Not My Blog
Friday, August 27, 2010
In which we learn we are old: I had a quick coffee last night with the original Karma Kid, who had just come from a meeting of polyamorous people. The Karma Kid is the least judgmental person I've ever met, so it was no surprise that she went to this meeting to find out about polyamory -- just because. I tried not to be too inquisitive, but I did raise an eyebrow when she explained that some people in the meeting did not identify as human. Now, I've done my Kinsey reading and am familiar with the distinction between sexual identity and sexual orientation, and truly believe that it is more important how you love than who you love, even though the cuteness of that last phrase always makes me wince a little. BUT, and here is where my age comes in, I don't feel I can accept bestiality. Of course humans can love animals. But I don't believe in projecting our human emotions onto other species -- meaning, I don't think a dog or a chimp has the same comprehension or emotional development as a human being, and therefore cannot enter freely and equally into a romantic relationship with a human. Nor do I think that a human can assume the social instincts of another specieis -- we can imitate, but those imitations are shaped by our human comprehension. Sure, there are humans who are aroused by animals, but to me they're no different than humans who are aroused by, say, drainpipes or shoes. What bothers me is that, unlike drainpipes/shoes, animals are sentient. Having it off with an animal is not love, but merely self-gratification. If that shows me as being too judgmental for the polyamorous, I'll have to live with that.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
"Canadian poet and classicist Anne Carson points out that desire implies the presence of three things: the lover, the beloved, and that which separates them. In other words, there is always a gap, an obstacle, impeding the union desire seeks. This obstacle seems like a problem, and we want to get rid of it. This is clinging."
Jane's word of the day: UN-CLING.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Five years after the surgery and approximately 150 pounds lighter, I am sending in my application for yoga teacher school in San Diego. I honestly never would have thought this possible. Astounded, I am. Also scared brainless -- but apparently that's a road sign for evolution. Yeah. I'll try to remember that at the 3:00 a.m. gasp-awakes and the "what the hell was I thinkings".
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Friday, August 06, 2010
OOH you GODDAMN BELL HOTSPOT. Sitting in Starborgs and writing a thoughtful, careful post, which suddenly DISAPPEARS because BELL GODDAMN HOTSPOT keeps fading in and out like an old radio. DAMN. . . well. Trying again.
Was not expecting that. Back on the island, which I've been for oh, a coupla' three hours, and sitting here in Starborgs thinking about all things. Why was this visit different from all other visits? Well, because of the sudden changes. Like Jean's dad, Harry, dying this past Tuesday. Yes, he'd had a good long innings, but still, the death of a parent is an identity-altering event. I'd known Harry for 20 years, inasmuch as you can know a friend's parent, and with his death I can say that one of the most uncompromising personalities on the planet is gone. Jean's bearing up with her usual stoic Friesenness, but as her friend I can only hope she's giving herself some time and space to grieve--privately, as always.
The other sudden change is nowhere near the magnitude of a parent's death, but was a huge curveball nonetheless. As it has done on three other occasions starting in 1976, my back chose a truly inconvenient time to spasm so severely that on the first day I was practically unable to rise from bed. Several factors contributed to this malaise, including anxiety about my life (a classic theme), sleeping on soft and then firm surfaces, trying new yoga sessions, and oh, you know...there was no "R" in the month or something. All I know is that I went from being a flexible, strong older woman to a crippled hag overnight. Another change was in store as I overcame a lifetime's adversity to chiropractors and went on the advice of a beloved friend (thanks, Karyn) to a venerable spinal manipulator who treated me and my spine with refined gentleness. Three visits later I could rise from a chair without shock-gasping. While I have always said I had no problem with chiros who stuck with spinal tweaking and massage, I was still impressed with my speedier than expected recovery. I'm about 75 percent better a week later.
Not much of a surprise, after a visit that had its bleaker moments, my return trip was likewise blighted by problems. Construction in the mountains added a couple of extremely uncomfortable hours of waiting in the blazing sun, with my poor mutts sweltering in the back of the car. No place to take them, either, as outside the car the heat was also roaring up from the fresh asphalt. The average wait was 40 minutes, and there were three of them between Banff and Golden. So yes, I cried now and then, and have been more conscious than ever before that *this* cannot continue. I won't bore you with what *this* is --but it's a devil I've had for decades. So tempting to blame circumstances and others for my lack of purpose, my failure -- but what does that accomplish, exactly? Nothing. Exactly. It only fuels the misery.
But! Here's something to fuel magnificence! At Jean's urging I had my hair coloured this week. RED by God, RED. I think it's Redken Holy Goddamned Paprika or something, but Able to Be Seen from the Space Shuttle is more like it. I'm surprised more people weren't phoning in forest fire reports as I drove past in the Mazdad. I mean RED is all. Hmm, maybe not all sudden changes are so bad. Or so freakin' glorious red.
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