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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alas and alack

I'm ill today (sniffly and tired, and generally grey in the face and everywhere else), so forgive me for sounding like a sad sack in this entry.

So I was sitting in class today, after giving my presentation, and feeling sorry for myself. So what I did then was start to write an imaginary letter to the guy (well, it was a real letter, though not to be sent--you get my point). But then it occurred to me: One needs to write a letter to oneself and not to someone who has produced disappointment! I proceeded to write a letter to myself noting all of the points along the way in getting to 'know' this person at which my spidey sense was trying to tell me something...and I felt miraculously better.

I don't know why I didn't think of this plan of attack before. But you know what? I can tell you that every single time one of my girlfriends has broken up with someone--or been dumped, whatever--I have looked at the chain of things that they have doubted and then shoved away (because they wanted everything to be OK) and thought, "It's so obvoius."

I think we do that-- deny our senses. I deny mine, at any rate. The very first time that I met Shaun I hardly even noticed him, though we ate dinner at the same table. When he first professed interest in me, I thought he was a bit of an idiot. (He actually ran after a van in which I was riding.)
I remember the first time we drank and danced together and the first time we kissed, too. I remember looking at him and thinking that he looked like a frog and that his teeth were startlingly big. And I mean I don't think it was the superficial things that I was noticing--for he is a terribly handsome guy--but rather some secret understanding in me desperately trying to pass me a warning.

So, the message of the day, brought to you by the letter 'S' is to listen to one's spidey sense. No one in particular requires this advice from me, but let it be said that by this age I should be pretty certain that when it is right...it is easy. The first steps of friendship leading to connection should be clear sailing, I think. I'm open and frank. I don't play games. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I don't believe in The Rules. No matter what anyone says, The Rules are moronic. No one I could love would ever need to be played.

OK. That's my sloppy rant for the day.

Did I mention that I am ill. Yes, I believe that I did in my first paragraph.

Right now my primary goal in life is to keep myself from entering a state of panic about the degree to which my statistics and math skills have deteriorated in my hiatus from empirical work. I need to write notes and read them from my mirror as I brush my teeth: I will be a success! I will write good programs! I will relearn the necessary tasks and learn new ones! And I will hightail it out of this profession once I have some money in my pocket!

Have I mentioned that not only is my landlord a violinist and a painter but that I have connected with an Ottawa-based art teacher? It's a bit of a problem as I believe that he is foolishly interested in me (way, way too old---I'm not going to date someone my parents' age, yet), but still I anticipate learning from him if he is at least normal enough to consider being friends. I'm also going to volunteer in my spare time at an archive to keep those skills growing. I'm thinking about economic journalism lately, however. I wonder how that would fit me as a lateral move from that to which I am turning?

If my sofa or my comfy chair had not already been moved, I would flop down somewhere for the evening. Sigh.

6:02 p.m. - 2006-08-08

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