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piscine pondering

December 8, 2012

I haven’t yet started my new blog because another wrinkle has developed. I came up with what I thought was a really good tagline—poetic, ambiguous, (hopefully) intriguing. But now my conception of what I would write about is changing, again, so the tagline doesn’t fit anymore.

I mentioned to Spouse in passing my newish conception of what I would write about. Because it’s 2 (or possibly 3) main topics, he thinks I should have two new blogs. That feels wrong to me. I doubt I have the emotional energy to support three fully fledged writing endeavors. Especially given how sporadic my writing here is, when I still have only one blog.


I spent all day working on a self-directed writing assignment. The exercise left me in a melancholy mood that I can’t find my way out of. My throat is clogged with tears that I don’t want to shed. I cried earlier; it didn’t help.

I started out writing my way toward asking someone to do a specific thing for me as a gift. I clearly discerned a connection between events in my life and what I was asking for, but all my attempts to clarify what’s most relevant to someone who doesn’t want or need to hear my entire back story . . . got muddier by the minute. Eventually I realized, “oh shit, this is all about my own issues. Which the other person can’t help me with.”

An interesting aspect, though, is that this is at least the second time I’ve found myself writing to this person, ostensibly about somebody or something else, only to realize I’m really writing About Me. Except that I don’t have a good relationship with this person. I wouldn’t begin to know how to improve our relationship, or if it’s even possible to do so. I have a love-hate relationship with the very idea of this person. Most of the time, I don’t like them. Being around them is stressful at best; teeth grindingly awful at worst. We don’t agree on almost anything.

Preparing for this exercise, though, I realized that I actually have personal memories of time spent with this person that I enjoyed. Despite everything.

There’s another person that would’ve read what I wrote. That person is the one I liked, out of the two of them, from the very beginning. I sought the second person out. I defended them when it seemed necessary. I felt our lives’ trajectories were similar enough that there should be genuine affinity between us. I thought of this person fondly for many years.

But this second person decidedly does not like me. They feel no affinity or interest. They avoid me as much as they can. When we’re thrown together anyway, they’re jumpy and on edge, almost like they’re afraid of me, although that makes no sense to me. So in all honesty, I don’t think I even have a relationship with this person. I have zero personal memories with them that are pleasant. It seems like there should be some, but there aren’t.

Odd how you can spend time with someone for 20 years and yet not have a relationship with them. But then, I spent 30 years with one of my siblings, yet zie remains a complete cipher to me. I don’t even know where zie lives.


I deleted the letter I was writing when I realized that what I was writing about, the way I was talking about it, made me feel like I’d gashed open my own abdomen and was pulling my own guts out to show the people who would read it. I think I do that because I’m hoping that this time someone will care about what I’m saying. I reinjure myself to gain sympathy that doesn’t come. If I’m lucky, my readers are just confused by my tactics. If I’m unlucky, they rush in for the kill.

If I hadn’t been raised by the human equivalent of sharks, my whole life would’ve been totally different.


I attended a professional conference on one of my areas of interest earlier this week. It was exhilarating, as always, to hear a great many people talk about a great many projects they’re working on. I spoke with 4 people: 1 conversation went really well; the other 3 were so-so. Mostly because when people ask why I’m there, nothing I can say fits the categories they expect. If I felt like I had a place in the world, it wouldn’t bother me as much how fast (some) people want to get away from me. But since I’m drifting, unsure of everything, it hurt.

I’m pretty sure one guy thought I was flirting with him, even though both of us mentioned spouses. I was not, in fact, flirting with him. But I could actually feel myself in a “one-down” position during our conversation, when normally I’m oblivious to things like that. That was not a confidence booster.

Everywhere I go, I’m a fish out of water. Where can I swim as a fish in water?

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