Since I was a child, the sentence I have heard the most — in one or another variation — “You think too much.” Always being told I take things too hard, too personally, make everything too complicated and that I ought just go on. Move on. Keep going. Well, now, I can’t. I just can’t. And if I did … who would I be? Who would I be if I didn’t care?
… the world has gone completely mad. Day Five now of vertigo, making it officially the longest bout I have had. No worries. I can function. I can even drive; although, sometimes putting on the brakes gets tricky: it seems the dizziness is triggered by changes in direction, in speed, looking down, up, or changing my elevation – i.e. going from sitting to standing. Diagnosis? Well, I am more and more convinced this is not so much illness as reaction to a world so ridiculously out of balance, off kilter, impossibly illogical that to be in balance would be the odd thing. The Disorder.
I went out to dinner last night with one of my dearest and we got on the subject of Iraq and this mess. I am obsessed. I have always considered myself completely peaceful, that I would never be able to fight, to kill another, to be part of an action or choice that was violent in any way. Passive resistance. Sit. Refuse to fight. Let them kill me if they must but I will not take up arms. Now, I don’t know. If a group of people are ruthlessly killing others — do I stand and watch? If I don’t try to stop them, am I aiding their murderous spree? But, once I step in and “stop them” by killing them — have I sunk to their level? Is it EVER justified to harm another? If they were threatening someone I loved – could I kill another person? Would I recover from it? I don’t know. I am actually losing sleep over this — not just the practical side of it — but, even worse, the theosophical side: HOW HAVE WE NOT EVOLVED FURTHER THAN THIS?
Which begins an avalanche of PERSONAL philosophical questioning and mid-life crisis-ey shit — as in, “How have I not evolved further than I have? How have I managed to waste my life this way I have?”
A slippery slope on which I cannot stay up-right. I am off balance-d by it all. Vertigo. You see?
Life is all too much like some carnival fun-house/hall of mirrors/tunnel of terror ride with tilting floors and moving walls made of distorting mirrors and a soundtrack of hysterical screamings and manic laughter and too, strange limbs and freak-show faces jumping out at one, grabbing and mauling and whispering imprecations. Of course I’m stumbling, of course each step and breath must be taken with trepidation. Holy mother of all that is — LOOK THE EFF AROUND, PEOPLE? Who can stay in balance?
- An adjustment in seeing. Always the key. Change the perspective. In May, Rizzoli published The Invisibles; Vintage Portraits of Love and Pride. Gay Couples in the Early Twentieth Century [Click HERE]. Point: love wins. There are always moments of and opportunities for happiness, no matter the conditions in which one finds one’s self. Look:
Gorgeous. Right? There is always a place for everyone, it’s a matter of finding it. Balance. Not finding your balance leads to shit like this:
- What is up with Shia LaBeouf? Taken from the Broadway production of Cabaret in handcuffs [CLICK HERE for story]? (P.S. I refuse to call it Cabaret: The Musical. What the fuck is that? Must we append labels to everything? I find that as irritating as the need now to title every novel NAME OF NOVEL; A NOVEL. Uhm, okay.) He needs treatment of some sort. I hope there is someone in his life who can help him find help.
- I’ve got ten days (almost) left here in this beautiful house/pet sit gig. The vertigo is giving me an excuse to do little but recline and read — which is giving me an excuse to eat — which is resulting in weight gain and making me feel bad about myself — but, really, look at this view:
I have been taking breaks from reading in order that I might engage with the world outside. By which I mean, I have been watching the World Cup.
- I am hardly a futbol/soccer fan; but find myself caught in the wild fanaticism of the whole thing. I do NOT, however, have any sort of wild nationalistic bent — all “USA!USA!” chant-y shit. That grates on every nerve I have. BUT, equally grating to me is the urge some people have to denigrate the love and devotion others have for the sport and watching the World Cup. I mean, the snarky, nasty jibes about it on Twitter are ridiculous. I said last night:
And, I meant it. I left Facebook ages ago because of how mean and commercialized it had become, and I am considering a Twitter exit as well, but, then I would have missed this pic posted by Clint Dempsey on his Instagram [CLICK HERE]. LOOK:
- I am also watching Wimbledon[CLICK HERE]. I have a thing for Rafael Nadal. While he is 15-25 years younger than me depending on whether you are speaking to Charlie or Sebastian, he is my height and close to my weight. Why, I wonder, does it look SO MUCH BETTER on him? LOL.