Haunting

Gwozdecki. 

Love and Roses

Much is made of the possessory and exclusionary aspect of love.  Some men dote and dote on their women early on, only to abandon them in the private realm later, when there are kids, other people, and preparatory assignments that aren't as glamorous or dramatic as a good chase/be chased story, fill the air, and the excitement and self-centered nature of coitus fades.

The irony is that, I think, real love (or commitment, if you like) may begin to assert itself after the couple has gone through a few rough patches, and precisely when there are an overwhelming amount of things to do.

I never used to think this.  Now, I ask anyone who thinks of their relationship (and talks with me about it) what it is like in the morning, when they're both brushing their teeth,  and breakfast needs to be made.  However domestic and boring this may seem to those obsessed with the high glamor of 2am nights and secrecy and leather and stockings and sheer excitement, I'm convinced it is a more realistic indicator of future success as a couple.

Men who can be consistent, lack ego, are practical, and have moderate ambition, are best.  Drinking heavily, I'm convinced, is the direct consequence and/or result of inconsistency, impracticality, other-worldy ambition, and severe ego.

Of course, I wish I could practice what I preach, but I can't always do it!  Damnit.

Tip for Sobriety

Did we do this one already: clean and do stuff that gets you out of your head?

Well, do it again.  A friendly reminder.  Especially when you don't want to do it--small accomplishments that are relatively easy can equal real joy.

Love and Evolutionary Psych

Is love the result of natural selection?--i.e. the outcome of successful mates who stay together because they and their kids tend to survive in higher numbers as compared to non-coupled (loving) pairs?    If the answer is yes, then our feelings around love (and commitment) are fully real, but entirely untrue--we don't love someone because of "who" they are, with regard to their principles, or how they treat other people, or how they might treat us, necessarily, or solely, but instead because those behaviors offer something else entirely: successful reproductive capacity.

Caveat: I don't know where I stand on this, but it is worth pursing a little bit.  The easiest rebuke, that love and human emotive potential cannot (or maybe just should not) be distilled down into a singular dimension, could be turned around: why can't the product of successful reproduction be myriad emotional commitments that are vital and, indeed, life sustaining (ahem, on average)?  Why couldn't the most important essence about our love for one another be grounded, again, on average, in reproductive fitness?  Fundamentally, what stops the core of our thinking about love, regardless of love's incarnations, or actual reproductive capacity once established, from being based on evolution?  It need not be a thin or manufactured reality.  If it is the case, it sure does change my thoughts about love, but won't, through making this link with current aspects of my relationships, make me more endearing.  A worthy point to keep in mind.

To spread this out a little more, consider the idea that we don't like to change our minds once we set them in place, and that outside information to the contrary makes many of us more rigid, not less, as we seek confirmation of our beliefs and dismiss perceived minutia.  Gets kind of scary, not being sure why I'm doing what I'm doing, especially when decision making capacity is highly valued.

Love and Religion and Drinking

One reason why religion is so polarizing is that we tend to be exposed to it when we are quite young, i.e. prior to forming any real distance from what will be our world view (leaving aside how much we can change our worldview).  It is also the case that our concepts are necessarily smaller, cramped if you will, when we are younger, though we believe them fully.

Think about how the concept of love operates when we are younger, for instance.  Of course you love your mom and dad and sister and brother.  But what does that say about your will to stay with them given the choice or capacity otherwise? 

So we have a limited idea of what it means to love as kids, but we also don't know it.  At some point we rebel against our parent's love (at least in the US), and start to think of them as smaller than they once were. But we dont' necessarily think of love as smaller than it once was.  In fact, we actively seek new ideals (in other people) to instill our love.   This can be dangerous of course, because it lends a bit of falsity to our relations with others. But there are always other and more people out there to try your perfect notion of love on--perhaps.

Love is an interesting example because most of us believe in it platonically and throughout our lives--it exists at some pure level that is untouched and it continues to be possible to attain. People that can love one another over time, I think, realize that it encompasses much more than a stylized glance every now and then, and that their ideal notions no longer maintain themselves in the act of loving.

The act of love is the act of accepting imperfection, of walking away from  previously comfortable emotional attachments.

Love that has been stymied can find an outlet in drink.

More on religion soon.

Not Reacting/ Reacting

Try not to react:

"You are racist."

"You hate people/are selfish."

"You whine too much."

"You think that people are generally stupid, but that you are exceptional."

"Building a mosque near ground zero is important."

"You can never be more than a hick."

You'll always be [insert negative character trait].


In what way does asking or asserting these statements ever serve to start a conversation?  Assuming the purpose is not to start a conversation, but only to show someone you disagree with them/their viewpoint, what is the point in doing so?  What does it provide the producer of such statements?  Why does it matter?

AA article in Harper's Magazine

As the cover story.  Go check it out if you haven't already.

So you think you've got it under control?

Why drink at all, then, if you're so sure? 

When your child celebrates his 11th birthday.  And the cops look at you under darkened eyes.  And your mom asks you whether everything is okay.  And your hands shake if you don't drink before 3pm on saturday.  And your wife stares at you, tear driven mascara covering her words.  Molten bubbles that barely make it to the surface, they tell you something you're hiding from: that you're responsible for her pain. And you cringe under her stare, and lack the courage to elongate your gaze to match hers, and she stutters under the lightness of the man that you've developed into.

And you tell yourself that the only reality that matters is your reality, what you tell yourself, and you find it comforting, and distancing, and you don't have to listen to them all if you can just cradle against it and hold it, and everything can be, at least for that moment, how you want it.  And you know who your friends are.  And the enemies too.  And you're smarter than them.  And you have the success, and the scars, to show your spirit to anyone tough enough to look.  Never mind that your old man kicked out early, or that your child spends his nights in the glow of electronics, his puberty experienced in pixels.  It is part of the times, you'll say, and you'll be right, because you usually are right, after all.  And your wife will calm down and she'll stay with you.  And you only hit her that once, one mishap, one mistake that is not part of your character, your energy, because you are fundamentally good no matter how many fundamentally bad people you can think of.  Just one drink.  That's all.  Just one drink and you can think about everything else tomorrow.

I can't win this game

And winning would be a confusion of the game's purpose anyway.  So I'm going to try to let go of the ideal of winning, try to find a way toward eternal play with consequences that are not hugely dire.

Where the stakes are not life or death all of the time.

Where the stakes are not ultimate happiness or ultimate failure.

Where the stakes are not on the line.

There will always be moments of indecision, granted, and there will always be consequences to actions.  We know that much.  But knowing this doesn't mean that we can adequately ascertain the fit of our actions to consequences, that we can in fact control consequences with some degree of proportionality, even, and especially when we feel that "everything" is at stake.

It rarely actually is.   

Green Tea

So, green tea.  You know the drill, right? Excellent health benefits, right?  Well, it doesn't matter. 

What matters is that you can drink it all day without getting the kind of caffeine hangover that comes from coffee (and even regular black tea).   If you're highly compulsive and need to drink something, consider this substitute.

Okay?

Consider, however, that, after getting a free starbucks card for attending a "webinar" as a follow up, the possibility that ordering a large tea will induce urination, the urge at least, and that the bathroom may thusly be closed for repair at such a point.  However much blogging may help me out, it doesn't help this.  So, have a good night.

His breath

His breath was full of whiskey; booze, liquid fucking gold, my man, so partner up and grab a glass; this wall of insomnia is about to collapse in a wave of distilled propinquity, all the way in real close, cousin-like, telling you about his daughter, about the way she's textured her future out in courdory waves of fine granular successive successes, and his eyes roam, and his constitution blinks, winks maybe, depending on how much you want to read into it, and he can talk about anything you might suggest, but only when you overtly suggest it, like verbally.  Otherwise he remains in the throws of whatever subjective binge he's on, fracturing the rocks in gaseous heaps of nonsense until everything and nothing is left to say.

And his tie is red and his suit is navy and his smile, for all that is left to desire, is genuine, because that's just who he is. Out there. Living. Splurging.  Socializing.  Drinking that liquid heat.  So syrupy that it glides out of his mouth in a fine mist to coat my psyche as he speaks.  I inhale it unwillingly, repulsed and famished.  The bartender looks at me, nods.  The bar is open.  Free.  Below, the christmas tree and ice skaters and tourists glide soundlessly.  Enjoy. Endeavor.  Do something high impact.  Gain a contact.  Gain a contract.  Sign something.  Get somewhere.  You've gotta live, gotta have something to show for it.  Without it what are you, what have you when you're experience has been thinned down, parred into the sliver of his breath.

Stress

Stressful day here at work.  There are a lot of updates to be made, and I have to manage five different databases of the same information -i.e. this is ridiculous.  Luckily there's an update to the software planned, and it should happen shortly, which is fantastic (after testing is completed!).  For now though, it is stressful.  Buzzword.