touch me and then turn away
It's funny how quickly you can get used to something. About two months ago, I was still slightly confused about the whole hash tag thing on Twitter and when exactly to use it and when not. This morning I was replying to a tweet and only after I hit the Tweet button did I realise I had totally hashtagged without even thinking about it. An absolutely natural impulse that went from thought to screen without any awareness of the intervening whyhownow process.
Yesterday was absolutely marvellous and I still have no idea why. I was in such a good mood all day and people kept responding to it which made me even happier. I forgot how much fun it is to work in an office and have conversations with people that have absolutely nothing to do with work.
Did I mention Frosty Bitch thawed out weeks and weeks ago? And now we have this hilarious dynamic where she makes fun of me and mock-insults me just so I can react with mock outrage and indignation. Yesterday she showed me the difference between light and thick marks in shorthand which pretty much terrified me. And she was wearing this great scent that finally made me go "Jasmine. That's jasmine you're wearing." Turns out it was Giorgio and ha, I'm very impressed that I identified the jasmine totally correct.
When she remembered it was Giorgio and I said how I liked it, she thrust her neck towards my face and turned her head so I could smell just behind her ear. And startled as I was by the sudden proximity, I realised silently just how comfortable she now was with me that she could do that without the slightest embarrassment.
People, huh? Funny organisms.
I wish this particular one right here wouldn't keep losing the music remote in the quilts. *hunts and flails* Ah. Good o.
Mm, yes. It's been amusing me lately that I read in this interview (or multiple) this thing Patrick keeps saying about how he needed to get the music out there fast because people go through music very quickly and he's like that too. My mouth keeps twisting wry when I read that because yeah, how young he is and also, look at this. Fifth day straight of listening only to his music.
At least now I've gotten to the point where I'm actually looking --- squinting, rather --- at the lyrics and inadvertantly finding myself singing along and then catching myself and going "Seriously? You're seriously going to try and sing like that?" *snort* It's melody. You know when you get to that point where you've internalised the music so much that you'll be doing something else, hands and brain occupied, and a second after the fact you realise you've just sung that line along with him because the melody rose in your throat.
Poor Lindsey and Annie Clark. I'll get to you guys, I promise. Get back, rather. Soon, I promise. I can feel the need for other sounds approaching. Now if only I could find that damned Gary Numan album. Has it been delayed or is it just not available to me cos I live in Narnia?
Like seriously it pissed me right off the other day that the one Active Child song I don't have I can't even get legally. It's the bonus track that comes with the album purchase through Vagrant. I was like "All right, fine, I'll buy the whole album again. Only eight dollars, anyway." And then fucking fucking fucking iTunes says snippily to me: "Sorry, this album is only available in the US store. Change to the US store?" And I'm like: "Aarrgh, all right, fine" and I think to myself I'll just create a new profile to use in the US store. But noooooo, then it has the hideous cheek to track my goddamned location and snippily re-route me back to the Australian store. OOH!
Well done, music industry. Force me to use nefarious means, why don't you? Now if only I can find a decent YouTube to mp3 conversion site that doesn't throttle the speed down to nothing and doesn't cut off the beginning and/or end. Grr.
It's quite a cute track, actually. Extremely heavy on the Eighties vibe which turns me off a bit. Still it managed to stick in my head.
And at South by South West.
I always wonder if I'd enjoy South by South West, if I ever could go. *sighs* What would it be like? Awesome? Exhausting? Rewarding? Immensely frustrating? Oh, if only. I wonder if Nick Hornby's the kind of writer who gets to go or it really truly only is music people and music press. *longs*
What'm I talking about? I don't even do festivals any more. Pfah.
Oh, that's Stratton. He always looks amazingly familiar, I have no idea why.
I kinda want to read the new Meredith Duran. Cos I got it weeks ago and it's been sitting on the TBR stack, waiting so patiently for me. And bloody Lucy Snowe has totally turned me off going back to Villette, goddamned classist racist that she is. But I feel guilty and a little afraid that if I leave off to read something else, I may never go back.
I'm too happy at the moment to drag myself down with Lucy.
Last night I watched all three Toy Story movies back to back. Which, god, had me so terrified during the first one in the Sid's house bit, and then crying in the second one with Jessie's story, and then utterly tearing apart with the terrible rightness of the third one. God, I fucking love those movies so much. They're so good and so dark.
I did want to go to the Botanic Gardens today, just for the sheer joy of being out in the fresh air, surrounded by greenery, just to see how the colours have changed there with summer. Cos yesterday I finally got to have my lunch break in Hyde Park and oh it was soooo lovely. That amazing feeling when you step off the tarred path and onto the grass, when you're walking under the tree canopy and you take in that first deep breath and oh man, the oxygen. The pure healing intensity of clean natural air.
It was wonderfully steamy and hot yesterday, too. Which was lovely enough and then when I found a spot away from the traffic, with a minimum of people around, I sat on the ground and it was that certain cool slightly damp hardness. All the coolness came around me, that earthy relief of just being in contact with the natural ground, with the branches curving over my head and all that open air touching my face and bare hands.
Heh. I took a pic of the long walk with its distant view of the Archibald Fountain because I fucking adore that line and design and ultimate reward, the skilful trick of visual that totally hides the main traffic road bisecting the two halves of Hyde Park. And when I posted it on Bookface, one of my extended cousins said: "Fine! I'll just go hug a tree then!" Which made me laugh so much because he didn't know how right he was. Because I had been that close to hugging a damned tree myself.
God, he made me realise how much of an inner westie I am sometimes. Banging on about equal love, going into raptures about greenery like I'm some sort of environmental nut which I am and aren't at the same time cos urgh with the trendy sanctimonious shite and still yes with the Romanticism appreciation.
Actually yesterday I was doing this transcript from my favourite jurisdiction and I stopped at one point to say to Not So Frosty Not So Bitch --- okay, I need a new name for her --- I stopped to say to her: "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if I should be kinda upset by all this talk of chopping down trees." Cos it was an environmental prosecution case and the witness evidence was giving me all these images of denuded gullies and clearings and stumps and bushes torn out and, well, damnit:
God, I fucking love that video. And it hurts too because it's so impossible. Unf. *shakes it off*
Yeah, so I said that to her and she sort of looked at me for a moment and then clicked right into her mocking routine which really was the only right reaction. "You get upset by every transcript you do. First you were, 'oh no, these poor people, it's so terrible what happened to them.' Then you were upset by 'oh no, this poor man.' And now you're 'oh no, the poor trees!'"
God, it makes me burst out laughing every time. Tooo fucking funny. And no, that's not entirely true and I pointed out to her that I hadn't been upset by the other transcript I was doing --- speeding moron --- or any of the transcripts I had done recently. It was completely inaccurate what she said and the incidents she cited were quite far apart.
But she was so hilariously right. "Oh no, the poor trees!" Hee hee hee.
Seriously though, I do like that I still have some sensitivity to the more horrendous stuff we get. If I let this job jade me to the extent where I'm cynical about suffering, what sort of fucking writer would I be? Prolly Charles Bukowski or someone, I don't know. *shudders* Not the sort of writer I want to be, that's the point.
Yeah, I've given up on Arsehole Guy Supervisor. We work well enough together, then we're perfectly in sync and really that's all that matters. I just ignore him on everything else because he is such a negative space, that man, he makes my skin crawl. He scoffs at everything, is judgemental about everything, the worst kind of Capricorn. So far he's criticised my choice of breakfast, criticised my choice of television, scoffed at my sensitivity --- and, you know, compared to most people, I'm a callous ruthless cold bitch writer --- called me lame because I nearly jumped out of my skin when he appeared suddenly at my elbow and I was totally in the transcribing zone.
The other day I was wearing my crocheted blue beret and yes, it's a floppy one rather than the stiff classic French one and I know I look bloody cute in it, no uncertainty there. So I'm walking away from his desk which is near where we get the new transcripts from and obviously he's watched me because as I'm halfway across the open plan office, he says "Is that a beret?!" I didn't stop, didn't even look back because anyway I was reading the order form. I simply said blithely enough: "Yep!"
"That's not a beret!"
I ignored him, tuned it out.
"That's like those Rastafarian things ---"
I was already at my desk by then, still not looking at him. Put the order form on my desk, reached to activate my screen, and said cheerfully "Yep, it is" even though he was still talking.
I figure that's my strategy from now on. If he addresses me on anything other than work, I'll just cheerfully smile and agree with him to disarm him and carry on just as is. He's so fucking toxic and I kinda sense there's a whole horrible well of insecurity and chronic paranoia there that he's constantly try to shield with all his abrasiveness. Urgh. Have a chocolate, man.
Anyway, he's on leave soon so that will be good. I never miss him when he's not in the office. I miss our boss and I miss the girl supervisor who just left and I even miss the slightly too conservative Avon lady who sits opposite me. But him? Never.
There's an inordinate number of Aquarians in our office, did I mention? Not counting me, there's at least three. The Ops Manager, the police supervisor and one of the police transcribers. At least.
Oh, Albino Leo Poet guy is leaving me well alone. Thank christ for that. Every time he hovers, I turn away and pretend not to notice. I have to admit to a bit of macabre fascination there cos I've totally been on the other end.
So when he hovers and he looks in my direction, when he half turns at his desk to glance over, I'm aware of it and I pretend not to notice. And I wonder with each passing week if he's understanding nothing is ever going to happen or if he's just biding his time as I have with other people, if he's still hoping. I mean, guy's in a relationship anyway, troubled as it is, so that right there is the sort of lack of integrity that puts me right off. Urgh. And every time he beams when I say the odd comment to him, I feel my coldness come over me, pulling away from him with a contempt that kind of shames me at the same time.
I mean, I know exactly what it's like, the constant trying to elicit a reaction, to find that one thing that will unlock this person's attention and heart so they focus entirely and only on you. I should have some sympathy but I don't. It just makes me uncomfortable, the whole anxious ingratiating thing. Although when I'm doing it, it's not so much ingratiating as anxious charming. "Like me, like me! I'm so likeable, like me!" *lol*
God, it's so good to be free of that. Even if it feels like a sort of sleeping death, a sort of anaesthesia. Better sleep than insanity. No middle ground then, dri? Huh. Not bloody likely. I'm always in awe of those people who can conduct themselves with dignity when gripped with infatuation. How do they do it? How do they stop themselves from moving closer and closer to the fire? How do they know when to pull back, when to turn away, when to stay quiet? I don't. I never do.
Which is why I have never posted on the HitRecord forums and god, I'm still so glad for that. The ass I would make of myself. And okay, yeah, that's the one and only incidence of me actually choosing dignity over infatuation. But then I was just terrified that he was that close and opening himself up like that.
Aquarians. Our power and our vulnerability is in our openness.
I went and looked at the reviews of Hornsby Guy's book on Amazon today. Because Redhead Dude had told me there were actually some negative reviews on there which startled me no end because I hadn't seen any when I looked way back when. So yeah, macabre curiosity led me back. And ohmyfuckinggod. Even I shrieked and clutched at my own face at what one lady said. Oh god, that was harsh, too harsh. And oh my god, what if someone says that about my writing?
Well, of course there are going to be people who hate my writing. Most times I hate my writing. And yeah, sometimes I try to write up my own worst review. What would they say? Overwrought description, careless sentence structure, unbelievable characters, neurotic people with no lives, this writer has no concept of the real mundane trials of life, TOO MUCH SEX! Good god, does this writer think about nothing else but sex?
Well, Awesome Spec Lady did say that people would think this novel was "the diary of a sexually frustrated woman exploring every perversion possible."
Yep, she said that. She wrote it, even, I could copy and paste cos yep, I kept that email. Like I wouldn't.
I mean, I came right back with pointing out that if people think this novel is only about sex, they've missed the whole point. It's not about sex. And really, if you can get past the death, it's not even about grief, even. It's about fear. Hence the title. Love and fear, just like in Donnie Darko. *lol*
But I know there will be people out there who think that about my writing. And really I'm faintly surprised at how I can shrug and not be upset by that. Maybe it's the Aquarian conviction thing. *grins at Rhi* But it's more the knowledge that I do try to make my novels about a lot more than sex. If anything, I never start at that point. I start at an entirely different point of emotion or plot or concept and then when exploring all the different ways and means of illustrating and developing, yeah, too often I realise the best way to realise the central plot/concept is through sex.
Maybe that makes me a stupid writer. Or maybe that's just where my energy flows the strongest. Cos I'm sexually frustrated? *lol* Dude, it's the electronic age. You don't need to find another human body and all the emotional baggage that comes with it in order to get your rocks off. There are sex toys and classy pornography available, you know. And if not, there's music and your own imagination. *coughs, ignores the castrati vocals from my iPod dock*
I wonder if what I see as my openness and willingness to self-expose as a writer will be flung back in my face at some point. Hm. Well, it has already, hasn't it? With Awesome Spec Lady. And I'm rather content with how I dealt with it. She said the worst possible things anyone could say about the novel, and I refuted every one with enough calmness and fury to make me feel like I made myself heard, to make me sure that she was wrong and I was right.
And yeah, three out of three people who have read the novel and to whom I relayed her feedback reacted with enough indignation and emphatic denial that I'm aware it really may not be me, it may be her. I don't want to dwell on that too much but it is there.
Apparently Tim Buckley would always take on the negative feedback rather than the positive. If someone said to him "I liked this and this and this and I didn't like that," he'd go, "Yeah, I know, that was pretty bad, wasn't it?" He'd zero in on the negative feedback and agree with the other person. I can understand that approch, have felt myself do it in the past. But lately? No. I mean, if they're right, they're right. And usually when someone criticises some facet of my writing, I've already thought that myself and am ready to fix it or ask how to fix it. Lately though, I'm confident enough in my own writing that if someone tells me something negative, I won't always agree immediately. I will actually think about it and then react accordingly. And usually I can point out something that feels true to me and not like I'm trying to make excuses. Usually I can square it with myself.
Occasionally though, people take me by surprise. Hasn't happened lately but I have to remind myself it can happen again and keep happening.
My god, negative reviews. What --- I can't even --- oh god. Some of the reviews I read on Dear Author have the whole schaudenfraude thing going on, some make me cringe on behalf of the writer, some have me absolutely appalled that the writer could let themselves be pulled down like that. My god, wouldn't you try to shield yourself in every possible way? After you've written something that has to, by necessity, expose your vulnerabilities? You have to shield yourself somehow, to make the art good and strong enough that it can stand on its own and not bring you down with it.
Maybe that's naive of me and I'll only know the truth of it if and when I get a negative review. That's the thing about LJ, isn't it? If someone doesn't like your fic, they don't say anything. So you never know. And you can quite happily mistake the silence for approval because all you do hear is approbation and congratulation and adulation. Only once has someone said slightly negative about one of my fic and that I shrugged happily off because what she disliked was what I liked about it, what I had deliberately given myself the freedom to indulge and so be it.
Aquarian arrogance. *nods*
I think I was so happy yesterday for two reasons. First, I started the day off with pure indulgence and serenity. Turned my radio off because the music wasn't interesting me, turned the iPod dock on and lay in bed, eyes closed, the sun coming in through the curtain, and let the music soar around me. Pure peace.
Then, when I got out of bed and contemplated the clothing situation, I somehow found myself this awesome Look. Normally I don't do the Look thing, it makes me vaguely uncomfortable, like I'm pretending, taking on the trappings and suits that don't necessarily suit my skin colour or height, you know? Been there, tried that, no thanks, I'd rather look drab than look fake.
But yesterday all these disparate elements came together that I had never thought to combine and wahey! Louche Eighties look! My black slightly hightop sneakers, skinny black jeans, loose drapey faint stone grey top with black sparkly applique on the front, black suit jacket left loose and open, my silver and black Indian bracelet on one wrist and, because I didn't want to leave the other wrist bare, one black and silver crocheted fingerless glove from Paris. In the hair was the silver and black jewelled band. If I tugged the neckline so it draped low enough --- no cleavage today, all nicely covered up thanks --- and stood right, squaring out my shoulders in the jacket, it was so exactly Right.
The girls at the office and then at the video store agreed. *lol*
*sigh* It's all gloomy and cold outside today. And apparently it'll be the same tomorrow. I was hoping if it warmed up tomorrow, I'd go then. Summer's here and I want to go outside, to feel more than just this closed in air, to see the sky and all the poor trees. And hopefully, this time I won't turn my head to brush my hair away from my ear and be assaulted by the sight of a guy and girl making out on the grass.
*gags* Oh, honestly. So much for my sexual liberation. My first thought was not "Oh, awesome. Eroticism in the natural world, yayness." No, it was: "Ewww, get a room!"
*falls over laughing* Virgoan much, yeah.
Can you tell I made this post entirely because I wanted to kill time and ramble on and not do any reading? Heh. No, rly?!
Damnit, lost the remote again! *flails and hunts* Oh, right. Good o. Fuck, this song. Is it ever going to stop being so fucking beautiful? I mean, I'm kind of sick of Playing House by now but this ... god, it aches and sates me every time.
Can't wait to inflict Patrick on the Aunt. She is going to HATE him! Mwahahahahahahaha! This coming weekend. *supremely evol chuckle of evol anticipation*
Ooh, I need to make a Kate Bush mix. Speaking of people I love that the Aunt hates. Heh.
Yesterday was absolutely marvellous and I still have no idea why. I was in such a good mood all day and people kept responding to it which made me even happier. I forgot how much fun it is to work in an office and have conversations with people that have absolutely nothing to do with work.
Did I mention Frosty Bitch thawed out weeks and weeks ago? And now we have this hilarious dynamic where she makes fun of me and mock-insults me just so I can react with mock outrage and indignation. Yesterday she showed me the difference between light and thick marks in shorthand which pretty much terrified me. And she was wearing this great scent that finally made me go "Jasmine. That's jasmine you're wearing." Turns out it was Giorgio and ha, I'm very impressed that I identified the jasmine totally correct.
When she remembered it was Giorgio and I said how I liked it, she thrust her neck towards my face and turned her head so I could smell just behind her ear. And startled as I was by the sudden proximity, I realised silently just how comfortable she now was with me that she could do that without the slightest embarrassment.
People, huh? Funny organisms.
I wish this particular one right here wouldn't keep losing the music remote in the quilts. *hunts and flails* Ah. Good o.
Mm, yes. It's been amusing me lately that I read in this interview (or multiple) this thing Patrick keeps saying about how he needed to get the music out there fast because people go through music very quickly and he's like that too. My mouth keeps twisting wry when I read that because yeah, how young he is and also, look at this. Fifth day straight of listening only to his music.
At least now I've gotten to the point where I'm actually looking --- squinting, rather --- at the lyrics and inadvertantly finding myself singing along and then catching myself and going "Seriously? You're seriously going to try and sing like that?" *snort* It's melody. You know when you get to that point where you've internalised the music so much that you'll be doing something else, hands and brain occupied, and a second after the fact you realise you've just sung that line along with him because the melody rose in your throat.
Poor Lindsey and Annie Clark. I'll get to you guys, I promise. Get back, rather. Soon, I promise. I can feel the need for other sounds approaching. Now if only I could find that damned Gary Numan album. Has it been delayed or is it just not available to me cos I live in Narnia?
Like seriously it pissed me right off the other day that the one Active Child song I don't have I can't even get legally. It's the bonus track that comes with the album purchase through Vagrant. I was like "All right, fine, I'll buy the whole album again. Only eight dollars, anyway." And then fucking fucking fucking iTunes says snippily to me: "Sorry, this album is only available in the US store. Change to the US store?" And I'm like: "Aarrgh, all right, fine" and I think to myself I'll just create a new profile to use in the US store. But noooooo, then it has the hideous cheek to track my goddamned location and snippily re-route me back to the Australian store. OOH!
Well done, music industry. Force me to use nefarious means, why don't you? Now if only I can find a decent YouTube to mp3 conversion site that doesn't throttle the speed down to nothing and doesn't cut off the beginning and/or end. Grr.
It's quite a cute track, actually. Extremely heavy on the Eighties vibe which turns me off a bit. Still it managed to stick in my head.
Click to viewAnd at South by South West.
I always wonder if I'd enjoy South by South West, if I ever could go. *sighs* What would it be like? Awesome? Exhausting? Rewarding? Immensely frustrating? Oh, if only. I wonder if Nick Hornby's the kind of writer who gets to go or it really truly only is music people and music press. *longs*
What'm I talking about? I don't even do festivals any more. Pfah.
Oh, that's Stratton. He always looks amazingly familiar, I have no idea why.
I kinda want to read the new Meredith Duran. Cos I got it weeks ago and it's been sitting on the TBR stack, waiting so patiently for me. And bloody Lucy Snowe has totally turned me off going back to Villette, goddamned classist racist that she is. But I feel guilty and a little afraid that if I leave off to read something else, I may never go back.
I'm too happy at the moment to drag myself down with Lucy.
Last night I watched all three Toy Story movies back to back. Which, god, had me so terrified during the first one in the Sid's house bit, and then crying in the second one with Jessie's story, and then utterly tearing apart with the terrible rightness of the third one. God, I fucking love those movies so much. They're so good and so dark.
I did want to go to the Botanic Gardens today, just for the sheer joy of being out in the fresh air, surrounded by greenery, just to see how the colours have changed there with summer. Cos yesterday I finally got to have my lunch break in Hyde Park and oh it was soooo lovely. That amazing feeling when you step off the tarred path and onto the grass, when you're walking under the tree canopy and you take in that first deep breath and oh man, the oxygen. The pure healing intensity of clean natural air.
It was wonderfully steamy and hot yesterday, too. Which was lovely enough and then when I found a spot away from the traffic, with a minimum of people around, I sat on the ground and it was that certain cool slightly damp hardness. All the coolness came around me, that earthy relief of just being in contact with the natural ground, with the branches curving over my head and all that open air touching my face and bare hands.
Heh. I took a pic of the long walk with its distant view of the Archibald Fountain because I fucking adore that line and design and ultimate reward, the skilful trick of visual that totally hides the main traffic road bisecting the two halves of Hyde Park. And when I posted it on Bookface, one of my extended cousins said: "Fine! I'll just go hug a tree then!" Which made me laugh so much because he didn't know how right he was. Because I had been that close to hugging a damned tree myself.
God, he made me realise how much of an inner westie I am sometimes. Banging on about equal love, going into raptures about greenery like I'm some sort of environmental nut which I am and aren't at the same time cos urgh with the trendy sanctimonious shite and still yes with the Romanticism appreciation.
Actually yesterday I was doing this transcript from my favourite jurisdiction and I stopped at one point to say to Not So Frosty Not So Bitch --- okay, I need a new name for her --- I stopped to say to her: "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if I should be kinda upset by all this talk of chopping down trees." Cos it was an environmental prosecution case and the witness evidence was giving me all these images of denuded gullies and clearings and stumps and bushes torn out and, well, damnit:
God, I fucking love that video. And it hurts too because it's so impossible. Unf. *shakes it off*
Yeah, so I said that to her and she sort of looked at me for a moment and then clicked right into her mocking routine which really was the only right reaction. "You get upset by every transcript you do. First you were, 'oh no, these poor people, it's so terrible what happened to them.' Then you were upset by 'oh no, this poor man.' And now you're 'oh no, the poor trees!'"
God, it makes me burst out laughing every time. Tooo fucking funny. And no, that's not entirely true and I pointed out to her that I hadn't been upset by the other transcript I was doing --- speeding moron --- or any of the transcripts I had done recently. It was completely inaccurate what she said and the incidents she cited were quite far apart.
But she was so hilariously right. "Oh no, the poor trees!" Hee hee hee.
Seriously though, I do like that I still have some sensitivity to the more horrendous stuff we get. If I let this job jade me to the extent where I'm cynical about suffering, what sort of fucking writer would I be? Prolly Charles Bukowski or someone, I don't know. *shudders* Not the sort of writer I want to be, that's the point.
Yeah, I've given up on Arsehole Guy Supervisor. We work well enough together, then we're perfectly in sync and really that's all that matters. I just ignore him on everything else because he is such a negative space, that man, he makes my skin crawl. He scoffs at everything, is judgemental about everything, the worst kind of Capricorn. So far he's criticised my choice of breakfast, criticised my choice of television, scoffed at my sensitivity --- and, you know, compared to most people, I'm a callous ruthless cold bitch writer --- called me lame because I nearly jumped out of my skin when he appeared suddenly at my elbow and I was totally in the transcribing zone.
The other day I was wearing my crocheted blue beret and yes, it's a floppy one rather than the stiff classic French one and I know I look bloody cute in it, no uncertainty there. So I'm walking away from his desk which is near where we get the new transcripts from and obviously he's watched me because as I'm halfway across the open plan office, he says "Is that a beret?!" I didn't stop, didn't even look back because anyway I was reading the order form. I simply said blithely enough: "Yep!"
"That's not a beret!"
I ignored him, tuned it out.
"That's like those Rastafarian things ---"
I was already at my desk by then, still not looking at him. Put the order form on my desk, reached to activate my screen, and said cheerfully "Yep, it is" even though he was still talking.
I figure that's my strategy from now on. If he addresses me on anything other than work, I'll just cheerfully smile and agree with him to disarm him and carry on just as is. He's so fucking toxic and I kinda sense there's a whole horrible well of insecurity and chronic paranoia there that he's constantly try to shield with all his abrasiveness. Urgh. Have a chocolate, man.
Anyway, he's on leave soon so that will be good. I never miss him when he's not in the office. I miss our boss and I miss the girl supervisor who just left and I even miss the slightly too conservative Avon lady who sits opposite me. But him? Never.
There's an inordinate number of Aquarians in our office, did I mention? Not counting me, there's at least three. The Ops Manager, the police supervisor and one of the police transcribers. At least.
Oh, Albino Leo Poet guy is leaving me well alone. Thank christ for that. Every time he hovers, I turn away and pretend not to notice. I have to admit to a bit of macabre fascination there cos I've totally been on the other end.
So when he hovers and he looks in my direction, when he half turns at his desk to glance over, I'm aware of it and I pretend not to notice. And I wonder with each passing week if he's understanding nothing is ever going to happen or if he's just biding his time as I have with other people, if he's still hoping. I mean, guy's in a relationship anyway, troubled as it is, so that right there is the sort of lack of integrity that puts me right off. Urgh. And every time he beams when I say the odd comment to him, I feel my coldness come over me, pulling away from him with a contempt that kind of shames me at the same time.
I mean, I know exactly what it's like, the constant trying to elicit a reaction, to find that one thing that will unlock this person's attention and heart so they focus entirely and only on you. I should have some sympathy but I don't. It just makes me uncomfortable, the whole anxious ingratiating thing. Although when I'm doing it, it's not so much ingratiating as anxious charming. "Like me, like me! I'm so likeable, like me!" *lol*
God, it's so good to be free of that. Even if it feels like a sort of sleeping death, a sort of anaesthesia. Better sleep than insanity. No middle ground then, dri? Huh. Not bloody likely. I'm always in awe of those people who can conduct themselves with dignity when gripped with infatuation. How do they do it? How do they stop themselves from moving closer and closer to the fire? How do they know when to pull back, when to turn away, when to stay quiet? I don't. I never do.
Which is why I have never posted on the HitRecord forums and god, I'm still so glad for that. The ass I would make of myself. And okay, yeah, that's the one and only incidence of me actually choosing dignity over infatuation. But then I was just terrified that he was that close and opening himself up like that.
Aquarians. Our power and our vulnerability is in our openness.
I went and looked at the reviews of Hornsby Guy's book on Amazon today. Because Redhead Dude had told me there were actually some negative reviews on there which startled me no end because I hadn't seen any when I looked way back when. So yeah, macabre curiosity led me back. And ohmyfuckinggod. Even I shrieked and clutched at my own face at what one lady said. Oh god, that was harsh, too harsh. And oh my god, what if someone says that about my writing?
Well, of course there are going to be people who hate my writing. Most times I hate my writing. And yeah, sometimes I try to write up my own worst review. What would they say? Overwrought description, careless sentence structure, unbelievable characters, neurotic people with no lives, this writer has no concept of the real mundane trials of life, TOO MUCH SEX! Good god, does this writer think about nothing else but sex?
Well, Awesome Spec Lady did say that people would think this novel was "the diary of a sexually frustrated woman exploring every perversion possible."
Yep, she said that. She wrote it, even, I could copy and paste cos yep, I kept that email. Like I wouldn't.
I mean, I came right back with pointing out that if people think this novel is only about sex, they've missed the whole point. It's not about sex. And really, if you can get past the death, it's not even about grief, even. It's about fear. Hence the title. Love and fear, just like in Donnie Darko. *lol*
But I know there will be people out there who think that about my writing. And really I'm faintly surprised at how I can shrug and not be upset by that. Maybe it's the Aquarian conviction thing. *grins at Rhi* But it's more the knowledge that I do try to make my novels about a lot more than sex. If anything, I never start at that point. I start at an entirely different point of emotion or plot or concept and then when exploring all the different ways and means of illustrating and developing, yeah, too often I realise the best way to realise the central plot/concept is through sex.
Maybe that makes me a stupid writer. Or maybe that's just where my energy flows the strongest. Cos I'm sexually frustrated? *lol* Dude, it's the electronic age. You don't need to find another human body and all the emotional baggage that comes with it in order to get your rocks off. There are sex toys and classy pornography available, you know. And if not, there's music and your own imagination. *coughs, ignores the castrati vocals from my iPod dock*
I wonder if what I see as my openness and willingness to self-expose as a writer will be flung back in my face at some point. Hm. Well, it has already, hasn't it? With Awesome Spec Lady. And I'm rather content with how I dealt with it. She said the worst possible things anyone could say about the novel, and I refuted every one with enough calmness and fury to make me feel like I made myself heard, to make me sure that she was wrong and I was right.
And yeah, three out of three people who have read the novel and to whom I relayed her feedback reacted with enough indignation and emphatic denial that I'm aware it really may not be me, it may be her. I don't want to dwell on that too much but it is there.
Apparently Tim Buckley would always take on the negative feedback rather than the positive. If someone said to him "I liked this and this and this and I didn't like that," he'd go, "Yeah, I know, that was pretty bad, wasn't it?" He'd zero in on the negative feedback and agree with the other person. I can understand that approch, have felt myself do it in the past. But lately? No. I mean, if they're right, they're right. And usually when someone criticises some facet of my writing, I've already thought that myself and am ready to fix it or ask how to fix it. Lately though, I'm confident enough in my own writing that if someone tells me something negative, I won't always agree immediately. I will actually think about it and then react accordingly. And usually I can point out something that feels true to me and not like I'm trying to make excuses. Usually I can square it with myself.
Occasionally though, people take me by surprise. Hasn't happened lately but I have to remind myself it can happen again and keep happening.
My god, negative reviews. What --- I can't even --- oh god. Some of the reviews I read on Dear Author have the whole schaudenfraude thing going on, some make me cringe on behalf of the writer, some have me absolutely appalled that the writer could let themselves be pulled down like that. My god, wouldn't you try to shield yourself in every possible way? After you've written something that has to, by necessity, expose your vulnerabilities? You have to shield yourself somehow, to make the art good and strong enough that it can stand on its own and not bring you down with it.
Maybe that's naive of me and I'll only know the truth of it if and when I get a negative review. That's the thing about LJ, isn't it? If someone doesn't like your fic, they don't say anything. So you never know. And you can quite happily mistake the silence for approval because all you do hear is approbation and congratulation and adulation. Only once has someone said slightly negative about one of my fic and that I shrugged happily off because what she disliked was what I liked about it, what I had deliberately given myself the freedom to indulge and so be it.
Aquarian arrogance. *nods*
I think I was so happy yesterday for two reasons. First, I started the day off with pure indulgence and serenity. Turned my radio off because the music wasn't interesting me, turned the iPod dock on and lay in bed, eyes closed, the sun coming in through the curtain, and let the music soar around me. Pure peace.
Then, when I got out of bed and contemplated the clothing situation, I somehow found myself this awesome Look. Normally I don't do the Look thing, it makes me vaguely uncomfortable, like I'm pretending, taking on the trappings and suits that don't necessarily suit my skin colour or height, you know? Been there, tried that, no thanks, I'd rather look drab than look fake.
But yesterday all these disparate elements came together that I had never thought to combine and wahey! Louche Eighties look! My black slightly hightop sneakers, skinny black jeans, loose drapey faint stone grey top with black sparkly applique on the front, black suit jacket left loose and open, my silver and black Indian bracelet on one wrist and, because I didn't want to leave the other wrist bare, one black and silver crocheted fingerless glove from Paris. In the hair was the silver and black jewelled band. If I tugged the neckline so it draped low enough --- no cleavage today, all nicely covered up thanks --- and stood right, squaring out my shoulders in the jacket, it was so exactly Right.
The girls at the office and then at the video store agreed. *lol*
*sigh* It's all gloomy and cold outside today. And apparently it'll be the same tomorrow. I was hoping if it warmed up tomorrow, I'd go then. Summer's here and I want to go outside, to feel more than just this closed in air, to see the sky and all the poor trees. And hopefully, this time I won't turn my head to brush my hair away from my ear and be assaulted by the sight of a guy and girl making out on the grass.
*gags* Oh, honestly. So much for my sexual liberation. My first thought was not "Oh, awesome. Eroticism in the natural world, yayness." No, it was: "Ewww, get a room!"
*falls over laughing* Virgoan much, yeah.
Can you tell I made this post entirely because I wanted to kill time and ramble on and not do any reading? Heh. No, rly?!
Damnit, lost the remote again! *flails and hunts* Oh, right. Good o. Fuck, this song. Is it ever going to stop being so fucking beautiful? I mean, I'm kind of sick of Playing House by now but this ... god, it aches and sates me every time.
Can't wait to inflict Patrick on the Aunt. She is going to HATE him! Mwahahahahahahaha! This coming weekend. *supremely evol chuckle of evol anticipation*
Ooh, I need to make a Kate Bush mix. Speaking of people I love that the Aunt hates. Heh.