We all have broken wings, somewhat

We can spend all day giving advice to our friends.  And most of the time, we’re right.  But how often do we step back and realize that what we’re telling them is what we need to be hearing as well?

We teach best what we most need to learn.

It happens to me a lot.

Of course, my advice comes largely not from what works for me in life, but from what I have learned over the years, and from the standards I hope that I can one day hold myself to. When I say that sentences shouldn’t end in prepositions, I know that I’m doing it, too, but I hope one day to get there — and reminding you not to do it hopefully helps it sink into my own head as well.

Some of my advice, I think, is well learned.  And at high prices — which is why it sticks with me so well.  I don’t think that everything you teach is something that you haven’t learned, yourself.  The only way to find out, though, is to learn to look at yourself objectively enough that you have an easier time recognizing when your advice could apply to yourself as well as others.

One thing I think is also important to remember — a caveat to giving advice, or to taking it.  Almost all advice worth mentioning here is life-specific.  What works for me won’t necessarily work for Wade or Kasey or Richard or Neely, and vice versa.  That shouldn’t stop you from giving me advice, but if I don’t take it — well, it’s nothing personal.

Probably.

Moms Say the Darnedest Things

It must be that time of the month for me.  Everything everyone is saying today is smacking me square in the emotional nuts.

Makes me want to emotionally vomit, that throbbing.

Peace out, bitch.  Or so my brother would say.

“Red is very pretty. I look forward to actually meeting her. I am glad you are moving slowly. Your heart needs a gentle landing somewhere, whether it is with or without her. I am glad you are being kind to yourself.” So says Mom.  And I find it ridiculously touching.  So I’m putting it up here for all the world to see.

And now, in honor of my officially having turned into a woman, I’ll go smoke a Virginia Slim and make catty comments about other ladies walking past my office downtown.

This just in (and not interrupting the Iron Bowl, either)

Just got this in the mail from Chance:

This just in — the first-ever TELEVISION BROADCAST of HIDE AND CREEP is only a month away:

http://www.scifi.com/schedulebot/index.php3?date=11-MAY-2006&feed_req=US:Eastern:E

Thursday May 11. 7 p.m. Eastern time. On the Sci Fi Channel.

More info later.

Viva basic cable!

Yup.  Not only did Chance take his first-ever feature to DVD, but we’re getting what every director dreams of from day one:

Commercial interruption.

But yeah, we’re going nationwide, soon to be recognized by nerds everywhere.  Whee!

I wonder if sci-fi will let the full frontal male nudity slide. Or the lesbian zombie strippers.

If you think I’m joking, go to Blockbuster or get on Netflix and rent it. No shit.  Lesbian. Zombie. Strippers.

That also happens to be the scene that I’m in.  And I’m not a lesbian, a stripper, or a zombie.  But I do get eaten by one.

Ahem.  Hi, Kiomi! Miss you!

Charmed life here, yo.  What can I say?

The Great Return of the Untitled

Laying on his roof over the front patio, the sounds of the city night are distant whispers. He stares up into the night sky, thinking, wondering, dreaming.

All about her.

The way her skin feels beneath his fingers echoes through his mind, bouncing madly off of the walls of his skull, tracing narrow arcs of blue flame where they travel. Her scent, the way the smell of her clings to his clothes and his cheek where she pressed against him. The look in her eyes, piercing his soul to let the sound of her laughter in.

He dreams of things he has no business dreaming: of walks so calm that the rest of the world is washed away in the deafening silence, and of the sound of the ocean crashing around them as they laugh together. Of summer nights in front of a flickering screen, hours on end, of music shared loudly, of winter nights curled together, sharing warmth and comfort. He dreams of pulling the stars and sky from above, and boxing them into a pendant that she can carry around her neck forever.

But he is only human, and dreams and desires come as they will to him, outside of his control. And he smiles to himself, suddenly feeling the urge to stand, to climb to the highest point on his roof, to shout to the world and the stars and the gods that he has known her all his life, that she has waited for him all of hers, and that no matter what else, they have found each other.

He does not stand, or climb, or shout, but only lays there, dreaming his dreams, smiling, imagining her there next to him, working out the logistics of capturing the stars and the sky for her.

It can be no more improbable, he thinks, than his hope of grasping the feelings inside of him and showing the world that dreams exist outside of the sleeping world.

Jealousy and leprosy kinda rhyme, yeah?

Envy, not so much.  And envy can be turned into ambition, with a little effort. Covet your neighbor’s new widescreen TV?  Work a little harder, save a little harder, and it can be yours.

But then, jealousy and envy are separated by a fine line, at least from my current point of view.  I’m thinking of jealousy in relationships, the kind that starts fights or works as a deal breaker.  The kind that can very easily find the significant other transformed not into a person who you are lucky to have by your side because they choose to be there, with you, but instead into a possession, to be had or lost.

I understand jealousy.  Too well.  And I don’t think that, under any circumstance, it arises from a healthy place.  Either you’ve been taught and conditioned to think of a lover as a thing instead of a person, or you’re not getting enough attention from your partner (and others are getting more), or you’ve got a co-dependent personality.

In my case, I think a lot of it is scars that I bear from previous relationships, and a fair touch of codependency that I picked up from my family and lived with unknowingly for a lot of my life. I only a few years back recognized that I have my share of those traits, and made a concerted effort to try and work through and past them.  I’m sure I’m not entirely healthy, but I think I’m also not as healed as I would like to think I am, as far as past experience is concerned.

In so many cases, to me, jealousy is laughable to me. Those feelings of anger, or hurt, or whatever, are so often misdirected at someone who has no choice in or control over the matter.  We all know someone who has been berated or dumped, even beaten, because some third party has a crush on them, and their boy- or girlfriend or wife or husband can’t handle that.   I find that amusing (in a sad and pathetic sort of way) — if you stop and think for five minutes, won’t you realize that your anger or insecurity is so haplessly misdirected?  Or will you?

Maybe I give my fellow shitbag human beings too much credit.

All of the anger and harsh words that come from jealousy, though, really just stem from fear.  Fear that you’re not good enough for the other person.  Fear that they’re with you but looking for someone better.  Fear that you’re not treating them well enough and so they need to find their human validation elsewhere.

Just like all bullies.

I’ve tried to eliminate jealousy from my life.  I’ve had such a battle with it in the past that it could have easily torn Melissa and I apart before we ever got started.  Fortunate side-effect of self-therapy for bipolar disorder #6: you learn to recognize the irrational thoughts and behaviors in your life, and to maybe take a few moments before acting to let your rational mind take the reins again. I think that’s how I’ve learned to spot the difference between a third party who is totally out of mine and my significant other’s control, and the sort of valid and rational jeaousy (which I think is better described as behavior that signals a bad or unhealthy (for me, at least) relationship.

I’m a flirtatious person.  Always have been. I used to think that I needed a woman with a strong sense of self, one that could deal with that, because I’m not going to change to fit into someone else’s idea of what I should be.   And to some extent, that’s true; I can’t spend all my energy reinforcing someone’s self-image because that sense is barely functional.  But I now recognize an important addition to what I need: making sure that there is balance.  Pointing out that other women are attractive is fine; love doesn’t make you blind, and I think there’s a healthy release in being able to discuss that with your partner.  But I also think that you have to make sure that your partner hears you say nice things about him or her — that you are as complimentary of them as you are of total strangers.

We have some need of validation – welcome to the human race.  It’s nice to be told that you are handsome, or intelligent, or witty, or (perhaps best of all) that you make someone else feel wonderful and attractive and special.  If all you hear is how hot or great other people are — and never how good you are — it can create a hole.  And I’ve been guilty of that in the past, without realizing it; I’m fortunate to have seen it, so that I can be more aware and careful to avoid that.

The worst part of jealousy in a relationship is trying to discuss it with your S.O.  Like any other uncomfortable topic, it can turn so quickly into a web of lies and deceit and defensiveness. But feelings of jealousy, or of not getting enough attention, need to be communicated — until you meet that special someone with the ability to read minds, if you can’t get those feelings out in the open, then they never go away.

Trust me.  Been there, done it, burned the t-shirt and dined on the ashes.

But — and I warned you this was coming, darlin’ —  when you meet someone that is open and receptive to talking about those things with you, hold on to them with all your strength. I’ve been a hundreds of failed relationships, both romantic and friendly, and far too many fell apart because of issues of communication. Sometimes the most important things to remain open and utterly, painfully honest about are also the most difficult.  And in Red, I’ve found someone who is both honest with me and encourages and understands my honesty about the same. Of all the things that are beautiful and special about her — her eyes, her laugh, her compassion, her quirks, even her love of loud angry music — perhaps the most important to me is her openness, her honesty, her willingness to communicate. I’ve had friends of both hers and mine comment on the connection that she and I have, and I think the fact that that connection is so strong and natural and easy is due to her openness and acceptance and encouragement of mine.

I’m not trying to call her out, but Red is easily one of the most special people I’ve ever met, based purely on that trait.
Remove the communication, decide that you can handle the lack of attention or wishing you had more, and jealousy becomes even more like leprosy, eating you alive, slowly, only from the inside out.

And you have to remember that those feelings, the jealousy, is good, at least in one sense: it means that your significant other, new or old, is still worth holding onto and fighting for.

For my Red…

Carl tells me that this song reminds her of me, and how I see Red… I’ve always wondered how i look from the outside. I just assumed “weird”:

Then she appeared, the first photograph on Fox Talbots gel
I was a little frightened
Flying with my senses heightened
Cherubim cheered
Then she appeared

Then she appeared, as the giggling crew of Marie Celeste
Then she appeared, pale Atlantis rising out of the west
I was a little dazzled
Catherine wheeled and senses frazzled
Know it sounds weird
Then she appeared

And the sun which formally shone
In the clearest summer sky
Suddenly just changed address
Now shines from her blue eyes
Then she appeared, brittle shooting star that dropped in my lap
Then she appeared, dressed in tricolour and phrygian cap
I was a little troubled
Hookah with my senses bubbled
All Edward leared
Then she appeared

And the moon which formally shone
On the marbled midnight mile
Suddenly just packed its bags
Now shines from her bright smile
Then she appeared
Out of nowhere
-Then She Appeared, XTC

It’s all in how you look at things, she said

I wish that I could say that it feels like a whole lot of threads of my life are starting to converge on a point, a singularity in the not-so-distant future.  That’s what I really want — for the past few years of my life to suddenly fall into place, to start making sense in a sudden explosion of knowledge and clarity.  I want the desire to move and the band and the long stretch of bachelorhood and everything else to fall together where they belong in the jigsaw puzzle that has been taking up coffee table space for way too long.

But that’s not the way it works, unfortuantely.  Some threads are starting to merge —  Jonas emails me to say that he’s moving to Chicago at the end of May, for instance.  But then other, newer threads seem to throw a wrench into everything.

My life has become a 24/7 version of LOST, without the hot actors and with not quite as much intrigue. Every week, another tantalizing hint, but then you realize that the hint is only a prelude to the introduction of a new mystery.  And pretty soon, things are so tangled that you’re in Twin Peaks / X-Files territory.  No matter what they do, they can’t possibly explain all that needs to be explained and keep it interesting at the same time.

So that’s life when you refuse to walk the path of the settled, the road into Suburbia.  I can accept that and even deal with it.  But here’s where my weakness for movies comes in, because it would be nice if everything in my life were cinematic.  I could have entrance music that announced my coming everywhere I went. I would always get the girl, and put the bad guy down.   And everything would make sense at the end, even if it took someone spouting off obviously constructed exposition to explain it to me.

It’s supposed to get really bad here in Birmingham shortly — thunder, lightning, and all the rest.  I’m not worried though, because I’m choosing to see this as an opportunity for all the loose soil and flotsam to be washed away, and maybe after 24 hours of rough sailing and scared animals, everything will be clean and shiny, and it’ll be easier to put some of this together.