Tuesday, October 26, 2010

In Haste

Posting in haste from library computer.  Faithful, ancient apple laptop died a tragic death.  Just snuffed it after a 'forced quit'.  It was no doubt deeply insulted at my lack of patience with it and decided not to come back. Hence no computer or none that can be relied on anyway.  BFs computer, wot is the television, wot is the household God wot is very public space on which to blog, or whatevs.  Got a virus, or maybe a Trojan or maybe a worm,  Seems like it's in the modem. So net not working so well.  Certainly doesn't like blogger or twitter or anything onto which you log in and then into which you explore.  Bloody PCs.  Also lost a large amount of music.  Secretly, wouldn't mind if the whole thing died completely, and then we could carry out an audit of our household communicating devices and perhaps come up with something a little more private and less in your face. 

Have been watching  a bit of tele, Particularly enjoying Stephen Fry's Last Chance to See.  How were those chimps?  Made me weep.

Adios for now.  Job going well.  Overdraft slowly being hauled into credit.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The incomplete Idiot’s Guide to Love. (For incomplete idiots)

Through conditioning although maybe it’s also inherent, I seem to have come to believe certain things about love—romantic love anyway.  All my life I’ve fallen in and then out of love, not a huge number of times mind, maybe half a dozen times or so.  

I didn’t’ actually know there was such a thing as ‘romantic’ love.  I didn’t recognise the many different ways we love.  At eighteen I could understand that the love I had for my pets was not the same as the love I had for my parents or my friends, if indeed I recognised at eighteen that I had friends I 'loved' that my feelings of affection and joy in their presence was a form of love.  At eighteen I remember thinking and perhaps telling someone (I was standing on the over bridge at Gordon station, I remember that, something of an epiphany) that I had noticed I could ‘love’ a boyfriend for six months or so and then it seemed to fade away and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to sustain a relationship with anyone beyond six months, because somehow my feelings always seemed to change and I no longer felt quite the same way about the person as I had in those heady, silly, beautiful romantic ways. At that age, I had no idea there was such a ‘thing’ as romantic love.  And it wasn’t until some years later I came across a little book called ‘We’, and began to learn  romantic love.  I was a bit appalled really.  Appalled and reconciled.  Appalled I had never encountered the concept of romantic love before in an ‘objective’ way, of seeing it as a widespread phenomena. Appalled that say, my mother ( a big call really) (or someone) hadn’t warned me of its dangers and the necessary but seeming unreality of it.  The idea that when we 'fall in love' we are falling in love with a mirror of ourselves, as projected onto another, explained many things about why my loves had predictably and routinely vanished.

It was one of my first intellectual understandings about love and I haven’t really had cause to have other big ones very much, until quite recently.  I saw in my life where and when I was ‘in’ romantic love that it had always been delightful and sometimes completely devastating. 

In subsequent relationships, and there haven’t been that many, and in light of my education about romantic love, I have forged past the six month period. The moment of some small disillusionment when the reality begins to settle that you are with someone who isn't a part of yourself, but a distinct and separate individual.  Someone who you need to reconsider in the light of romantic love’s departure and you find yourself making decisions based more heavily on rationality.  Not entirely rationally of course, but once romantic love has run its course, your brain kicks in a bit more.  Romantic love risks making such a fool of you, so perhaps these more rational considerations have a lot to do with saving face-your own, to your own, which is of course ridiculous.  But you find yourself needing to make an intellectual decision about the person you’re with.  Who are they really? is there something I actually love or even like about them? Hopefully there is some quality about them that drew you together in the first place and hopefully this will be enough to sustain a longer term relationship.  But why do I say hopefully? Why do I say longer term. This is at the 'heart' of what I’m learning.

Once past the romantic love and possibly to save face with myself, to give myself some justification for the silliness of romantic love, or maybe because I actually can and do love people beyond romantic love, I have been usually able to ‘decide’ yes, I do love this person, I love their sense of humour, their kindness, their wisdom, their drive, their whatever.  There still exists within the person with whom I fell so hopeless
‘in love’ a quality or qualities I admire and can love or learn to love and grow to love and I decide that they’re worth it.  Sometimes I’ve been quite wrong –of course and neither they or I were worth it, and soon you realise love is not enough, there needs to be other areas in your personalities where you both connect.

Now it seems,  I’m learning another lesson about love, it’s a newly learnt lesson, and I’m not sure I'm learning it so well, early days.  I wonder, as the dawn of realisation hits, maybe its one of those things that I am the last to know (again).  Maybe I am describing the re-invention of the wheel.  Maybe it’s something men do and understand better than women?  I, like many women seem to have a greater capacity for unconditional love for better or for worse.  It feels good to love someone unconditionally, but not so good when that love is unrequited, or when the penny drops or shit hits the fan-- take your pick and it becomes apparent your not loved quite so unconditionally and or maybe you don't deserve to be, or they don’t ‘deserve’ your devotion, although I’m loathe to think that love is something deserved or not, it just 'is' isn't it?.  I think I’ve tended to believe that the man who claims to love me, beyond romantic love, should love me intently, completely, and without reservation.  I may not expect him to love me unconditionally, he may not be able to, but he should love me importantly.  I should be the focus of his ‘love life’,  he should love me well.  He should think our love the most important 'thing'.  Our love should be be something he takes very very seriously is very very passionate about. But maybe I’ve been wrong about so many ‘shoulds’.

I have a very good and funny friend who sometimes says in a thick, Polish accent “I love you darling . . . but not very much.”  It never fails to amuse me as being a subtle and gorgeous put-down,  but I think I’m also discovering what that actually feels like and while I could feel terribly hurt and wounded about it, it also tells me that some loves are simply not as good as others.  Not that I have any plans to settle for someone who loves me  poorly and so I guess I’ll keep hoping for something better or perhaps not (life is a helluva lot easier, and less emotionally fraught when you’re on on your own, that I"m also learning. But maybe I should keep in mind the possibility I will find someone who can love me a little better, and that because I suspect this one cannot, doesn’t necessarily mean the goddamn end of my world. Take the good with the bad as another friend said.  It may not not be the greatest love of your life, but it is a love nonetheless and my hitherto unacknowledged and I guess largely unconscious beliefs that the man I love and live with should love me very, very, very much rather than just ‘so’ so, is probably a bit na├»ve and alas, romantic. 

I don’t know,  It’s been a sobering lesson.  I don’t feel sorry for myself,  I feel a bit relieved, a bit harder a bit colder perhaps, but a bit more able to cope with what’s in front of me. Coming to these thoughts, this realisation seems to take away from the pain of railing against some of the harder lessons of love.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Hell in a fast food joint,.

I have been writing all day--an essay.  Still not finished, but as good as.  Now for finding those references, doing the bibliography etc.  Manyana.  Oh no that's right, tomorrow I have to go to WORK, geez that'll be novel--for a while. Fortunately my presence is not required untili the very civilized hour of 9.30 am and the job is within walking distance, albeit slightly up-hill walking.  A job I had, the one before the last, was flipping burgers in a nasty, nasty, take away. A job I was railroaded into it by a mindless job agent who knew perfectly well that the employer was a bad one.  The employer lied through her fucking teeth at the interview about the job and the conditions.  I lasted there about a month. 

I was required to 'open the shop' at five am. Something she didn't think necessary to tell me until after I'd agreed to work for her. It wouldn't have been enough to make me not take the job, but it was just one example of her 'mis speaking' about what she required of me.  

Opening the shop at five for business, meant leaving home at about four twenty. On arrival I was 'tasked' (sorry 'bout that) with a list as long as my arm of things I had to do, at speed, in order to complete the list. None of which involved serving the seven-thirty am rush of blokes who wanted egg and bacon rolls or the people coming into buy the most expensive coffee in town, dispensed from an espresso machine I appeared to be the only one to ever clean (and was told off for 'wasting' time doing it). DIrty espresso machines stink to high heaven.  It was sheer, unadulturated hell, and I very inconveniently developed insomnia as I dreaded the arrival of 4 am when I needed finally to get up out of bed in order to get to possibly the worst job I've ever had.  The clock ticked over. Midnight, two am, three am now slightly dozing and then horror the alarm.

I finally quit or was fired, I'm not sure which, when on a Saturday evening we had a rush on burgers, etc and I realised that knocking off mid-rush would be a bit unreasonable.  So I stayed in front of the griller cooking burgers as instructed, while someone else watched the deep fryer, I think it was the boss.  We were all very busy, rushing here and there to the fridges to get more (oh no, no more rissoles) and then hurriedly making balls of mince on the run.  It was very disorganised and chaotic and I was obliged to 'give way' in the kitchen to the bosswoman who seemed to be making a point of claiming her right to move slowly and get in the way, based on her queenly seniority.  There was something very subtely aggressive about her insistance, evidenced in the space she occupied, that as the boss, it was we who were obliged to get out of her way. 

I'd gone about forty five minutes passed my rostered knock-off time and as the rush died down, I asked her if she would like me to leave.  Not really knowing whether she would pay me for the extra time and there was every likelihood she wouldn't. Not only did the shop open the moment we arrived, the shop closed the moment we walked out the door. There was no time allocated for cleaning up at the end of a shift, or pulling in chairs and signage etc, we were expected to be serving customers, mopping floors, cleaning out bain maries and hotplate, draining the disgusting deep fryers, restocking the fridges etcetera and serving people right up until the minute we locked he door.  

Yes. Go. She said bluntly-rudely.  Good. I thought.  Hot and sweaty, I'd already been there for five or six hours and the last minute rush had been a chaotic and unpleasant excursion into fast food hell, with the boss barking orders at me to watch the deep fryer. which was behind me while my attention was focussed on a hot plate groaning with food. I was annoyed by her obsructionist attitude which seemed quite intentional whenever I needed to get to the fridge to find things that weren't actually there, so I was really glad to be leaving.  

I took my apron off, got my bag and was just about to head out the door when she said to me. No. Don't go. You can stay for another 15 minutes.  She had gone into the kitchen and seen what a mess it was and decided that she wanted me to stay to clean it up.  Too late lady.  So I said,  No,  I think I'll go.  Heh, the look of horror on her face was priceless. One hundred and fifty years ago she probably would have had me in court on a charge of employee insubordination.  She never rang me for another shift and I never enquired as to whether I had one. 

In this instance I'm so very glad McDonald's moved into town and can only hope her  business subsequently and deservedly dwindled. 

Tomorrow I plan for it to be a completely different scenario. And now I'm off to blow a few bucks I essentially don't have on a plate of Pad Thai.  Yay! (for the overdraft)


"Right Wing Radio Duck” by Jonathan McIntosh

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Holy reconciling

There was something I had to do to bring in third force. I needed to know that I needed third force?  I had affirming force, denying force but reconciling force was sadly absent.  Thus I was getting nowhere.  Its always hard to know what constitutes third force, but nothing will move along without it.  Perhaps expressing  my whinges (see post below) about my situation was what was needed? Who knows? But after six months of being out of work and with my overdraft getting dangerously low I was offered a job the other day.  

And so to celebrate one of my favourite Gurdjieff de Hartmann compositions. Beautiful and gently transformative.