Why is it that I’m the one with the boring life? All the other blogs associated with this site seem all artsy and deep and meaningful but I’m writing about crocheted crotches. Maybe I should write a poem or something. Or maybe I should write a detailed goodbye like the one I’m preparing myself to for within the week. My good ol’ buddie’s getting sentenced quite soon and I, with my expect-the-worst-hope-for-the-best mentality am getting ready for some pain. Sorry, dear reader(s?), if I haven’t spilled my guts on this one. It’s really not about me, though. It’s more about my buddy and his life that may change very radically very soon. No matter how much it affects me emotionally, I will never experience his reality. I understand this concept from Iraq- many people had emotions about my going, but ’twas only I in the sandbox.
So I’ve been using this more as my escape. I’ve got roughly a quadrillion things going on in my life, which is probably about half of what people who are married and have wee tikes deal with. I get on here long enough to share some escapist site I’ve found and then (in theory) go back to hard work somewhere.
Only two weeks of school before finals. Another semester gone bye-bye. Then what? More school. More work. Do I really know where I’m going? Why I’m going there? Should I just hop into the work force where the big bucks are and work on my education more slowly?
Or should I just be one of those free loving hippies that somehow finds their penniless way across states and countries seeking new experiences?
And you know, I’ve given up on love in a lot of ways. I mean, the idea that long term relationships should be based solely on love is a big crock of horse puckey. I think by the time I get around to finding a “soul mate” we’ll probably just audit each other’s lives and figure we’d be better together than apart. Heck, maybe I’ll go old school and just have my parents set me up. That was sarcastic by the way. I would feel way worse telling friends about how my parents set me up than if we met on some internet site. there’s just that social stigma there, especially ’cause i’ll probably be forty-five. although my parents would probably find a pretty good woman for me. or man i guess, if i find my sexual orientation’s changed. i have been spending time at the craft store. who knows what’s next.
I think it bothers me that my parents don’t read this. I think at least my dad would like this, if only for the crazy links.
on families, i think it bothers me my family has not been communicating well. there’s a bit of caution and distance where there didn’t used to be. is there a specific cause? not really. our family’s roles are expanding and morphing. change, even good change like we’ve got, demands regular maintenance and without that we become little islands all self-sufficient and alone. I’m probably most sensitive to this because of my thorough lack of close friends.
Speaking of sensitivity, this book I read about the female brain talks about the female ability to really read facial expression, body language and tone to understand what a person is really saying. it also said studies have proven testosterone inhibits any brain’s ability to do this. One area i find true for my own emotionally inhibited brain is not seeing different levels of emotion. in accordance with the book, i only know something’s significantly wrong if a female is all out screaming or crying. up to that point, it all seems like no big deal. and then all the sudden there’s tears everywhere and i’m trying to figure out what happened.
this brings me to my work buddy who told me today about his excessively emotional pregnant wife. their daughter ate the rest of the spaghetti and she apparently cried for like two days over it. rough ride for both of them, but probably worse for her. she has to deal with the added confusion of wondering why exactly she’s crying over finished spaghetti. hmmm, doesn’t quite have the same appeal as “crying over spilt milk”, does it? that would be pretty frustrating. i think some women get down on themselves for being emotional. many women i know barely acknowledge changing emotional states even after it’s become obvious to those around them. it’s almost as if they’re ashamed. i would like that to change. why be ashamed? i don’t get it.
see? i thought of something