according to the cuss-o-meter (whose site i will not link to because it contains their 'dating site', and i have obviously lofty standards):
Around 31.3% of the pages on your website contain cussing.
This is 213% MORE than other websites who took this test.
...to which i say, that is fucking right.
today, day 2 of massage school, i undressed under a sheet held in a respectful tent by my polite, male partner. there were 26 of us in the room- 12 'drapers', 12 'drapees', 2 instructors. i learned: one should not wear cordoroys when trying to undress under and between cotton sheets. nor should one ribaldly rip off one's shirt and render it inside-out when trying to redress under same sheets.
and everyone, everyone, is self-conscious. i think. i know that, once faced with the rest of the world's scrutiny, i am. my 'survival' mechanism: i am happy in my home (my body, my skin) unto myself. your judgments only reflect on you. i am far too classy a broad to nitpick your anatomy, so leave me the fuck alone.
overall i was totally, weirdly cool with it.
but i broke out in a silly sweat when having to drape him. i didn't want to fuck up. i feel the same way when i have to speak in public. he was very nice. he has had many massages and calmly instructed me on what to do. we are to "hold the leg as if it's a baguette." we were also told to "not hold the leg as if it's a flailing anaconda." the instructors are great. it is simply the giddy childish waves of "i really want to learn this and be good at it NOW and fuck, i don't know ANYTHING yet"- scary, the rug pulled out, as though i am five years old again. someday this will all be automatic and i will LAUGH and LAUGH over how deer-in-headlights i once was. but that 'was' is still now.
i hope i can do this. i hope my fucking body doesn't fuck with me.
i am on the full dose of avonex. no one knows i have anything aberrant...
this is both a source of inflated pride and further isolation.
whenever i (frequently) feel neurotic and damaged, i think "no one around me has any idea. how would i even say something? and why should i? they're living their own lives and certainly don't wish to be burdened by someone else's weird abstract shit. no, i'll just soldier on, alone, because i'm so, like, good at that, and so well-adjusted and shit." or similar.
i am far more frightened of what i may or may not do to sabotage something really fucking cool, than by anything reality could possibly toss at me.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
well, that passed
i am such a fucking embarrassment to myself sometimes. i cannot even relate to what i was prattling on about in posts prior.
just watched 'stop-loss.' i had lofty hopes, having been floored by 'boys don't cry', but i was decidedly unimpressed by this one. j was similarly disgruntled. we tend to be on the same page cinematically. for a proper war movie, 'jarhead' and 'coming home' are far better.
i visited my parents yesterday. it was all right. i love them but christ- the way my father berates my mother is so fucking difficult to be witness to. i have mentioned this to them before. i have said "i understand that this is your dynamic and that nothing is going to change- but it can be very hard to be around." and that is all i can do. my father is an odd duck. he is deprecatingly self-aware but gallingly oblivious to his actions as he actually performs them. or: his hindsight is 20/15 but his present is disablingly myopic. i can see how i resemble that. and it horrifies me.
my mom told me of her clearest memory of her grandmother, who died when she was about ten. she and her mother had taken her grandmother on an outing from her nursing home- "one of the only times i remember my mom being patient" she said- and the three of them went to wapato park in tacoma. my mother and her grandmother were watching the birds on the lake when her grandmother started laughing "and she had a great laugh" said my mom, "very rollicking." "look at the duck butts!" her grandmother exclaimed. she found the sight of multiple ducks with their heads underwater hysterical. my mother was laughing too, telling this story. "i always think of her when i see ducks in the water" she said. i have lived this long and never knew this about her. and from now on, whenever i see ducks, i will think of her telling me this, and how her expression was happy and sad at once. i adore my mother.
so on the drive back to seattle, in the dark with no cigarettes, trying to sing with gravelly gravitas, i was getting increasingly pissed off about how my father treats such a cool woman so crappily- and how she is not only fucking used to it, but amused and indulgent of it. perhaps i am just far more fucking intolerant of such things now. anyhow, they've been married for nearly 35 years and i have two divorces and... several cats. even as their daughter, i will never fully know their relationship. something about it works.
'american x' (track 12) by black rebel motorcycle club is a fucking fantastic song.
just watched 'stop-loss.' i had lofty hopes, having been floored by 'boys don't cry', but i was decidedly unimpressed by this one. j was similarly disgruntled. we tend to be on the same page cinematically. for a proper war movie, 'jarhead' and 'coming home' are far better.
i visited my parents yesterday. it was all right. i love them but christ- the way my father berates my mother is so fucking difficult to be witness to. i have mentioned this to them before. i have said "i understand that this is your dynamic and that nothing is going to change- but it can be very hard to be around." and that is all i can do. my father is an odd duck. he is deprecatingly self-aware but gallingly oblivious to his actions as he actually performs them. or: his hindsight is 20/15 but his present is disablingly myopic. i can see how i resemble that. and it horrifies me.
my mom told me of her clearest memory of her grandmother, who died when she was about ten. she and her mother had taken her grandmother on an outing from her nursing home- "one of the only times i remember my mom being patient" she said- and the three of them went to wapato park in tacoma. my mother and her grandmother were watching the birds on the lake when her grandmother started laughing "and she had a great laugh" said my mom, "very rollicking." "look at the duck butts!" her grandmother exclaimed. she found the sight of multiple ducks with their heads underwater hysterical. my mother was laughing too, telling this story. "i always think of her when i see ducks in the water" she said. i have lived this long and never knew this about her. and from now on, whenever i see ducks, i will think of her telling me this, and how her expression was happy and sad at once. i adore my mother.
so on the drive back to seattle, in the dark with no cigarettes, trying to sing with gravelly gravitas, i was getting increasingly pissed off about how my father treats such a cool woman so crappily- and how she is not only fucking used to it, but amused and indulgent of it. perhaps i am just far more fucking intolerant of such things now. anyhow, they've been married for nearly 35 years and i have two divorces and... several cats. even as their daughter, i will never fully know their relationship. something about it works.
'american x' (track 12) by black rebel motorcycle club is a fucking fantastic song.
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