Monday, March 31, 2008
Ξ April 11th, 2008 | → | ∇ General |
On the red line to work.
My weekend was exhausting, and I didn’t even do anything. That’s not quite true. I did a lot, just not any of the things that I had planned on doing. Well not many of the things I had planned on doing. Friday and Saturday were a little depressing for various reasons. Mostly just dealing with life that wasn’t precisely the way I wanted it to be. I cried about it a little on Sunday, but I know that I’m not completely done with grieving yet.
John came home on Saturday, it was good to see him. It’s silly, seeing as I see him pretty regularly, but I miss him when he’s not around. Sunday was kind of crazy. I spent quite a bit of it driving around for various reasons. I got paid this morning. That’s helpful. Now I can pay the rest of the rent and a few other bills that need to be taken care of.
It would be really nice if I were independently wealthy. Or if I made enough money that I never had to worry about bills, or rent, or making enough to feed us.
It’s gray and rainy today. Most days I would absolutely love this weather. Today it seems kind of dingy, almost depressing. That’s positively disturbing. It makes me feel odd to find this weather depressing. I wonder if this is the way most people react to this weather, or if it’s some odd twist of depression suited for me and my unusual tastes. Logic says that I’m not special, that I’m affected by the weather as anyone else is, that I view it through my own lens. Perhaps my lens is already clouded by sadness, and that’s why I feel so oddly blue about the weather today.
On the other hand, it’s very likely that I’d find sunshine depressing too. Maybe my lens isn’t clouded or changed. Maybe I’m just fucking depressed and the weather is unable to fix that for me. I feel like some emo kid, writing poetry and stories about how hard life is. Some of my friends know that I have a fascination with emo. It’s true, but I don’t think any of them know why. When I was a teenager, I was the original emo. For all I know, my bad poetry started the whole movement. I still have a lot of that in me. I don’t necessarily broadcast what I’m feeling to the world, but the tendency towards soft feelings isn’t something you grow out of. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve suppressed my emotions for so many years.
I fall in love hard and fast. And I have angst over it for months and years when it’s not requited. I’m still pining a little over a guy I met once over 4 years ago. No Joke. It’s incredibly easy to hurt my feelings, to make me uncertain, to undermine my confidence and strength. I analyze everything, and my instinct pushes that analysis towards the most painful interpretation possible. I’m not sure how I feel about that behavior. On the one hand, I don’t like being sad. I don’t want to spend my life miserable, unable to have meaningful relationships because I need reassurance and constant communication. On the other hand, I don’t think that the pattern is inherently a bad one. I think it may be over-implemented. Possibly even obsessive. But the pattern itself is one that is intrinsic to who I am. It has defined me over decades, and I’m not sure who I would be without it.
Would I be nearly as compassionate as I am if I didn’t have the capacity and nature to suffer the way I do? For me, spirituality is about suffering and compassion. They are inexorably joined, and I’m not sure I have any desire to escape them. I know that this is part of why kink is so important to me. Physical pain is a base reflection of suffering. It is a mechanism by which I can process suffering and release it. Physical restriction is the base reflection of incarnation, of a spiritual being becoming manifest in the physical form. That being is bound to this plane, to experience and express itself in a fashion defined by external forces. But as with art, being bound to a medium gives the artist the freedom to compose within those laws and rules. Being bound physically creates a container for the experience of the body, just as being incarnated creates a container for the experience of the world. Both the force of pain and the force of restriction create the possibility of transfiguring the physical experience into something higher, of squeezing it out of this place and back to the realm of spirit.
Good beginning for an essay or article there. I feel a little less depressed now. Must be all the thinking about kink.
