enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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pathological Sunday

You know what one of the worst things is about having liked someone? It's trying to extract yourself from the situation with as much of your ego intact as possible. I hate doing this dance of "I care less than you do." It's just not in my DNA to conceal anything, much less than that my feelings have been hurt. It almost makes me feel a bit vindictive, which I loathe. (Though perhaps it would be good to embrace this, for once. :))

So perhaps all of this is good: I have attempted dating in order to discover that I was better off working on myself, by myself, as before. Maybe this truly opens up a window of opportunity for me to get off my ass and force myself to pursue my creative interests. Maybe this affords me the opportunity, once and for all, to actually STOP DOING MATH-- for anyone, for any reason.

Have I mentioned that I wrote a model for the idiot who was running down the street after me the other night, professing his affection for me? Some co-author. It would seem, then, that I am going to leave behind a good model; I cannot bear to have any further contact with him. The funny thing is...that this serves only to make me hate economics with an even greater intensity (is this possible?).

You know, every experience in life leads me to ask the same question: Is it me? I mean, one wonders. It has to be me, non? Maybe I am a super-huge fuck up. I spend most of my days thinking that I am doing OK: going along, not hurting anyone, offering kind words where I can, loving my friends and family. But on a deeper level, everything is so FUCKED. I mean my career is in a shambles. It is recoverable, however, I know-- I am starting a 'good' job on September 7. (A job I'm going to hate, which makes it...just. that. much. worse...and pitiful.)

I am looking older, too. Man, I hate that. I thought I would be cool with it but every time I look in the mirror and recognize something different about myself I start to feel despair. This is really stupid, I know. I know, I know, I know that there are lots of non-beautiful, truly beautiful older women out there who are so because they have confidence and style. I have good style and I have a body that many people are jealous of, as a result of my fitness. I could work with these things, if only I had confidence, or bravado, or the weight of a culture that supports older women behind me. It is so pernicious, this culture of shunting women aside as their breasts sag and their hair greys. I know, that's totally an excuse. I just need to use it today.

Speaking of hair, I am deeply sorry that I dyed mine. It is not much darker than it is usually, and it is fading, but I am realizing now how deeply and truly I betrayed myself by doing it. It makes me sort of sick to think of the salon full of aging women, all there because they felt obligated to change themselves. I mean, I know that one can turn this sort of thing on its heels by making changing oneself a question of personal power and autonomy. So why does it feel like the weaseliest form of slinking to me?

An older woman told me the other day that she believes the optimal age for a woman is 37; this is, in her view, the irrational age at which a woman comes into her own. This is complete garbage, of course (and what is the implication for the years beyond it--yikes). This means that I have one more year to get my shit together, or to tolerate until my shit magically comes together for me. So sad.

So that is my rant for the day. Clearly, it is a call to arms for me. I feel all of these things, I do not want to make excuses for the feelings, and the only thing that makes sense is to put them to one side and DO everything in my life that I have ever wanted to do and experience. I suspect that if this be my plan and pursuit the feelings will--if not erase themselves--become so small and insignificant in the face of the other that they lose the power that they have over me.

Funny how all I really feel like doing is cursing at that stupid guy for reeling me in and then disappointing me. So, so not powerful am I.

So I watched Le Gout (the accent is doing funny things in my browser, for some reason, so I deleted it) des autres last night. I say watched but I was not concentrating over-much. I was thinking excessively about how much I loved the bar girl's hairdo. It seemed, on the whole, to be a not-bad movie. French calms me, I must say. Unforced sexuality calms me. I have a suspicion from this that things need not be so difficult, if only I can remove all expectations from my dating encounters. I have a strong preference and commitment to such a philosophy, although it seems extremely difficult--even for someone with my discipline, self-control--to exercise such behaviour in practise. Hmmm.

How I wish I could be on the road...going anywhere...today, but I must analyze some eff-ing data. I am sorry for being punchy and sweary. I do hope it is attributable primarily to hormones (and not to disappointed hopes). I am so pathetic, and that latter thing would be just oh-so-much-further down (or up, as you measure it) the scale of pathetic-ness than I could bear.

1:01 p.m. - 2006-08-06

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