Life as an Extreme Sport


Intimacy is not sex, is it not love, it is not even touching. Intimacy is connection. It can be a foot resting on the chair of a partner, of washing and drying dishes in tandem, a look on the subway or the brush of a sleeve against another in passing. Intimacy is created not through the ordinary of daily exchanges but through the extraordinary, that which is out of place. It is the hair of a stranger playing across your face, fingers touching from check to pen to cashier, two people sitting on the floor and surrounded by those in chairs. It is the quick look that acknowledges the other person out of bounds with you, both of you vibrating with the secret knowledge of your transgressions, shared, connected, intimate.

so few sweet dreams

I took an ambien last night to sleep, something that will become more common the next few days while I reset my sleeping schedule. The resulting dreams were… unpleasent, to say the least. Nightlong dreams of trust and then the shock of betrayal; I know a lot of dreams feel nightlong, but it’s not too often, you groggily wake up through-out the night to note the time, and the dream progresses along with those waking ups. Strange that what was still probably only 5-10 minutes at the very most is so stuck with me now.

It was a dream of breaking up, of getting back together, happiness, and then utter and complete betrayal. Not just breaking up, but finding out about lie after lie after lie, sitting around a table with family and lawyers and just finding one thing after another ripped out from under me, belief after belief systematically destroyed. I would say “but you said” and the counter would be a calm “I lied because you made me.” “But you promised” – “I had no choice”, “Didn’t you ever…” – “No.”

And I wonder why I have trust issues.

and to do

There are a lot of things I want to do, places I’d like to see, and things I want to accomplish. I’m not going to succeed in any of them if I don’t start applying myself just a wee bit more, to life, health, living.

It’s a sobering realization, and I hope it’s one that helps motivate me to do the things I need to do to take care of myself and reach the goals I’m setting.

Trimpin and Personal Taste

Trimpin gave a lecture this evening at the Henry, to accompany the opening of Phfft, a musical installation piece that allows the viewer to manipulate dials to change the pitch and tone of notes, or to press a button to listen to preprogrammed pieces. During the exhibit exploration, I found myself very hands on and focused. It was the sitting and listening to the lecture that the problems cropped up. Watching slides of prior exhibits go by, something, some picture and description, came up and the thought floated to the surface of my brain: you would like this.

Blink. Blink. There is no “you” anymore, and the subconscios training of looking for things that you would like needs to stop. But it goes further than that; a simple thought and I suddenly chase backwards among the others and the rest of the day, and wonder: did I actually enjoy the exhibit? Have I actually been enjoying the slides I’ve been watching? Or am I just conditioned to look for and then integrate the things you would like, because it was always easier than standing up for and trying to discuss that which I liked and found interesting. How much of me and what I find interesting belongs to me, and what is just artifact, shadow?

Perhaps more importantly, if this is really me and what I find interesting, so closely tied to you, how do I then move beyond when bits of me remind me of you?

The time/distance equation

People say, after a break-up, that time and distance will heal the wounds. If there are mutual friends, the advice tends to be make new ones to spend time with, so there are some folks in your life you don’t remind you of your ex, and you don’t have to worry about conversation, parties, or anything else.

I have time on my side; how could I not? No matter what I do or think, time is going to keep moving and dragging me along with it. I’m doing alright at the making of new friends; CHID in many ways has been a lifesaver for it. But the mutual friends are still there, and through them and because of them it’s almost impossible to get distance.

I realize that there’s a very good chance that I’ll achieve that physical distance when I wander off to grad school, but that still leaves me another year of being here and near, and trying to decide what to do about it. In large part that’s why this journal is here; I’m trying to find a place to talk and figure things out without having to worry about being chastised for whatever it is I say.

It might very well be a forest for the trees scenario, but right now it’s tempting to say that the people who’ve chosen to remain friends with my ex have made their choice, and now what’s left is merely for me to act. The promise of distance with that action is alluring.