gonna be afraid of bullshit, it should be good bullshit.
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