"Deep Thoughts": July 2008 Archives

Hello bay-bees. My week of not thinking too hard about anything has been oddly productive.

Enough that I begin to wonder if I should do more of this kind of thing. Making decisions by not making them. Choosing to just ride my bike endlessly and sleep very very late, and then wake up one day knowing kinda what I want to do.

Sorta neat, really.

I begin to think perhaps my best bits are the intuitive ones, the ones that don't fret too much, that just let something sit and reflect the water off the leaves. I dunno.

But I will remember this the next time I have some momentous decision facing me. That sometimes the best course of action is no action - or actually lots of action. Lots of physical activity and less mental gymnastics.

Anyway, I don't think I am quite ready to go into details, since they are still being worked out (with very little brow furrowing), but it's good.

In other news, I have picked up an old on-the-needles project and have been whittling away, oh so very slowly and lackadaisically, at it. Row by tiny row. There's a metaphor in there, somewhere, but I am not going to go chasing it. It's my new park zen. Just ride. The rest will come.

"And you may tell yourself, 'This is not my beautiful house.' And you may tell yourself, 'This is not my beautiful wife!'" - Talking Heads

No, these are not my peaches. I am peachsitting for a friend. Yes, they do taste just like they look like they would. Peachsitting comes at a price.

It's good to have some lovely things to look at, even if only temporarily, because I am, at the moment, and for the last several weeks, quite sad.

I realized it after taking a few self-portraits the other day, and being aghast at them.

And today I had one of those night-rides where my eyes got all half-weepy as I pedaled slowly, and then faster, to get over it, home. Yuck.

I mean, it was a nice cool ride. The rain never came, only the fresh air that comes after it, and the traffic was much lighter than it'd been at rush-hour, when I'd had one of those near misses that used to make my fingers prickle, but this time only made me very angry.

I was going out to photograph a bicycling event, but I'd left late (had to pick up those peaches), and couldn't find it. Either it was over by the time I got there, or it was in a different location than redhead #1 had thought. And anyway, I was feeling sort of like a dork wannabee for even showing up. So I sadly turned the bike around and headed back home through the chic throngs of Billyburg pedestrians. Enh.

"So what. Big Deal." - Black Lectroid from Planet Ten.

Several big important things have come to my attention lately, and I am trying to figure out what to do about them in the larger scheme, and what to start with in the smaller scheme, and it's a whole lotta figurin', and I really just want to lay low, or lie on a beach, or somethin' of that nature, and let my brain sort it all out in its sleep.

Sometimes you need to think about things with your conscious mind, and sometimes you need to let your mind drift into those altered states where it can see its way clear through the strange Milky Way-like debris of truth. At least, that's how I picture it. Very much like a full, full night sky.

A friend advised me recently to think about what it is that I really want in the boy department, so that I know, going in, what I am looking for and not looking for. It was good advice, but I am finding it hard to follow.

Perhaps in a similar vein, I am finding it hard to decide what to do this week. I have given myself the week off, and perhaps because it's been so long since I did such a thing, I am at a bit of a loss when I get up in the morning (or afternoon).

As I was saying to one of the boys yesterday, I like to get up and ride first thing in the morning; I just prefer that morning comes a little later in the day.

But here's the thing: for a woman who thinks so much about everything in life, I don't seem to have a very good handle on what I am looking for when I get involved (even slightly involved, as in a date or two) with men.

I have no idea.

I get sad sometimes, from being rather lonely most days, and watching anything that smacks of romance (a romantic comedy, or even Wall-e, for heaven's sake) tends to pull the tears right out of my eyeballs.

But on the other hand, I just can't picture being in some heavy relationship that made me feel all tied down. I am not certain I have that in me anymore, or at least not yet. And yet - I also want lots and lots of the kind of sex that one simply cannot have unless it's with someone one knows well and trusts and likes. Or maybe loves.

It's a conundrum, make no mistake. A puzzle and a riddle, and I have no obvious solution to it, and not much hope of finding my way out of it - at least, not with anyone I'd meet through the usual channels.

And now there's a Sherlock Holmes episode on TV, in which a young woman is forced to cut her hair in order to gain a lucrative job, and she cries and cries about it.

Whereas, I had a dream the other day in which I woke up to discover that my hair had grown past my waist, and the first thing I did was rush to my mom and have her cut it all off.

When I really woke up, and ran my hand over my shorn head, I was relieved. Though I remember thinking, in the dream, that I ought to have had my mother leave enough hair to make into those two little knots that I used to like to wear.

A rambling and illogical post, to sure, but there's something about hair dreams that always pulls at my unconscious, as if there's a symbolic meaning.

I suppose the short hair means freedom to me, which I treasure above all else and of which I have carved more and more for myself over the years.

I wonder, though, if there's a way to be just as free, but less lonely.

Note on pics: These were taken with the pocketcam, by the waterfront in Williamsburg. Click to enlarge.

Ahhhh. I hardly know where to begin. I had a great day today, but it was not without its bizarre moments. To begin with, I spent the entire day on the bike, or as close as is possible for a girl with cranky knees. I got up and ate and showered and rode out to the bike shop to meet my two cycling companions (beautiful boys, one very young and one a bit older than me). We then proceeded to ride out to Prospect Park in Brooklyn, the eldest of our posse dropping me easily on the bridge (the young one very nicely hung back to keep me company).

There, we met up with two other cyclists and rode some laps around the park, which was leafy and gorgeous, and generally hung around being lazy the rest of the time. Just so you have the full picture, it's now me and four men (two of them being the glorious redheads).

Here's where it starts to get weird. My phone would not stop ringing the whole time I was there. Everyone I know or ever speak to seemed to be trying to get hold of me today. First I had a client call. Then I heard back from the boy whom Special J has dubbed bird-boy (because of his resemblance to an ibis). I'd called him over the weekend and asked him to just call me and tell me yea or nay, because I happen to prefer to be turned down clearly rather than having them simply drift away, as many boys are wont to do.

Anyway, this was the call back, and it was a perfectly fine conversation. I wasn't surprised to hear that he just wants to be friends, and if in fact he wants to do that and isn't just making polite noises, I think I might be able to swing it. I mean, one can never have too many cycling buddies. In any case, I am relieved to have a clear answer.

But. It was funny as hell to be having that conversation while I was out cycling with several hot (hotter than bird-boy, if we are being honest) boys. And the one who overheard the conversation pointed out that I really ought to have told the guy I was out with three hot boys (we hadn't met up with the fourth yet). And he was right. I should have.

So there was that. Anyway, I had a great time and cycled my legs into jelly, and one of the boys showed me the way home, and it turned out to be super-easy and quick, and I got home and ate and ate and ate and showered again, and so on and took this (I think) very cute pic of the feline sacked out between two fans. Hey, if I had fur, I'd be there too.

But what I wanted to talk to you about is beauty, and the fact that there's a certain amount of relativity involved in it.

As I was looking through some old pics (Mermaid Parade again - yes, I am going to take the camera out more; I just didn't want to carry it today), I was struck by how a photo of someone - a person I'd normally think of as odd-looking, quirky, or maybe even homely (I love that word, and the fact that it has both positive and negative meanings) - can make me see that they have their own beauty.

This woman in the flowered dress struck me that way. It's something about the strong character in her face, and the fact that she seems so unabashedly herself. I like that in people - usually in people I know, because I have come to love them for who they are, and every time I look at their faces I see who they are written there. No, I am not talking about boys here. I am thinking of friends. My beautiful, unique friends. Love you guys, and boy are you beautiful.

I'll tell you something about me (so unusual, on my incredibly self-centered blog, no?):
I used to be very, very shy.

Hiding in the corner, climbing onto the roof at parties kind of shy. Of course, I avoided going to a party last night because I knew it would be that sort, so it's not like I've completely lost that aspect of myself.

But I've gotten friendlier over the years, more able to approach strangers and ask questions and do things like invite people I don't know well to come play with me. Or just offer to share my large table with a fellow diner who needed to be near the powerstrip on the floor, too, and who was trying to balance his drink and his laptop on his lap at the same time while sitting in one of those overstuffed chairs that seem comfortable but are really quite unsuited to working with a laptop.

I'll tell you another thing about me: I have been accused of favoring longish sentences.

Anyway. I got to talking with this young boy at the café, since we were sitting elbow to elbow, the edges of our laptops touching. And he showed me what he was working on (animation), and I described what I was working on (words, and not even interesting ones at that), and it was pleasant and companionable. And I thought, why, exactly, was it that I was so shy all those years?

Well, it was a combination, I think.

Factor A: moved around so much as a kid that I suffered from perpetual new-kid-in-school-itis.
Factor B: too brainy to blend in well with the popular crowd (this was back in the days before Geek Chic, mind you).
Factor C: early experiences did not, in fact, suggest that the world is a lovely and welcoming and hopeful kind of place. Even though I still, in my heart of hearts, have a dogged grasp on the possibility that it might someday turn out to be like that.
Factor D: The combination of the first three (plus some other X factor or two) meant that I lacked self-confidence and therefore went into social situations with a substantial amount of fear, or at least trepidation.

What's changed?

Damned if I know, except that that's a bit of a lie. I've actually been working really hard at a number of things which seem to have self-confidence as a side effect.

On the other hand, I think that's backfired on me a bit. I won't go into the details, but let's just say there may be a reason why I was blindsided by the liked-boy's sudden disappearance. Doesn't mean I want to have to go back to being afraid of people or being self-effacing or anything, but, well, there's that worry in the back of my mind...nibbling away at the corners. Damn.