I wrote my previous post in a fit of pique, determined to carve out some boundaries of my own. There are times when I feel like a country whose neighbor has demanded a "buffer zone" between you, and (being amicable) I agreed... only to discover that "buffer" stretches to my borders.
The borders OPPOSITE of the aforementioned neighboring country.
What happens when people draw a boundary that actually crosses your own? Well, generally that's where people negotiate and compromise. Lately I've felt like that negotiation and compromise consists of me caving to the demands of the other.
It's notable that, of all the comments to that post, NONE of them (online or off) is from anyone I was thinking of while writing it. Strange, how people who are constantly worried that their the source of my irritation are the least likely to be annoying me.
Actually, that's not entirely fair. The few who are ticking me off have legitimate reasons to be less than capable of that give and take. I recognize it, and do my best to try to guard against as much of my knee-jerk-off attitude as possible.
But that was my point - "I am what I am" is a simple statement, yet surprisingly profound. I can only be who I am, doing the best I can.
Which means I fuck up.
Confession is not a means of absolution (regardless of what they taught me as a young Catholic boy), but a beginning toward it. I can only try to improve, no matter how often I screw up.
He CAN be taught. Despite my generally hyper-developed sense of ennui, I still was able to clearly communicate to Roni that this wasn't about her (in the past I would have been broody and bitchy in a way that would be passive aggressive, save that I'm too blunt to be that passive), and managed to convey my need for space to allow me time to process.
After a day of fasting (as it turned out... I don't remember more than a handful of times where I deliberately fasted, and most of those involved some sort of medical test or procedure) and generally feeling groady, I finally went in, trimmed my hair and beard, brushed my teeth, showered until I thought my skin would blister and peel away, and made myself a couple of P & J sandwiches (on wonder bread, of course!). That was a first step toward pulling myself out of a nasty little dark spiral I had found myself in (after the dust had cleared, of course... I really wish I could learn to spot this stuff before I'm covered in pig shit). Today I felt a lot better, though still a bit stressed (tho' the advice that lovingstones had given me last Sunday was a big help... I only wish I had thought of doing that Yesterday).
At least I made it though work more or less intact, though the disaster in the back room that I had to contend with today was a bit much to cope with. But I did (cope with it, that is), and now...
Now I'm thinking about my birthday. It's only 72 hours away. Less, really. If you consider it to be midnight the day before, then it's a mere 52.5 hours away -- and I'll be 42.
Then there's pantheacon (where I'll be pretty much a ghost this year), then I have a trip to Phoenix planned to see Catt and the apparently already hyperactive daughter in the oven (she apparently like to dance), The last weekend of the month. I'm flying out late Thursday so I can be present for the latest ultrasound on Friday. Since she's at 6 months, this should be an interesting visit -- in more ways than one.
And that's just this month. I'm already thinking about the rest of my year, which could change abruptly for any number of reasons. But I'm trying to chill out, so I won't dwell on it too much.