kleenexwoman | (no subject)

Valentine's Day was yesterday, as everybody fucking knows. They had a Women Empowerment dinner on the terrace. I put on some earrings and sat around and drank fizzy raspberry stuff and sulked.
At the end of the dinner, everyone was supposed to go around and say what they loved about themselves and who they loved best. Pretty much everyone said that they liked how strong and unique they were and that they loved either their family or God. I stammered through some kind of rant about how I liked my ability to write, then couldn't really think of who I should say I loved best. "I feel an obligatory guilt towards most of my family and connect best with people that I've never met in real life." So I said that I hadn't yet met the person I loved most, which is technically true.
Tammy was kind of right when she said that I don't know the meaning of love. I can't tell if I'm in love with someone or if I'm attracted to them or admire them or just like spending time around them or what. Everybody keeps offering me different definitions of love, and by each definition I'm in love with several different people, most of whom clearly don't feel the same way towards me. I reject the idea that "you just know," because I don't, and if I wait to "just know," then I'm never going to actually be in love with anyone. And I'd like to be in love with someone who I know is in love with me back, or at least likes having me around and is also willing to have sex with me. That might not be love, but it's probably as good as I'm going to get.
Had a discussion with a very nice girl about unrequited love. She said she could tell I was lesbian just by looking at me. Always thought that was a myth; I certainly can't tell, and when I do think someone is, it's usually wishful thinking. I don't think I've ever had anyone, male or female, hit on me. I suppose I could try being aggressive and asking someone out. Less socially acceptable, though. If I was guy, it wouldn't be a big deal to ask a girl out. However, when you are, in fact, a girl, there's a slight sense of "ick, girlsex" that tends to alienate people. And no matter what Ben says, it's not cute when I do it "because I'm a girl", it's still creepy when I do it because it's me.

I'm not sure how this leads to Rachel's Four-Month Reality Checkup, but there you go. Something Sheptoski likes to talk about is the influence of other people on our sense of reality, particularly people that aren't even around. He mentioned that some people take symbolic roles in our lives; their presence and ideas stay with us beyond their actual personality. In a less metaphorical sense, this manifests itself in something that I do a lot: imaginary conversations with real people.
Yes, I talk to people in my head. There are some people whose views I appreciate and respect enough to allow them to take symbolic roles in my thought process. I'd rather not say who they are because it would probably weird them out a little, but I have been working through some things about myself by mentally discussing them. The problem with this is that I sometimes forget that I haven't actually revealed certain things to certain people. I do confuse reality with my own imagination sometimes, and it frustrates the hell out of me when I do that. I suppose it's the danger of liking the inside of your own head best.
I don't like that I have to do this. It feels like I'm schizophrenic. But I don't get anywhere when I talk about it with myself, and sometimes other people just don't help.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You know what? Sometimes you just don't know. There's a man out there--who's currently being an idiot, but he's been one before, so we'll glide on by--who I call my brother. Confuses the hell out of my family when I do, but I really think of him that way. In all functional things, he is my brother, he is the brother of my soul, I love him that much. But it was a solid year of knowing him, spending nearly every day around him, talking, laughing, joking with him, before I looked up one day, and said--this is a quote--"You're here."

"Yeah," he said.

"How long have you been here?"

"About a year," he said, and looked at me funny. And I said okay, and we went on.

I don't always get why people want to be my friend, why people like me, why people hang with me. To my way of looking at the world, I am bitter, resentful, bitchy, insecure, a bundle of nerves, and a mass of contradictions. I don't think that's the magic key to good friendships, or good relationships. But I have friends, and good ones. I have people I love in my life, people who love me. It works, in its own bass-ackwards way, and some days, I wouldn't change anything. (Well, Cat's legs could work, like ANY time now, but...that's a separate rant.)

You don't always 'just know'. Sometimes it takes serious thought. Sometimes it takes years of reflection. But here's the best description I ever found of what being in love is (paraphrased, because I don't have the original work):

A man in a story was asked if he was in love. He said he did not know, because he had nothing to compare it to. But he told the woman asking that the thought of her filled him, every waking hour, every hour of dreaming at night. Every time he saw something, or heard something, that was of interest, he said, I shall tell that to her, because he wanted her to share those parts of his life when she was not with him. She lived in his soul like a household spirit, he said, and he could not think of a life without her.

Hey. Right there? That's a pretty good description of the process. If you'd rather be with them than be apart--if you're hoarding up cool things to tell them, and you just can't wait--if something in you uncurls and relaxes when you see them at last--yeah, that's probably love. Or at least close kin.

That does help a little, and is something to think about...thank you.