Sticks and Bones

The first part of a chronicle of a crush-turned-obsession. I'm sorry, Julie.


To experience this in natural reading order go to A Bright, Ironic Hell: The Straight Read .


Also, try Satellite Dance and Crystal Delusions--Parts 2 and 3, respectively--complete.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

As Long as the Audition Is Closed (12/25/08 Thursday)

I was very down yesterday when Shawn called. My birthday had been disappointing, at least at work, where, I admit, I'd have liked more attention. But what had been around came back around, and I got what I deserved, I suppose, for being indifferent to everyone else's birthdays.

I probably hadn't talked to Shawn since last Christmas. She'd read my blog. I'd told Mom about the blog but suggested she not read it. She googled me and found it, but adhered to my edict (I think), instead urging Shawn to read it. Mom was worried about me; it's why I took so long to tell her anything about all this. Shawn understands what I've been going through and offered insights (many of which I'd already offered myself but couldn't quite process), essentially validating much of my surmise. What Chris did he very likely did for attention. Julie had never given him that, and he had just the thing (my blog) with which to get it. My outcasting was a natural consequence, as the vindictive rallied 'round the "victor." But it's important I don't retreat into sullenness and indignance or act the kicked dog, or I'll be treated as the aloof, self-pitying outsider I seem to be. "Fake it till you make it," Shawn said, a tactic I've been ill to use, but would obviously get me closer to closure and conciliation than the way I've been going about it. I was so close to feeling a part of things at work--accepted--that this blow dropped me below ground level, and I've been petulantly reluctant to climb out of the hole to start the climb again. But this is my chance to be a bigger person, to stop whining about the injustice, turn that immovable cheek. This is not a wall in front of me but a speed bump.

Kevyn arrived near the end of my talk with Shawn. Along with a care package of teas, coffee and a double-casked Balvenie, she brought her own brand of advice. I hadn't told her of the blog exposure, and I did then. As had Shawn, Kevyn understood, having, of course, grown up in the same emotionally barren household. Kevyn has experienced the backbiting immaturity of office politics, and her reactions have cost her more than one job. But the most recent incident raised her consciousness above those reactions. She realized how much wiser and more mature she had become since she first allowed someone to push the emotional buttons to which she'd been reacting for so long, and now was high time to put tha wisdom and maturity to work. Kevyn loves her job, as I do mine, and she was determined to not let the 27-year-old Kevyn pull the rug from under 51-year-old Kevyn. I have to do the same if I'm to grow from this and return to the fold. Who knows how old this Dion is that I've been allowing to rule my emotions. Perhaps that's been the whole Wise Man/Fool war. I have to grow up.

I have a lot of work to do, most dauntingly to reread the journal and pick out the delusions that propelled me through this, the truths I ignored in order to perpetuate the delusions, and the points of growth to nurture. I am willing psychologically and emotionally, but the intellect balks at the apparently necessary methodical approach because it goes against my preferred, organic approach, wherein I trust my unconscious mind to glean what my conscious mind needs. I am not my own best audience. There but for one reader, James (Hinckley), I've been let down by my audience--not feedback, no comments or advice. If I could play that role from another viewpoint than my own, I could teach myself something. Could I cultivate that role?

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