I'm always swearing I will not use my blog as a kvetch launch platform.
But, damn, my feet and knees hurt. I haven't been in this much pain in a long time. This job is either going to get me into shape, or my body is gonna have a total meltdown. But it technically fits the sacrificing the body to the cause thing, so least I gain some new levels of hubris and drama. The Woman has problems in the fact that I celebrate my problems. I take pride in my faults. Which is true. It's my way of understanding myself and the absurdity that is truly part of the human condition. That given everything within me that makes life difficult, I'm still here. I'm not dead. Everything birthday, I am still startled by the fact I didn't die before I reached eighteen. How else am I supposed to face life, with the stoic fastness of will that is more a mark of my parents? This is my life. I can't always tell the true depth and width of things in my field of vision. My eye-hand coordination is at part with say... an spastic tree sloth. Memory? I'm lucky if I remember my own name sometimes. What I ate from breakfast? A miracle if I recall it. Oh, and don't forget the hyperactive mouth, that seems to go around with my foot stuck far inside it, I can sit down without a stool. I can't ignore my limitations, but in a way I can celebrate them. They are part of what makes me different, in the good way. Would I be the person I'd be if my brain wasn't wired so oddly? Doubt it. I'd be the nice straight Jew who lives well under the thumb of his family, suppresses his own dreams and thoughts, and lives in a feedback loop of drapes, religious observation, and a desolation of the soul.
I think that is what ruffles me the most in this house. The Woman expects me to totally bow before her stalwart neurochemical troubles, since she can't change them.. but that apparently, I can change my stalwart neurochemical troubles to more easily fit into her life. I don't know what troubles me more, how much certainty I load on my identity through my life issues, or how much more certainty The Woman seems to place in her immutable life issues. In the end, there's probably little I can do. She comfortable in her "house as the center of her world" belief system, and her attachment to the owner allows her the believed power to enforce her reality on all those around her. She's actually more the Jew than I let on... she doesn't just suffer... she has to make sure everyone else knows how much she suffers.
Then I end up facing my own blind spots. Where I am unsure where my parents end and I begin. Where I am unable to tell is the border between where my limitations and my self-sabotage. How much is my own grasping to make the world fit my image of it, where truth is blurred by fog banks of delusion. Now that I don't live AND work alone, it's all the more clear for it. I work so hard that I hurt as much as I do now, because I so desperately want to make this job work, but at the same time, I'm being watched closely by management and shiftcrew because I'm so slow, I must be slacking off somewhere. That I seem to forget things so much... that I feel I need help more, but in asking for that help, my co-workers think I am trying to pass off my work duties onto them. I patrol the floors where the bank's investment offices are, with the constant ticker, and three screens to every desk.... look and ponder that working at the speed required for that kind of work would probably kill me. Literally.
Strangely, in the end, this is what I blessed with. The chance to work with my difficulties and limitations, to not solve them. But accept them as some kind of practical karmic joke, where I am not the joke, I'm the punchline. This is the point where I hold onto hope that's kept me going nearly double my believed life expectancy. where I have probably my only real sense of true faith. That maybe no God, or no higher being/state/force, made me the way that I am, but that these are the gifts of a universe that plants the seed in everyone not just to be guys, or Jews, or hyperactives... but to make those who are trying to fight to be just really swell human beings. It doesn't seem like a bad way for the Big Show to run itself. Least in my eyes.
In the end, who knows? maybe my limitations were planned to make The Woman consider hers. You never know. She's touched by her loving God. I could just be a tool.. a guide.. on Her path.. to bring out her humanness. You never really do know. I think Albert Einstein was wrong, God does not dice with the Universe, but he has the TV Guide.
Sleep now. Gammy leg or not. I go back to work Saturday. I'm even more sure that if I met God for lunch... I'd enjoy the meal, feel better for it... but I'd still stiff God with the bill.
But, damn, my feet and knees hurt. I haven't been in this much pain in a long time. This job is either going to get me into shape, or my body is gonna have a total meltdown. But it technically fits the sacrificing the body to the cause thing, so least I gain some new levels of hubris and drama. The Woman has problems in the fact that I celebrate my problems. I take pride in my faults. Which is true. It's my way of understanding myself and the absurdity that is truly part of the human condition. That given everything within me that makes life difficult, I'm still here. I'm not dead. Everything birthday, I am still startled by the fact I didn't die before I reached eighteen. How else am I supposed to face life, with the stoic fastness of will that is more a mark of my parents? This is my life. I can't always tell the true depth and width of things in my field of vision. My eye-hand coordination is at part with say... an spastic tree sloth. Memory? I'm lucky if I remember my own name sometimes. What I ate from breakfast? A miracle if I recall it. Oh, and don't forget the hyperactive mouth, that seems to go around with my foot stuck far inside it, I can sit down without a stool. I can't ignore my limitations, but in a way I can celebrate them. They are part of what makes me different, in the good way. Would I be the person I'd be if my brain wasn't wired so oddly? Doubt it. I'd be the nice straight Jew who lives well under the thumb of his family, suppresses his own dreams and thoughts, and lives in a feedback loop of drapes, religious observation, and a desolation of the soul.
I think that is what ruffles me the most in this house. The Woman expects me to totally bow before her stalwart neurochemical troubles, since she can't change them.. but that apparently, I can change my stalwart neurochemical troubles to more easily fit into her life. I don't know what troubles me more, how much certainty I load on my identity through my life issues, or how much more certainty The Woman seems to place in her immutable life issues. In the end, there's probably little I can do. She comfortable in her "house as the center of her world" belief system, and her attachment to the owner allows her the believed power to enforce her reality on all those around her. She's actually more the Jew than I let on... she doesn't just suffer... she has to make sure everyone else knows how much she suffers.
Then I end up facing my own blind spots. Where I am unsure where my parents end and I begin. Where I am unable to tell is the border between where my limitations and my self-sabotage. How much is my own grasping to make the world fit my image of it, where truth is blurred by fog banks of delusion. Now that I don't live AND work alone, it's all the more clear for it. I work so hard that I hurt as much as I do now, because I so desperately want to make this job work, but at the same time, I'm being watched closely by management and shiftcrew because I'm so slow, I must be slacking off somewhere. That I seem to forget things so much... that I feel I need help more, but in asking for that help, my co-workers think I am trying to pass off my work duties onto them. I patrol the floors where the bank's investment offices are, with the constant ticker, and three screens to every desk.... look and ponder that working at the speed required for that kind of work would probably kill me. Literally.
Strangely, in the end, this is what I blessed with. The chance to work with my difficulties and limitations, to not solve them. But accept them as some kind of practical karmic joke, where I am not the joke, I'm the punchline. This is the point where I hold onto hope that's kept me going nearly double my believed life expectancy. where I have probably my only real sense of true faith. That maybe no God, or no higher being/state/force, made me the way that I am, but that these are the gifts of a universe that plants the seed in everyone not just to be guys, or Jews, or hyperactives... but to make those who are trying to fight to be just really swell human beings. It doesn't seem like a bad way for the Big Show to run itself. Least in my eyes.
In the end, who knows? maybe my limitations were planned to make The Woman consider hers. You never know. She's touched by her loving God. I could just be a tool.. a guide.. on Her path.. to bring out her humanness. You never really do know. I think Albert Einstein was wrong, God does not dice with the Universe, but he has the TV Guide.
Sleep now. Gammy leg or not. I go back to work Saturday. I'm even more sure that if I met God for lunch... I'd enjoy the meal, feel better for it... but I'd still stiff God with the bill.
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