Sunday, June 22, 2003
In a flash, it's turned into an eventful on call.
Thankfully, the alcohol wasn't producing any lingering effects aside from a moderate dehydration. Another sluggish, sleepy day. My bleep went off, answered it, and suddenly all hell's breaking loose. Dashing through the double doors, suddenly back in the hot seat of a cardiac arrest... or is it? Not quite. But this man is definitely peri arrest. Rusty algorithms begin to click back into place, but there's an anaesthetist there within seconds, the crash team arrives, so you step back and let them take over.
A strange clinical picture, and typically, once he comes around he's joking with the crash team. They often do, before they die, I think. I mention to someone else that it looks like a case I'd seen before. Hb comes back 5.7, down from 12.0 some time later, and the nail is in the coffin. Unfortunately, before we can send him to theatre, he arrests again in CT.
A panicky exploration in theatre, with no fewer than four anaesthetists running blood in from four lines to little effect. Blood in the abdomen.
The consultant calls it after a while.
And the man falls away from the brink of life, into the void of death, without moving a muscle.
And that is pretty much the case I saw, the last time around.
cest la vie.
Thankfully, the alcohol wasn't producing any lingering effects aside from a moderate dehydration. Another sluggish, sleepy day. My bleep went off, answered it, and suddenly all hell's breaking loose. Dashing through the double doors, suddenly back in the hot seat of a cardiac arrest... or is it? Not quite. But this man is definitely peri arrest. Rusty algorithms begin to click back into place, but there's an anaesthetist there within seconds, the crash team arrives, so you step back and let them take over.
A strange clinical picture, and typically, once he comes around he's joking with the crash team. They often do, before they die, I think. I mention to someone else that it looks like a case I'd seen before. Hb comes back 5.7, down from 12.0 some time later, and the nail is in the coffin. Unfortunately, before we can send him to theatre, he arrests again in CT.
A panicky exploration in theatre, with no fewer than four anaesthetists running blood in from four lines to little effect. Blood in the abdomen.
The consultant calls it after a while.
And the man falls away from the brink of life, into the void of death, without moving a muscle.
And that is pretty much the case I saw, the last time around.
cest la vie.
Saturday, June 21, 2003
(continued)
Alice moves, with her heart and soul. With a wild abandon that is rather sexy, but not slutty. (There're a few others there, who unfortunately haven't got that balance quite
right) Possibly alcohol induced? And when I take her for a bit of a spin in contemporary Ceroc, she creates, effortlessly. Not quite right occasionally, and occasionally she tries to lead, so you just go okay, and ad-lib to match her. Keep the fun going. I'm surprised to find I can do it, sort of. Thought my brain had atrophied beyond that. Possibly alcohol induced as well... and you just have to smile although sensory innervation is fading, and dance.
In the minicab, on the way home, Alice falls asleep immediately. I long to pass out as well, but common decency and level headedness stops me. Minicabs can be dangerous places. Looking at her asleep, and vulnerable, I realise that she is special. A unique blend. A vulnerable tough cookie. In short, an extremely human, human being. Her bloke is a lucky guy indeed. It's rare that you find a woman who is a real person... or is that a person who is a real woman? Too many people pretend, too many people wear the image too intentionally. Too many people are caught up in trying to be someone else.
My pen feels heavy.
Alice moves, with her heart and soul. With a wild abandon that is rather sexy, but not slutty. (There're a few others there, who unfortunately haven't got that balance quite
right) Possibly alcohol induced? And when I take her for a bit of a spin in contemporary Ceroc, she creates, effortlessly. Not quite right occasionally, and occasionally she tries to lead, so you just go okay, and ad-lib to match her. Keep the fun going. I'm surprised to find I can do it, sort of. Thought my brain had atrophied beyond that. Possibly alcohol induced as well... and you just have to smile although sensory innervation is fading, and dance.
In the minicab, on the way home, Alice falls asleep immediately. I long to pass out as well, but common decency and level headedness stops me. Minicabs can be dangerous places. Looking at her asleep, and vulnerable, I realise that she is special. A unique blend. A vulnerable tough cookie. In short, an extremely human, human being. Her bloke is a lucky guy indeed. It's rare that you find a woman who is a real person... or is that a person who is a real woman? Too many people pretend, too many people wear the image too intentionally. Too many people are caught up in trying to be someone else.
My pen feels heavy.
4 hours later and I wake to find this handwritten next to my pillow. I tell myself I'll be fine, 4 hours is enough time to metabolise all that. Right?
So, typed retrospectively, with minor alterations to spelling and grammer :
Feeling as I write this : rather drunk
Systems 80% functional, core integrity intact. Some inner-ear and facial nerve desensitisation / palsy. I have an overwhelming desire to put my cheek to my pillow and sink headfirst into blissful oblivion.
But before this, I write.
I've had an exhilarating evening, and I'm not sure why.
Dinner and drinks with Anna and co. The newly enlisted, answering their calling. Looking more shell shocked than anything.
Too much pimms.
Left when the novelty of talking to strangers began to wear thin. Anna's flatmate is an actress. Very tall, very young, very beautiful and very actressy. It's been a while since I've spoken to anyone quite so different from the run of the mill medical or paramedical or legal types.
Arrived at : Helen's party.
Shehab brushes by on the way out. We exchange the traditional male hand-grip of affection.
Step in, look for Helen, step out x3. Finally realise it's all happening upstairs (private party)
Upstairs, I meet Helen immediately and hug her. Buy her a drink. She looks happy, which is good. And she's off, dancing with all her friends. I dont' seem to know anyone here, and the few I know by sight ignore me, utterly. Stand by a little to the side watching everyone dance or chat happily together, drinking a particularly foul pint of John Smith's and feeling rather lost and out of place. Get up to go at last, and Alice steps in. She's shooting around meeting the people she knows. They do the girly hyperventilating huggy thing, while she does this cute bob on her feet; the same one she does at dance class when she swaps to a new partner. The girls she knows are, ironically, the people I know by face, who were ignoring me.
Dancing. Alice keeps dragging me in. The dancing, oh the dancing. Ironic, how I wrote that in jest in last year's yearbook, when we really hadn't. Just a few chocolate cakes... the dancing crack was a quote from ? Notting Hill, the movie. A year later, and we really are. Self fulfilling prophecy?
I know how drunk i must sound right now :\ (continued)
So, typed retrospectively, with minor alterations to spelling and grammer :
Feeling as I write this : rather drunk
Systems 80% functional, core integrity intact. Some inner-ear and facial nerve desensitisation / palsy. I have an overwhelming desire to put my cheek to my pillow and sink headfirst into blissful oblivion.
But before this, I write.
I've had an exhilarating evening, and I'm not sure why.
Dinner and drinks with Anna and co. The newly enlisted, answering their calling. Looking more shell shocked than anything.
Too much pimms.
Left when the novelty of talking to strangers began to wear thin. Anna's flatmate is an actress. Very tall, very young, very beautiful and very actressy. It's been a while since I've spoken to anyone quite so different from the run of the mill medical or paramedical or legal types.
Arrived at : Helen's party.
Shehab brushes by on the way out. We exchange the traditional male hand-grip of affection.
Step in, look for Helen, step out x3. Finally realise it's all happening upstairs (private party)
Upstairs, I meet Helen immediately and hug her. Buy her a drink. She looks happy, which is good. And she's off, dancing with all her friends. I dont' seem to know anyone here, and the few I know by sight ignore me, utterly. Stand by a little to the side watching everyone dance or chat happily together, drinking a particularly foul pint of John Smith's and feeling rather lost and out of place. Get up to go at last, and Alice steps in. She's shooting around meeting the people she knows. They do the girly hyperventilating huggy thing, while she does this cute bob on her feet; the same one she does at dance class when she swaps to a new partner. The girls she knows are, ironically, the people I know by face, who were ignoring me.
Dancing. Alice keeps dragging me in. The dancing, oh the dancing. Ironic, how I wrote that in jest in last year's yearbook, when we really hadn't. Just a few chocolate cakes... the dancing crack was a quote from ? Notting Hill, the movie. A year later, and we really are. Self fulfilling prophecy?
I know how drunk i must sound right now :\ (continued)
Friday, June 20, 2003
The realisation that I'm going home soon struck me as I stepped in the door and trod on my newly-arrived air ticket.
I'm not sure what to make of it yet. I think I'll become excited about it all, soon. At the moment, I just feel tired. Tomorrow evening, I'm going to feel even more tired after attending two parties in tandem, and then on Saturday I'll be on call. Wham, wham, bam. And somewhere in there Alice will be flying off home... bah, rats abandoning a sinking ship eh. Rant, rant, flail... I hope you enjoy your holiday Alice! And for God's sakes if you wanna go somewhere just go, just go and be happy. Screw the consequences; they don't matter as much in the long run anyhow. And don't for an instant worry about work; I'll cover, I'll work like I've never worked before, and I welcome it. Somewhere along the line, work became an escape for me, and in the absence of healthy distractions - movies, dinners, pig-outs etc, - work is the next best thing.
I'm not sure what to make of it yet. I think I'll become excited about it all, soon. At the moment, I just feel tired. Tomorrow evening, I'm going to feel even more tired after attending two parties in tandem, and then on Saturday I'll be on call. Wham, wham, bam. And somewhere in there Alice will be flying off home... bah, rats abandoning a sinking ship eh. Rant, rant, flail... I hope you enjoy your holiday Alice! And for God's sakes if you wanna go somewhere just go, just go and be happy. Screw the consequences; they don't matter as much in the long run anyhow. And don't for an instant worry about work; I'll cover, I'll work like I've never worked before, and I welcome it. Somewhere along the line, work became an escape for me, and in the absence of healthy distractions - movies, dinners, pig-outs etc, - work is the next best thing.
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
These pages, I write for myself.
I had a public web page once. This blog is nothing like that.
One day, far in the future, I will revisit them and laugh at myself.
Hello, me! Do you remember, all this? All of this, from once upon a time? Was it good? I hope so.
I had a public web page once. This blog is nothing like that.
One day, far in the future, I will revisit them and laugh at myself.
Hello, me! Do you remember, all this? All of this, from once upon a time? Was it good? I hope so.
Monday, June 16, 2003
I've just had one of the nearest to perfect days I've ever had. Woke up late, bummed around, did laundry (the usual humdrum Sunday activities) then decided to go for a dance class, on my own. Went for said dance class at Marylebone (brilliant!), and decided it was too sunny a day to waste on household chores, and tubed it to Regent's Park for an organic hot-dog (ginger, spring onion), a coke in a glass bottle, and a general bake in the sun, whilst reading a bit of Harry Potter (the philosopher's stone was a far better book than movie, i've just discovered. And I LIKED the movie!) A couple of hours later and several litres of fluid, I went to church, drowsed, woke up, and went home. Had a long soak in the tub, hand and eyes firmly fixed on Harry Potter (err that sounded decidedly dodgy) for a while, then nuked dinner and decided to write about all of it. I've had a brilliant day. And amazingly, I've done it, all by myself. I didn't need to be alone; I'm just trying to convey that I haven't had such good fun, on my own, in ages. I felt at peace all day. I feel at peace a lot of the time, especially around certain people who seem conducive to it (eg a certain jive-mad friend of mine) but I haven't felt at peace, alone, for years. My thoughts generally gravitate towards my melancholic past, and loop in endless circles of what-ifs and where is she's. Today was different. The what-ifs and where are you's are still there. But they don't seem to matter so much? Perhaps it was the relentless sunshine. Perhaps I'll have a tan tomorrow! :) And perhaps I should go and rescue my laundry, and do some ironing, right this instant.
The only thing that didn't happen this weekend which was on the agenda, was going to the gym. And perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing :)
The only thing that didn't happen this weekend which was on the agenda, was going to the gym. And perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing :)
Sunday, June 15, 2003
I watched the rather unusual "dolls" tonight and was struck by several things.
It isn't a movie you'd watch for anything resembling a conceivable plot. Or, if it did have a plot, it was just far too intelligent for me. But the cinematography was breathtaking; scenes upon scenes of unsurpassed beauty, mingled with unsurpassed sadness... and whilst I couldn't really understand it, I could appreciate it. It seemed, almost, to me what life should be, and is about. Beauty, and sadness. No real, cohesive, logical storyline; just moments thrown your way, to be savoured. Which astrounded me a little, because I loved the movie. And usually I hate movies without a central, sensible storyline, clearly bridging two distinct points.
I thought at one point that the female lead reminded me a little of Alice, a sad, almost lonely figure standing quietly looking... almost bewildered? But living in her own little slightly-sad world, occasionally smiling joyously at obscure moments and being transformed from prettily melancholic to gloriously alive, for an instant. Soldiering on as her legs were clearly giving out, through sheer ? strength? of character. Or was she just not very with it? But then I saw that, no, the Alice I know, whilst much like the above, is also extremely plugged into the real world and very much independent... extremely with-it. Strong, as well, but in a different way. And then I realised with some horror, that perhaps that sad, lost figure trudging after her "leader" was myself. I suppose the idea began to dawn on me last night, as, whilst laughing over too-much dinner with Alice I realised that we appreciate sadness the same way. And suddenly we had something fundamental in common. Watching the show tonight, I realised that... perhaps that is how the rest of the world perceives me - the way I almost perceive Alice. Quiet, introspective, filled with private thoughts, and following meekly and tirelessly behind. I remember a time when I used to take solitary, random walks by myself; to choose my own direction, and walk it. Somewhere along the line of trying to share these walks with someone I've turned follower instead of leader; and there's nothing wrong with following, except that once in a while one has to lead to remain complete.
So, perhaps life is a montage of beautiful, and often sad scenes that merge to fill a canvas spanning seventysomething years; moments not to be understood and rationalised, but simply savoured. Moments interspersed with exhillarating moments, to be equall savoured.
Or perhaps, as She once put it, I think too much.
It isn't a movie you'd watch for anything resembling a conceivable plot. Or, if it did have a plot, it was just far too intelligent for me. But the cinematography was breathtaking; scenes upon scenes of unsurpassed beauty, mingled with unsurpassed sadness... and whilst I couldn't really understand it, I could appreciate it. It seemed, almost, to me what life should be, and is about. Beauty, and sadness. No real, cohesive, logical storyline; just moments thrown your way, to be savoured. Which astrounded me a little, because I loved the movie. And usually I hate movies without a central, sensible storyline, clearly bridging two distinct points.
I thought at one point that the female lead reminded me a little of Alice, a sad, almost lonely figure standing quietly looking... almost bewildered? But living in her own little slightly-sad world, occasionally smiling joyously at obscure moments and being transformed from prettily melancholic to gloriously alive, for an instant. Soldiering on as her legs were clearly giving out, through sheer ? strength? of character. Or was she just not very with it? But then I saw that, no, the Alice I know, whilst much like the above, is also extremely plugged into the real world and very much independent... extremely with-it. Strong, as well, but in a different way. And then I realised with some horror, that perhaps that sad, lost figure trudging after her "leader" was myself. I suppose the idea began to dawn on me last night, as, whilst laughing over too-much dinner with Alice I realised that we appreciate sadness the same way. And suddenly we had something fundamental in common. Watching the show tonight, I realised that... perhaps that is how the rest of the world perceives me - the way I almost perceive Alice. Quiet, introspective, filled with private thoughts, and following meekly and tirelessly behind. I remember a time when I used to take solitary, random walks by myself; to choose my own direction, and walk it. Somewhere along the line of trying to share these walks with someone I've turned follower instead of leader; and there's nothing wrong with following, except that once in a while one has to lead to remain complete.
So, perhaps life is a montage of beautiful, and often sad scenes that merge to fill a canvas spanning seventysomething years; moments not to be understood and rationalised, but simply savoured. Moments interspersed with exhillarating moments, to be equall savoured.
Or perhaps, as She once put it, I think too much.
Friday, June 13, 2003
Fatigue.
Should be the order of the day, I've only had three hours of sleep last night, and it was hard enough to fall asleep. But I feel bright eyed and bushy tailed. Which is a bit of a bummer when you realise you don't have to go into work early today.
Another multitude of thoughts this morning. The first being, that I was lucky to have met Her. How many people would've? I wish I still knew her, but once in a lifetime, is still once in a lifetime up on none in a life time. Also, obvious as this sounds, we can do whatever we want to do. We may not be able to do certain things well, if we choose poorly, but there isnt really a mould for individuals. For instance, I could dye my hair green, wear lederhosen, drink and swear copiously and copulate furiously with random studded females. But I would find that incredibly distasteful, and therefore I don't. I can, however, slash wildly at people with blunted instruments, dance furiously, and drink moderately, because I enjoy it. (YOU were wrong, once upon a time, to label me a show-off alcoholic; unlike You, it doesn't put me to sleep except in large excess, in fact it does so little to me it's economically unviable to invest in a non-benefit activity such as alcohol excess. I do drink occasionally, since I've discovered certain alcoholic drinks actually taste quite interesting. Drinks consumed this lifetime? several hundred. Occasions drunk and fell over? none. Occasions thrown up? none.) And so I shall.
I miss the old days, when love wandered your way and shot you in the back whilst teasing you with her eyes. I miss the old days when it seemed like the world was mercenary, and loveless, and warped - outside of your little existence, before the dirt started seeping in through the shell we wear as personal space. Life never seemed uncomplicated to me; since childhood I acknowledged that the world was fu*ked up, nations waged wars for land, people died senselessly, and there was no such thing as romantic love aka Shakespear, love at first sight? God Forbid.
I miss the old days, when I was proved wrong on at least one count.
From here on out, kiddo, it's going to be a boringly predictable ride. Even dating will be boring, that measured smile to catch that measured response, that well-timed laugh, that almost spontaneous response : is she actually, my word, laughing with me? Or is she laughing at me? Or is she just making laughing noises so that we'll get along better? even friendship will be about individual gain, about slow and careful victories.
Thank God, at least, I still have a friend near me, who isn't measuring her responses, for whom laughter still seems to come spontaneously, who induces spontaneous laughter from her listeners.
Footnote, I never really stopped missing You, but I guess that's okay. I'll just lindsey hop and charlton step it into the back of my mind, and hope furtively that one day we'll meet again.
Should be the order of the day, I've only had three hours of sleep last night, and it was hard enough to fall asleep. But I feel bright eyed and bushy tailed. Which is a bit of a bummer when you realise you don't have to go into work early today.
Another multitude of thoughts this morning. The first being, that I was lucky to have met Her. How many people would've? I wish I still knew her, but once in a lifetime, is still once in a lifetime up on none in a life time. Also, obvious as this sounds, we can do whatever we want to do. We may not be able to do certain things well, if we choose poorly, but there isnt really a mould for individuals. For instance, I could dye my hair green, wear lederhosen, drink and swear copiously and copulate furiously with random studded females. But I would find that incredibly distasteful, and therefore I don't. I can, however, slash wildly at people with blunted instruments, dance furiously, and drink moderately, because I enjoy it. (YOU were wrong, once upon a time, to label me a show-off alcoholic; unlike You, it doesn't put me to sleep except in large excess, in fact it does so little to me it's economically unviable to invest in a non-benefit activity such as alcohol excess. I do drink occasionally, since I've discovered certain alcoholic drinks actually taste quite interesting. Drinks consumed this lifetime? several hundred. Occasions drunk and fell over? none. Occasions thrown up? none.) And so I shall.
I miss the old days, when love wandered your way and shot you in the back whilst teasing you with her eyes. I miss the old days when it seemed like the world was mercenary, and loveless, and warped - outside of your little existence, before the dirt started seeping in through the shell we wear as personal space. Life never seemed uncomplicated to me; since childhood I acknowledged that the world was fu*ked up, nations waged wars for land, people died senselessly, and there was no such thing as romantic love aka Shakespear, love at first sight? God Forbid.
I miss the old days, when I was proved wrong on at least one count.
From here on out, kiddo, it's going to be a boringly predictable ride. Even dating will be boring, that measured smile to catch that measured response, that well-timed laugh, that almost spontaneous response : is she actually, my word, laughing with me? Or is she laughing at me? Or is she just making laughing noises so that we'll get along better? even friendship will be about individual gain, about slow and careful victories.
Thank God, at least, I still have a friend near me, who isn't measuring her responses, for whom laughter still seems to come spontaneously, who induces spontaneous laughter from her listeners.
Footnote, I never really stopped missing You, but I guess that's okay. I'll just lindsey hop and charlton step it into the back of my mind, and hope furtively that one day we'll meet again.
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Infected.
I think I've caught a bug. Entirely Alice's fault.
Right now, surreally enough, I'm listening to the strains of rather maniacally cheery big band. And even more strangely, I like it. Not simply for the music, but the potential... that mundane thing you read about, and think, yeah right. That foot tapping rhythm that makes you want to get up and d a n c e. Which I would if I could :) One step at a time. Ah-choo, I've caught the jitterbug.
Saw this on someone else's site, and decided to answer the questions. Believe me, this is hard to do when you're not in the mood! lol
1. How many times have you truly been in love?
Once.
2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
She made me laugh, and smile. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Her wit, charm, and above all, love for life.
3. What qualities should a significant other have?
Can't put a finger on it. Something that would make you want to spend your entire life near or around her, for the mutual good. Something worth giving a damn about, something worth protecting. Someone you would do anything for, if she asked, even somethin detrimental to yourself, whilst knowing implicitly that she wouldn't ask.
4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
Quite possibly, but I'm sure they got over it.
5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love, what would it be?
I used to think it was "if you really love someone, you'd let her go". Now, maybe it's more like "don't ever, ever let her go, never ever. Unless she really, really needs it."
Love? Who knows what it is. Some stupid four lettered word nobody can define properly. The great unifyer between all the individual concepts of love being an overwhelming idealism. And, dammit, against all logic and common sense, I believe.
I think I've caught a bug. Entirely Alice's fault.
Right now, surreally enough, I'm listening to the strains of rather maniacally cheery big band. And even more strangely, I like it. Not simply for the music, but the potential... that mundane thing you read about, and think, yeah right. That foot tapping rhythm that makes you want to get up and d a n c e. Which I would if I could :) One step at a time. Ah-choo, I've caught the jitterbug.
Saw this on someone else's site, and decided to answer the questions. Believe me, this is hard to do when you're not in the mood! lol
1. How many times have you truly been in love?
Once.
2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
She made me laugh, and smile. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Her wit, charm, and above all, love for life.
3. What qualities should a significant other have?
Can't put a finger on it. Something that would make you want to spend your entire life near or around her, for the mutual good. Something worth giving a damn about, something worth protecting. Someone you would do anything for, if she asked, even somethin detrimental to yourself, whilst knowing implicitly that she wouldn't ask.
4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
Quite possibly, but I'm sure they got over it.
5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love, what would it be?
I used to think it was "if you really love someone, you'd let her go". Now, maybe it's more like "don't ever, ever let her go, never ever. Unless she really, really needs it."
Love? Who knows what it is. Some stupid four lettered word nobody can define properly. The great unifyer between all the individual concepts of love being an overwhelming idealism. And, dammit, against all logic and common sense, I believe.
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Random thoughts of the week.
Birthdays are special days, the one day of the year someone should be made to feel happy - not that they shouldn't be happy other days of the year. Much more so a now, strangely, -who would have thought it?- close friend of mine; who is in her own way extremely special. Gifts, the magic is in the giving, not the gift itself; the significances make for happy moments. For giver and receiver. So no effort was spared and it was enjoyable, fun, even. And no thanks were necessary. So why is it, when it comes around to my own birthday I feel that I don't need to be happy? Or rather, I don't need gifts to be happy, just a nice quiet drink or meal with someone; that is the true magic of a birthday. Something you can do everyday, except you really get to do it.
Self-centredness. Unappealing in other people, yet almost inevitable in oneself. One almost always thinks from within, with oneself the frame of reference. After thinking about someone else, I often loop back around to compare them with myself, and then realise i'm doing it and kick myself. look, i'm doing it again! I guess I have to give in to it - my world does revolve around me!
Laughter. Rare for me. I can make other people laugh, easily enough. And I can laugh along with them. I can pretend to make choking laugh-noises when the demand arises, having practised the art of almost-hypocrisy to a T during my last relationship. I can hear a joke and laugh politely, like everyone else. But true, side-splitting, heartfelt laughter often eludes me. Sitting down to dinner on said friend's quiet birthday dinner, above, and I was laughing politely as usual when she did something that somehow struck to the core, and suddenly, suprisingly, I was laughing for real. From my soul, clutching my sides. It's been so very long since that happened. Just for an instant, light and laughter.
Friendships, why to value them. Perhaps they give you moments to chill, introns of calm between the madness of the extrons of your life. Moments of rest from the intense thought-highways that permeate work and "play". Perhaps they give you a chance at true laughter once in a while. Perhaps companionship as well. To give you a chance to go out and do stuff you wouldn't on your own. But most importantly, methinks, to give you a chance to laugh, or at least shrug helplessly. and bitch, of course.
Forgetting the painful parts of my life. Self preservation demands it. Logic decrees it, that there is no way back to the past. So why still do I dwell? Why revisit a wooded-square, where a certain letter was written. Why walk down a river, where a certain person was cherished. Why preserve emails, why do websearches; why find yearbook entries through said searches, and read them? Why reminisce. And why feel immeasurably sad, when there is so much happiness to be had, in the present? Why, one moment, be able to feel like part of your soul has been irrevocably lost, fallen to some unknown depth, and the next, be laughing in unadulterated joy at a pseudo-angel?
How does one reconcile all these contradictions? I suppose, at the end of it all, I'm not supposed to.
Perhaps I'm supposed to wish for non-reconciliation, but hope for it anyway. In vain, perhaps, perhaps.
So, to stop myself sinking, I live in the present. I remember how often I used to laugh, almost every minute; but it doesn't matter now. Now, I laugh at Sister-act Alice, and cherish and protect our friendship.
And studiously avoid questioning my future.
Always forgive, never forget, and one day, perhaps, God willing, re-live.
Birthdays are special days, the one day of the year someone should be made to feel happy - not that they shouldn't be happy other days of the year. Much more so a now, strangely, -who would have thought it?- close friend of mine; who is in her own way extremely special. Gifts, the magic is in the giving, not the gift itself; the significances make for happy moments. For giver and receiver. So no effort was spared and it was enjoyable, fun, even. And no thanks were necessary. So why is it, when it comes around to my own birthday I feel that I don't need to be happy? Or rather, I don't need gifts to be happy, just a nice quiet drink or meal with someone; that is the true magic of a birthday. Something you can do everyday, except you really get to do it.
Self-centredness. Unappealing in other people, yet almost inevitable in oneself. One almost always thinks from within, with oneself the frame of reference. After thinking about someone else, I often loop back around to compare them with myself, and then realise i'm doing it and kick myself. look, i'm doing it again! I guess I have to give in to it - my world does revolve around me!
Laughter. Rare for me. I can make other people laugh, easily enough. And I can laugh along with them. I can pretend to make choking laugh-noises when the demand arises, having practised the art of almost-hypocrisy to a T during my last relationship. I can hear a joke and laugh politely, like everyone else. But true, side-splitting, heartfelt laughter often eludes me. Sitting down to dinner on said friend's quiet birthday dinner, above, and I was laughing politely as usual when she did something that somehow struck to the core, and suddenly, suprisingly, I was laughing for real. From my soul, clutching my sides. It's been so very long since that happened. Just for an instant, light and laughter.
Friendships, why to value them. Perhaps they give you moments to chill, introns of calm between the madness of the extrons of your life. Moments of rest from the intense thought-highways that permeate work and "play". Perhaps they give you a chance at true laughter once in a while. Perhaps companionship as well. To give you a chance to go out and do stuff you wouldn't on your own. But most importantly, methinks, to give you a chance to laugh, or at least shrug helplessly. and bitch, of course.
Forgetting the painful parts of my life. Self preservation demands it. Logic decrees it, that there is no way back to the past. So why still do I dwell? Why revisit a wooded-square, where a certain letter was written. Why walk down a river, where a certain person was cherished. Why preserve emails, why do websearches; why find yearbook entries through said searches, and read them? Why reminisce. And why feel immeasurably sad, when there is so much happiness to be had, in the present? Why, one moment, be able to feel like part of your soul has been irrevocably lost, fallen to some unknown depth, and the next, be laughing in unadulterated joy at a pseudo-angel?
How does one reconcile all these contradictions? I suppose, at the end of it all, I'm not supposed to.
Perhaps I'm supposed to wish for non-reconciliation, but hope for it anyway. In vain, perhaps, perhaps.
So, to stop myself sinking, I live in the present. I remember how often I used to laugh, almost every minute; but it doesn't matter now. Now, I laugh at Sister-act Alice, and cherish and protect our friendship.
And studiously avoid questioning my future.
Always forgive, never forget, and one day, perhaps, God willing, re-live.
Friday, June 06, 2003
All the things I didn't write about.
About emptiness. About loneliness, and realising how lonely i've been. For how long. And since when. Not months, but years.
About losing direction, but being absorbed softly into confusion; about having a vague direction and drifting towards it. But losing purpose. About fatigue, sheer body sapping lethargy, about plunging into nothingness. About tension, treading a thin line between ecstatic apathy and irritable sullen-ness. About drifting, drifting, drifting; doing things that seem to mean nothing, for nothing, with no real result. About mundanity. And ennui.
About how I'd forgotten how tiring it could be to listen to people drone on about themselves, for themselves; even be they interesting, flamboyant characters with interests in the exotic, and even the taboo. And having to pretend to be interested, and feeling slightly on edge, especially when they try to tell you why they chase straight guys, and convert them. I almost laughed, then :)
But I didn't write about any of these things. Because they didn't seem worth writing about.
I'd far rather write about a new shirt with a silly slogan, about a beautifully written book series I've read, that's intensely athieist but such a compelling read. About friends gained, friends lost, and friends kept. I'd far rather remember the friends lost in my heart, and cherish the friends kept. I'd rather write about mead, which I've just tasted (ambrosia?), jive, which I've just discovered. And compassion, which I've started feeling again. About life, which is still very much out there.
And I would, except that I must sleep now. Even though I don't want to.
Sensibility prevails. Consciousness, wanes.
About emptiness. About loneliness, and realising how lonely i've been. For how long. And since when. Not months, but years.
About losing direction, but being absorbed softly into confusion; about having a vague direction and drifting towards it. But losing purpose. About fatigue, sheer body sapping lethargy, about plunging into nothingness. About tension, treading a thin line between ecstatic apathy and irritable sullen-ness. About drifting, drifting, drifting; doing things that seem to mean nothing, for nothing, with no real result. About mundanity. And ennui.
About how I'd forgotten how tiring it could be to listen to people drone on about themselves, for themselves; even be they interesting, flamboyant characters with interests in the exotic, and even the taboo. And having to pretend to be interested, and feeling slightly on edge, especially when they try to tell you why they chase straight guys, and convert them. I almost laughed, then :)
But I didn't write about any of these things. Because they didn't seem worth writing about.
I'd far rather write about a new shirt with a silly slogan, about a beautifully written book series I've read, that's intensely athieist but such a compelling read. About friends gained, friends lost, and friends kept. I'd far rather remember the friends lost in my heart, and cherish the friends kept. I'd rather write about mead, which I've just tasted (ambrosia?), jive, which I've just discovered. And compassion, which I've started feeling again. About life, which is still very much out there.
And I would, except that I must sleep now. Even though I don't want to.
Sensibility prevails. Consciousness, wanes.
