2001-06-30 - 11:47 p.m.
Yesterday's socializing and today's meandering philosophy

Not much happening here today.

My Friday was frustrating and yet fulfilling at the same time. I was fully occupied in socializing from eight a.m. until 9:30 p.m., an unusual experience for me these days. I am not the best of morning persons, especially when I have been up until four in the morning and am suddenly awakened by a cell call at eight to let me know Jocasta is on her way.

I really wish they would get her car repaired. But then, she'd probably not arrive until two in the afternoon. I get most of the day on Fridays now merely because she is forced to keep her husband's schedule; he drops her off on the way to work and picks her up on the way back. She isn't a morning person either. *grin*

We went to see ... hmmm .... I don't have alternate names for them yet! I shall christen them Dolphin, Pretzel, and Baby Betty. (Pretzel refers to her disconcerting ability of tying her body into a literal pretzel-shape; that kind of flexibility astonishes me!) I'll have to update my cast list. They're the friends I met my second year of college, who married just before their senior year, and their beautiful nine-month-old daughter. Jocasta and I visited Pretzel and went with her and Baby Betty to lunch. It was fun. We went to an Asian-food restaurant and every waiter that passed us had to stop and touch Baby Betty and coo at her and share a smile with her.

Jocasta and I went back to my apartment and churned out another chapter or two on our Regency plot; it's coming along, awkwardly, but progressing. I think it may have potential, after the plot's complete and I have a chance to research some things and give it detail and heft. I felt the distinct urge to leap out of my chair and escape the apartment by the end of her visit, but that was probably just the ADHD wearing off on me. She's very dear, I love her to death, but she has zero patience, and is highly inclined to dominate conversations with strange detours in topic. *fond smile* Ah well. I don't really mind, after the fact. Like I have always said, there's something irrepressibly optimistic and caring about her that transcends the messy frustrating bits.

So, Nappy picked her up near six, and at seven I drove to Dolphin and Pretzel's house. He cooked stir-fry and we chatted about things technological (I did get my job from him, after all) and caught up on news of folks at work and what was going on in their lives and how close Baby Betty was to walking. Then we chatted about all sorts of other things. It wasn't nearly as awkward as I feared. In fact, by the end of the evening I became aware that I was starting to talk too much ... a clear sign that I've gotten comfortable and cheery and am highly enjoying myself. That doesn't happen so often, since I'm shy by nature. *laughing* I think I'll be visiting them more often in the future.

Today was a lot slower. I spent half the morning on-line and then burnt out my patience for EverQuest again. My brother doesn't understand it, but I can't just spend all my time focussed on the game like he does. Then, I read a new novel I picked up at Safeway, called "Motion to Strike", and rediscovered my fascination with legal thrillers. I once wanted to be a lawyer, but a year spent as a part-time go-fer in a legal office during high school convinced me that as a career, law is a lot less exciting than the novels make it sound.

This particular novel made me think again about how events that happen when people are young, have very long-lasting effects on their self-confidence and the direction their lives will take. My mother, for example, has always been extremely vulnerable emotionally, as a direct result of her elder brother's sociopathic behavior all during her early life. (I will not go into details, as it is her story, not mine). I myself did not have such a hard life, but all the same ...

*sigh* I've talked to someone else recently about the fact that I've always been the strong one, the shoulder to cry on, for many of my friends; the one who reassures and reminds and defends. I learned it from my mother. I learned early on that Mama was not strong, and instinctively reacted to her moments of weakness the way my Dad did: supportive, protective. I didn't get to go through the traditional rebellious adolescent phase because I knew without asking that it would hurt her badly, and I could not bear to see her upset for any reason, especially reasons that had to do with me.

That backfired on me, of course. After being similarly supportive for my fiance for a few months, several of his behaviors suddenly added up in my mind, and his attitude began to take on a striking resemblance to a certain aforementioned uncle. I panicked. I started looking at him without the rose-colored glasses, and could not find any assurances there of anything but the barefoot-and-pregnant-perfect-wife ideal he had planned out for me. He was not as evil as my uncle by a longshot, but definitely just as occupied with his own desires without a thought for mine. I began throwing obstacles in his path, praying he'd sail over them and watching in dismay as he fell into the murk.

Example: I asked him what he'd do if I ever got a tattoo. He got very serious and told me not to, as he'd have to disown whatever part of my body I put it on. (Good grief. I probably would have gotten my breasts tattoo'ed within a year of our marriage. *lol*) Example: I asked him what he'd do if I considered a job in the Armed Services instead of continuing college (I never would but thought it was a good test question).. He was extremely negative about it, and any other career option that was not inherently feminine. Example: I said I would like to keep working until I could support myself with my writing. He said, of course, except while our children were too young for school; no day-care for them. Very firm. As if he expected I would not work long after our marriage in any case.

Little stuff. More. Subtle emotional abuse for several weeks, trying to guilt me back into being the magical supportive helpmeet again. I think he knew he was losing his grip on me long before I actually gave him back the ring, because he started stepping up the physical aspect. I think he would have been willing to compromise both of our morals and get me in the sack out of wedlock if it would have cemented our relationship. He was nearing the quarter-century mark and beginning to worry that he would leave college (vast population of young unmarried Christian females) for the unwelcoming larger world without a partner, and did not particularly care who it was, in the end.

Anyway, it was after this that I suddenly felt the urge to go through my long-delayed rebellious phase. It had been the straw that broke the camel's back. My mother still was hurt by it despite the fact that I was nineteen and no longer living at home. So my question is ... Did the early realization that adults are not sources of safety or security or anythng else they should be for children, cause so many of my later difficulties in life? Interesting to ponder, isn't it? Nature vs. nurture. It's all so very complex.

And of course I haven't figured into this theory the effect that changing schools every year until age 12 had on the formation of my social skills, or the vast loneliness a shy smart child feels when uprooted from a warm, familiar culture and plunked down 2,500 miles away with a funny accent and a tendency to be teacher's pet, both of which are likely to ostracize said child from her classmates?

Or the effect of being abandoned by one of my favorite people a year after said move ... my Papaw, with a gunshot to his own head. Or watching my beloved Granny slowly drink herself to death thereafter. Or being just too late, of being in the fucking car on the way to the hospital when she breathed her last. (I still say to myself, I should have left work at the instant I got the call that she was getting worse, not bothering to notify the boss or collect my sack lunch from the 'fridge).

Or ... the list goes on. I toss out theories like this one, but am seldom too serious about any of them. Life is, after all, and the cause of any problem is less important than how it is dealt with.

Life's little tragedies. Most of us have stories. Even if, like mine, everything that actually happened, happened to someone else ... the emotional residuum is the same. You can tell the ones that have been scarred by it, I've discovered; at least, the ones who carry scars, but still forge onward. There's a certain recognition. Understanding. Watchfulness.

... and this legal novel, covering similar ground, seems to have inspired me to be very verbose on the subject tonight. I apologize! I just had to get some of it out again. Writing is the best sort of emotional relief valve there is for me, even better than a talk with a trusted friend, sometimes. Paper (or a keyboard) does not talk back or interrupt my thought process with well-intentioned comments, when I just need to get something off my spirit.