I moved into this room when I was sad. They say wherever you go there you are, but all I did was switch my office with my bedroom, and I was still me, but I was less sad
( Read more... )
Do you think you've changed very much? I'm wondering what makes people cease to have much to say to each other … suffering is one, maybe. If one person is going through a very hard time, that suffering can be hard for the one person to reach out of and the other to reach into, I think. Huge changes in situation, too, sometimes--a very different sort of job, or getting married/having kids, or (conversely) going through a divorce/breakup. But those things can be surmountable… I guess it depends on what the friendship grew out of and whether it's able to grow into new things.
I really like talking with you, or anyone, about books and things not as safe topics but because those conversations can be gateways to so much deep stuff, and they let us *start* on neutral ground (like saying, "I have a friend who's got this situation…")
Are you sad to be looking at Chicago from across a bright tidal divide?
Saruman of Many Colors rather than Gandalf the White.
Asakiyume promptly goes down a rabbit hole--no, into a huge unstable castle--of metaphoric significance and analysis and--NO STOP.
The thing about innocence is it's so BLANK. I remember when we were kids and we loved the yard when new snow had fallen on it and it had no footprints on it. Don't step on it! Don't ruin it! … But there's absolutely no fun to be had, no snow angels or snow forts to make, or sledding, or anything, if you don't disturb that blankness.
… and the problem with that metaphor, or the other I was thinking of, of a piece of cloth before it gets embroidered on (which I like better because the cloth actually gets PRETTIER from the embroidery), is that they're all about the blankness being acted upon, whereas with us people, we act, ourselves. As if the yard or or the cloth got up and started doing things.
We might find each other far more fascinating. But maybe not likable.It's interesting to me how much my desire to be friends with people really has nothing
( ... )
It's a strange indicator, isn't it? Both of new friends becoming comfortable with you. Or you becoming a familiar habit to them... And also - a little - of being taken for granted - before you feel you earned it? Or deserved it, even. Or, ranking among older friends suddenly. Getting past the breathless acquaintance part. The desire for intimacy. But not quite having achieved what you consider intimacy for CERTAIN yet.
It's strange how it can be a compliment and yet it stings. They mean to say "it just makes sense that you're here," and it's nice to fit in so well, to be part of their local-normal, but also I feel like I'm hearing "all the stuff that's important to you about not always having been here...we're forgetting that."
You know, I think that's one of the reasons I like blogging, and feel an itch or an ache or a vacancy when I don't. It's because I have a tendency to think I'm the only one in the world who has picked up and moved, at a certain age, from a certain place to another place, and therefore am the only one who ever felt anything ever. SOLIPSISM and its dangers.
I'm glad I mean you too. I'm glad it's a shared experience. I'm glad we got to articulate it! Sometimes I don't know what I mean or what has happened until I write it down. And then what if I made it up? But there are things I can't invent. And this is one of them. Phew.
Comments 18
I really like talking with you, or anyone, about books and things not as safe topics but because those conversations can be gateways to so much deep stuff, and they let us *start* on neutral ground (like saying, "I have a friend who's got this situation…")
Are you sad to be looking at Chicago from across a bright tidal divide?
Reply
Reply
Asakiyume promptly goes down a rabbit hole--no, into a huge unstable castle--of metaphoric significance and analysis and--NO STOP.
The thing about innocence is it's so BLANK. I remember when we were kids and we loved the yard when new snow had fallen on it and it had no footprints on it. Don't step on it! Don't ruin it! … But there's absolutely no fun to be had, no snow angels or snow forts to make, or sledding, or anything, if you don't disturb that blankness.
… and the problem with that metaphor, or the other I was thinking of, of a piece of cloth before it gets embroidered on (which I like better because the cloth actually gets PRETTIER from the embroidery), is that they're all about the blankness being acted upon, whereas with us people, we act, ourselves. As if the yard or or the cloth got up and started doing things.
We might find each other far more fascinating. But maybe not likable.It's interesting to me how much my desire to be friends with people really has nothing ( ... )
Reply
This is one of the things I frikkin love best about you.
As if the yard or or the cloth got up and started doing things.
I love this! I LOVE THIS IMAGE!
...As if the bedsheets rumpled themselves, out of an utter desire for lovemaking.
Reply
"Oh," he said. "I forget that sometimes."
I don't.
Yes, this happens to me a lot, too.
Reply
By "you" I mean "me." But it might also mean you.
Reply
It's strange how it can be a compliment and yet it stings. They mean to say "it just makes sense that you're here," and it's nice to fit in so well, to be part of their local-normal, but also I feel like I'm hearing "all the stuff that's important to you about not always having been here...we're forgetting that."
Reply
I'm glad I mean you too. I'm glad it's a shared experience. I'm glad we got to articulate it! Sometimes I don't know what I mean or what has happened until I write it down. And then what if I made it up? But there are things I can't invent. And this is one of them. Phew.
Reply
Leave a comment