Yesterday, I posted about my experience with an intruder in my motel room during my move to Mexico. At the end of the story, I told how I remained somewhat traumatized for a while after that happened, and because of my fear, I let my new boyfriend move in with me, because I felt safer with him in the house. That got me to thinking about other times in my life when I've relied on a man's company to protect me or give me a sense of security in the face of danger (real, perceived or potential) from another man or men.
For example, I wanted very much to go to Morocco the first time that I traveled to Europe, but I'd heard that it was very unsafe for women traveling alone, as I was, so I didn't go. Years later, I finally got to go with an old boyfriend, and we had a great time. But I think I would have had to deal with a lot of harassment, or worse, if I didn't have him with me.
I'm probably not the best person to be writing about this, because I don't often turn to men for protection. But my point is that many women do. We live in a world that is much more dangerous than most men can even imagine. Sure, men get mugged, and murdered, etc., too, but women are much easier prey when you consider the relative sizes and strength of the average male and the average female, so we get attacked much more often, whether on the streets by a stranger, or in our homes by a "loved one." And when a man is attacked by another man, his strength is usually more evenly matched with his assailant's and so, he's at least got a fighting chance, unless there's a weapon involved. When a woman is attacked, it's usually by a man, and any woman who's taken a decent self defense class can tell you that even the smallest of men is harder to fight off than the largest woman.
So, what do we do with this fear that we live with, on some level or another of our consciousness, on a daily basis? A lot of times, we turn to men for protection. Like me having my boyfriend move in with me, or finding a male travel partner. And when I lost my virginity in a date rape, who did I turn to for comfort and consolation? .... the guy who had just raped me. I'm sure the rest of you can think of plenty of other examples from your own lives.
Why am I writing about this? Because it makes me so angry! When you think about it, here we (women) are living in a world made dangerous for us, largely by men. And who do we turn to for protection? Men. In other words, our oppressors are also our protectors? How sick is that? Did you ever think that the world is set up in this way just for that very purpose... that men create this dangerous world for us to live in, specifically so that we will turn to them for protection... so that we will need them?
Yes, yes, I know that there are no board rooms full of men, sitting around deciding these things. But that's not how social institutions are created over the long run anyway. Do you think that there is something deep in the male psyche that tells them to create a world in which they might be considered indispensible to the female of the species? (and this was the only idea they could come up with?) Could it be a survival mechanism, because science will soon make them obsolete (for reproductive purposes), and, somehow, that knowledge was programmed into primitive man? Okay, that was a little tongue in cheek, but seriously,
If you are a woman, do you rely on men for protection from other men, and if so, does it make you angry?
If you are a man, what thoughts do you have on this. Can you see how our world is different from yours because of our (typically) physical disadvantages? How would you deal with it if the shoe were on the other foot?
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Cheap Psychological Trick #1
I once found myself in the International Airport in Mexico City with a hankering for something to eat. There were plenty of restaurants in the terminal, and I was particularly attracted to one that had big pictures of their entrees on the outer wall facing some of the seats in the waiting area by my gate... sizzling seafood, fajitas, hamburgers... it all looked so good. My mouth was just watering.
I checked out the prices on the menu posted outside the door, and I guess I wasn't surprised that they were about three times what I would pay on the street, but cheapskate that I am, I just refused to pay those prices. The bastards think they've got you where they want you, just because you're in an airport terminal, and you can't go anywhere else to grab a quick bite. But I wasn't having any of it.
I went into one of the little shops in the terminal and bought myself a couple of bags of Cheetos. Then, I sat myself in one of those seats facing all the pictures of the restaurant's mouth watering entrees, and I ate my Cheetos, savoring every one, letting it melt in my mouth, while I looked at the pictures. By the time I was done, I felt just as satisfied as if I had sat down to one of those meals, but I'd paid a fraction of the price. (okay, yes, I did pay three times as much for those Cheetos as I would have on the street, but it was a lot less than buying one of those meals).
So, next time you find yourself in a similar situation, try out this cheap psychological trick and let me know how it works for you.
I checked out the prices on the menu posted outside the door, and I guess I wasn't surprised that they were about three times what I would pay on the street, but cheapskate that I am, I just refused to pay those prices. The bastards think they've got you where they want you, just because you're in an airport terminal, and you can't go anywhere else to grab a quick bite. But I wasn't having any of it.
I went into one of the little shops in the terminal and bought myself a couple of bags of Cheetos. Then, I sat myself in one of those seats facing all the pictures of the restaurant's mouth watering entrees, and I ate my Cheetos, savoring every one, letting it melt in my mouth, while I looked at the pictures. By the time I was done, I felt just as satisfied as if I had sat down to one of those meals, but I'd paid a fraction of the price. (okay, yes, I did pay three times as much for those Cheetos as I would have on the street, but it was a lot less than buying one of those meals).
So, next time you find yourself in a similar situation, try out this cheap psychological trick and let me know how it works for you.
When a Woman Cries
Just a week after I moved into my new place, I was hard at work, writing lesson plans for the marathon English lessons I was going to be giving at the airport form my new job. It was exhausting work, mostly because it just involved so much thinking… and pondering, and hesitating, and re-thinking. Oy! Because I hadn’t worked in five years, and because I was going to be observed the first day on the job, I wanted to make sure that everything went absolutely perfectly, and that meant timing everything just right, integrating all the specific needs of the air traffic controllers into the lesson plan, including some relevant grammar points, preteaching new vocabulary, and tying everything up with a production exercise at the end. (I’ll bet you never thought that teaching language was so complicated, did you?)
By 11 p.m., I still had a long way left to go, and only one day left to do it in, but I was so exhausted that I thought I could do a better job if I went to sleep and got up early Sunday morning to finish it off. So, that’s what I did. Not 15 minutes after I turned the light off, I heard my flatmate, The Transformer (TT) come home from work. She banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and I was too tired to even get annoyed about it. Then, I heard her knocking softly on my door. There was no way I was getting up to chat when I was so tired, so I just kept quiet and ignored the knock, hoping she would get the idea that I was asleep. That’s when I heard my door open.
I couldn’t believe it. I’ve lived with a lot of people before, and nobody has ever breached the sanctity of the closed bedroom door before… and if you know anything about me, it’s that you just don’t fuck with my sleep. That’s sacred. So, I was already annoyed when I gave out a little grunt, hoping she would take the hint, realize I was sleeping and go away. But no. She ventured a step or two into the room and asked if I was sleeping. I got up and staggered toward the door to see what she wanted.
“I’m lonely,” she said. I felt a sudden urge to pee and motioned her into my room while I went to the bathroom. When I came out, she had gone back to her room, but I was awake now, and my curiosity was piqued. I also felt like I wanted to be a good friend, and honor my commitment to the Most Important Person in the World. So, I went and got her, and brought her back to my room to talk. I sat on my bed, and she surprised me by sitting on the floor, even though there are about three or four chairs in my room.
“I’m lonely,” she said, and began to cry. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be in there… alone. I don’t want to sleep alone. Can I sleep with you?”
I knew what this was about. She’d told me that her reason for coming to Prague two weeks ago was that her girlfriend of 10 years had broken up with her. She still worshipped this girl. And, in spite of that, I felt from the beginning that she was developing a crush on me, and her request to sleep with me more or less confirmed it.
I have to admit that I had been toying with the idea, but wasn’t inclined to rush into anything for what I considered a very important reason. Anyone who has had a ten year relationship, and especially someone who is on the rebound from said relationship is not suitable dating material for me. I’m a menace to people like that. I am a confirmed commitment-phobe, not only with relationships, but with everything. I get bored with jobs, with homes, with cities, with countries.. I can’t even commit to a selection off the menu in a restaurant! So, when I recognize that someone is looking for the long haul, I back off, unless I’ve gotten to know that person very well, and think that I might be able to finally make a go of it, but I’ve never had a relationship last for more than a couple of years, and most of them have been seriously shorter than that. So, to just experiment with my sexuality (I’ve never been with a woman before) at the risk of her getting emotionally attached when it might not have staying power for me, would be emotional irresponsibility in the extreme on my part. I just wasn’t willing to do that.
And now, with her sitting on the floor of my room crying, all of the sexual tension that had been building up during the week I’d known her, dissipated instantly. That confidence that had initially attracted me was gone. That can happen to anyone, but this was way too early in our “friendship” for me to take it all in as a part of the whole. Suddenly, to me, she was her neediness. Suddenly, I felt pressure, obligation, all the things that make me suffocate. I didn’t want her happiness to depend on me.
I tried to talk to her about how she was feeling and why she was feeling so lonely. She remarked that I am all in my head while she is all in her heart. I nodded with recognition. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It always feels like a criticism, whether people mean it that way or not, because I’d rather be a more feeling person. But I’m better with words.
She felt awkward and got up to go. I got up to, and she threw her arms around me in one of those A-frame hugs that women are wont to do. I knew she was holding herself back, and because I hate the A-frame, and I feel like, if you’re going to hug, you might as well hug, I pulled her closer to me and hugged her back, rubbing her back and trying my best to comfort her, but I felt clumsy and inadequate as she stroked the back of my head. I couldn’t find it within myself to turn this into a romantic encounter… not only because I didn’t feel it, but also because I didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. And then, there was the feeling of hugging a woman… even this woman who claims to be a man trapped in a woman’s body. S/he just felt like a wisp of smoke… no substance… weak… like a child. And I felt like a man. Here it was again.. maybe lfbno7 was right?
I invited her to sit next to me on the bed so we could talk, even though talking wasn’t what she wanted to do. I told her that I felt like I was the man and she was the woman.
“I was born with this body,” she defended herself.
“It’s not that,” I told her. “It’s your energy. You have the energy of a child.”
She was surprised to hear it. I told her that I didn’t always feel that way with her, but in this moment, I felt like a mother comforting a child, or like a man comforting a woman. Mind you, this entire conversation took place in a combination of Polish and Czech, neither of which I have any handle on, so communication was sketchy at best.
She eventually offered to let me get some sleep, and I took her up on her offer, explaining how much work I had to do, and how I was going to be observed on my first day. She had apparently given up on the idea of sleeping with me. After she left, I turned my light off and lay down to sleep. She was banging around in the kitchen some more, and I couldn’t really interpret the sounds I was hearing, but at first, it sounded like she was rattling around in the utensils, and then it almost sounded as if she were moving furniture.
My mind was filled with memories of my early days in Mexico… my young boyfriend and his propensity toward suicide. For nearly two months straight, I had gotten nearly no sleep, between waking up in the middle of the night to literally wrestle the knife out of his hands (and he fought back so much that it often took hours), or to chase him down to the river and stop him from throwing himself off the bridge. I told myself that I was projecting. I told myself that I wasn’t responsible for her actions. Then, I told myself that I had to get up and check it out. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.
Her door was closed, and I knocked hesitantly. She bade me to enter, and I did. She was sitting in front of her table with some food. I told her I had heard some sounds and was afraid that she might be doing something bad. She laughed and said that she’d been opening a can of peas. (Yet another house without a can opener… and the knives here are dull!)
We chatted for a while, and she noticed that I was standing and invited me to sit down next to her on her bed, which I did. She said that it was better when our eyes were on an equal level. I agreed, and asked her, why then, had she sat on the floor in my room. She said she didn’t want to sit on my bed. I asked why. She said,
“Because you’re lovely.”
She added that she would have wanted to kiss me. Then she asked if she could kiss me, and I told her,
“Not now.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sometime when it’s more natural.”
But to tell the truth, I didn’t know if it was ever going to be natural enough. The tension had been broken. She’d gotten to easy. She wasn’t a challenge anymore. Once lost, could that ever be regained? I doubted it. And what do these thoughts say about me? What would I say or think if a guy expressed the same thoughts?
I went to sleep and didn’t see much of her for the next few days because of our conflicting work schedules. There was a night when she wanted me to go out to watch country dancing with her, but I had taught all day and then done some apartment hunting, so I was beat, and I declined. Instead of going herself, with the friend who had invited her, she stayed home with me, for the little bit of time I could give her before I had to turn in.
Last night, after my second day on the job, I was exhausted again (I have to get up at 5:45 am to get there on time). She invited me to go to a club, but in addition to being really tired, I’m just really not into clubs. She told me it was not a typical club and that I would like it, but I just couldn’t get myself awake enough to think about going out. So, she suggested that we stay in and make our own club… with our own music, etc. I told her okay, as long as it was quiet music. I didn’t really feel like doing anything. Just wanted to be alone. I didn’t like this feeling of obligation to spend time with her all of a sudden. Doesn’t this seem ironic after I spent the whole summer feeling so lonely and chasing after all those pirates to no avail? That’s pretty much how it is with me. I need to be completely in charge of my own life. Can’t stand to have to live up to other people’s expectations.
She told me to relax, and that she had a surprise for me. Later, she came in with a bottle of wine and poured us two big tumblers full (we don’t have wine glasses). I told her she was crazy to give me so much, and that I wasn’t going to drink it all. I went to get a smaller glass to pour it into. She also brought in a bowl of crackers. I recognized that this was all a financial sacrifice on her part, and winced at the thought of how important she was making me.
While we sat there and talked, she remarked that I was mysterious, and that I had many secrets. I laughed and told her I didn’t have any secrets. She could ask whatever she wanted. Instead of asking questions, she brought in a small painting canvas stretched over cardboard and suggested that we do some art therapy. She told me to draw something. What on earth was I going to draw? Anything, she said.
While she busied herself looking at my Czech language book, I started sketching, and what came out was a drawing of my cat with a halo around her head, and a ray of light slanting off to the right from the halo. She had angel’s wings and I drew a heart on her chest. Then, I drew 17 different kinds of flowers, to represent the 17 different varieties of wildflowers that I buried with her. I’ll have to explain the symbolism of all this in another post, but I explained it to TT, and told her how my cat had sacrificed her life so that I could have my freedom. It brought tears to TT’s eyes. For myself, I knew that if I let myself feel the story, I would be in tears, too, but I didn’t want to get vulnerable with her, so I kept my thoughts divorced from my words.
TT told me that she was experiencing so many feelings after hearing this story. As usual, she didn’t want to express her feelings with words. Words, it seems, are not her thing. Then, she went on at length about how much she was attracted to me, and that I was like a magnet for her. She couldn’t tell me why. She added that she felt like a teenager around me, and that she usually isn’t like this… that she’s usually just the opposite. She said she was falling in love with me, and I told her that she doesn’t know me. She said she recognizes my energy. I didn’t encourage her, and I could feel her pain. I don’t want to be responsible for her pain. I’m not responsible for it, but I feel like I am, and I don’t like the feeling of obligation that comes along with that.
She asked if I wanted to go to sleep, and I told her I did. The wine had hit me like a ton of bricks. She asked if we could sleep together, and I told her no. I felt her pain again, but she was a man about it. She went off to brush her teeth, and I got ready for bed. I opened my door to wish her goodnight. I wished we could go back to the way things were the first night we met and we had so much fun and just enjoyed each other without any expectations. I guess you can never go back.
I’m going to have to find a way… soon… to tell her directly, but gently… that it’s just not going to happen for us. And I’m going to have to take a look at why I’m only attracted to a back walking away. I spend so much energy whining that there’s not any love for me… but when it comes my way, I question it, and I reject it. Is it my destiny to be alone in this world? It sure seems that way. But still, being alone is much more palatable to me than feeling suffocated. Isn’t there a happy medium? God, do I miss Pegleg!
By 11 p.m., I still had a long way left to go, and only one day left to do it in, but I was so exhausted that I thought I could do a better job if I went to sleep and got up early Sunday morning to finish it off. So, that’s what I did. Not 15 minutes after I turned the light off, I heard my flatmate, The Transformer (TT) come home from work. She banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and I was too tired to even get annoyed about it. Then, I heard her knocking softly on my door. There was no way I was getting up to chat when I was so tired, so I just kept quiet and ignored the knock, hoping she would get the idea that I was asleep. That’s when I heard my door open.
I couldn’t believe it. I’ve lived with a lot of people before, and nobody has ever breached the sanctity of the closed bedroom door before… and if you know anything about me, it’s that you just don’t fuck with my sleep. That’s sacred. So, I was already annoyed when I gave out a little grunt, hoping she would take the hint, realize I was sleeping and go away. But no. She ventured a step or two into the room and asked if I was sleeping. I got up and staggered toward the door to see what she wanted.
“I’m lonely,” she said. I felt a sudden urge to pee and motioned her into my room while I went to the bathroom. When I came out, she had gone back to her room, but I was awake now, and my curiosity was piqued. I also felt like I wanted to be a good friend, and honor my commitment to the Most Important Person in the World. So, I went and got her, and brought her back to my room to talk. I sat on my bed, and she surprised me by sitting on the floor, even though there are about three or four chairs in my room.
“I’m lonely,” she said, and began to cry. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be in there… alone. I don’t want to sleep alone. Can I sleep with you?”
I knew what this was about. She’d told me that her reason for coming to Prague two weeks ago was that her girlfriend of 10 years had broken up with her. She still worshipped this girl. And, in spite of that, I felt from the beginning that she was developing a crush on me, and her request to sleep with me more or less confirmed it.
I have to admit that I had been toying with the idea, but wasn’t inclined to rush into anything for what I considered a very important reason. Anyone who has had a ten year relationship, and especially someone who is on the rebound from said relationship is not suitable dating material for me. I’m a menace to people like that. I am a confirmed commitment-phobe, not only with relationships, but with everything. I get bored with jobs, with homes, with cities, with countries.. I can’t even commit to a selection off the menu in a restaurant! So, when I recognize that someone is looking for the long haul, I back off, unless I’ve gotten to know that person very well, and think that I might be able to finally make a go of it, but I’ve never had a relationship last for more than a couple of years, and most of them have been seriously shorter than that. So, to just experiment with my sexuality (I’ve never been with a woman before) at the risk of her getting emotionally attached when it might not have staying power for me, would be emotional irresponsibility in the extreme on my part. I just wasn’t willing to do that.
And now, with her sitting on the floor of my room crying, all of the sexual tension that had been building up during the week I’d known her, dissipated instantly. That confidence that had initially attracted me was gone. That can happen to anyone, but this was way too early in our “friendship” for me to take it all in as a part of the whole. Suddenly, to me, she was her neediness. Suddenly, I felt pressure, obligation, all the things that make me suffocate. I didn’t want her happiness to depend on me.
I tried to talk to her about how she was feeling and why she was feeling so lonely. She remarked that I am all in my head while she is all in her heart. I nodded with recognition. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It always feels like a criticism, whether people mean it that way or not, because I’d rather be a more feeling person. But I’m better with words.
She felt awkward and got up to go. I got up to, and she threw her arms around me in one of those A-frame hugs that women are wont to do. I knew she was holding herself back, and because I hate the A-frame, and I feel like, if you’re going to hug, you might as well hug, I pulled her closer to me and hugged her back, rubbing her back and trying my best to comfort her, but I felt clumsy and inadequate as she stroked the back of my head. I couldn’t find it within myself to turn this into a romantic encounter… not only because I didn’t feel it, but also because I didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. And then, there was the feeling of hugging a woman… even this woman who claims to be a man trapped in a woman’s body. S/he just felt like a wisp of smoke… no substance… weak… like a child. And I felt like a man. Here it was again.. maybe lfbno7 was right?
I invited her to sit next to me on the bed so we could talk, even though talking wasn’t what she wanted to do. I told her that I felt like I was the man and she was the woman.
“I was born with this body,” she defended herself.
“It’s not that,” I told her. “It’s your energy. You have the energy of a child.”
She was surprised to hear it. I told her that I didn’t always feel that way with her, but in this moment, I felt like a mother comforting a child, or like a man comforting a woman. Mind you, this entire conversation took place in a combination of Polish and Czech, neither of which I have any handle on, so communication was sketchy at best.
She eventually offered to let me get some sleep, and I took her up on her offer, explaining how much work I had to do, and how I was going to be observed on my first day. She had apparently given up on the idea of sleeping with me. After she left, I turned my light off and lay down to sleep. She was banging around in the kitchen some more, and I couldn’t really interpret the sounds I was hearing, but at first, it sounded like she was rattling around in the utensils, and then it almost sounded as if she were moving furniture.
My mind was filled with memories of my early days in Mexico… my young boyfriend and his propensity toward suicide. For nearly two months straight, I had gotten nearly no sleep, between waking up in the middle of the night to literally wrestle the knife out of his hands (and he fought back so much that it often took hours), or to chase him down to the river and stop him from throwing himself off the bridge. I told myself that I was projecting. I told myself that I wasn’t responsible for her actions. Then, I told myself that I had to get up and check it out. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.
Her door was closed, and I knocked hesitantly. She bade me to enter, and I did. She was sitting in front of her table with some food. I told her I had heard some sounds and was afraid that she might be doing something bad. She laughed and said that she’d been opening a can of peas. (Yet another house without a can opener… and the knives here are dull!)
We chatted for a while, and she noticed that I was standing and invited me to sit down next to her on her bed, which I did. She said that it was better when our eyes were on an equal level. I agreed, and asked her, why then, had she sat on the floor in my room. She said she didn’t want to sit on my bed. I asked why. She said,
“Because you’re lovely.”
She added that she would have wanted to kiss me. Then she asked if she could kiss me, and I told her,
“Not now.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sometime when it’s more natural.”
But to tell the truth, I didn’t know if it was ever going to be natural enough. The tension had been broken. She’d gotten to easy. She wasn’t a challenge anymore. Once lost, could that ever be regained? I doubted it. And what do these thoughts say about me? What would I say or think if a guy expressed the same thoughts?
I went to sleep and didn’t see much of her for the next few days because of our conflicting work schedules. There was a night when she wanted me to go out to watch country dancing with her, but I had taught all day and then done some apartment hunting, so I was beat, and I declined. Instead of going herself, with the friend who had invited her, she stayed home with me, for the little bit of time I could give her before I had to turn in.
Last night, after my second day on the job, I was exhausted again (I have to get up at 5:45 am to get there on time). She invited me to go to a club, but in addition to being really tired, I’m just really not into clubs. She told me it was not a typical club and that I would like it, but I just couldn’t get myself awake enough to think about going out. So, she suggested that we stay in and make our own club… with our own music, etc. I told her okay, as long as it was quiet music. I didn’t really feel like doing anything. Just wanted to be alone. I didn’t like this feeling of obligation to spend time with her all of a sudden. Doesn’t this seem ironic after I spent the whole summer feeling so lonely and chasing after all those pirates to no avail? That’s pretty much how it is with me. I need to be completely in charge of my own life. Can’t stand to have to live up to other people’s expectations.
She told me to relax, and that she had a surprise for me. Later, she came in with a bottle of wine and poured us two big tumblers full (we don’t have wine glasses). I told her she was crazy to give me so much, and that I wasn’t going to drink it all. I went to get a smaller glass to pour it into. She also brought in a bowl of crackers. I recognized that this was all a financial sacrifice on her part, and winced at the thought of how important she was making me.
While we sat there and talked, she remarked that I was mysterious, and that I had many secrets. I laughed and told her I didn’t have any secrets. She could ask whatever she wanted. Instead of asking questions, she brought in a small painting canvas stretched over cardboard and suggested that we do some art therapy. She told me to draw something. What on earth was I going to draw? Anything, she said.
While she busied herself looking at my Czech language book, I started sketching, and what came out was a drawing of my cat with a halo around her head, and a ray of light slanting off to the right from the halo. She had angel’s wings and I drew a heart on her chest. Then, I drew 17 different kinds of flowers, to represent the 17 different varieties of wildflowers that I buried with her. I’ll have to explain the symbolism of all this in another post, but I explained it to TT, and told her how my cat had sacrificed her life so that I could have my freedom. It brought tears to TT’s eyes. For myself, I knew that if I let myself feel the story, I would be in tears, too, but I didn’t want to get vulnerable with her, so I kept my thoughts divorced from my words.
TT told me that she was experiencing so many feelings after hearing this story. As usual, she didn’t want to express her feelings with words. Words, it seems, are not her thing. Then, she went on at length about how much she was attracted to me, and that I was like a magnet for her. She couldn’t tell me why. She added that she felt like a teenager around me, and that she usually isn’t like this… that she’s usually just the opposite. She said she was falling in love with me, and I told her that she doesn’t know me. She said she recognizes my energy. I didn’t encourage her, and I could feel her pain. I don’t want to be responsible for her pain. I’m not responsible for it, but I feel like I am, and I don’t like the feeling of obligation that comes along with that.
She asked if I wanted to go to sleep, and I told her I did. The wine had hit me like a ton of bricks. She asked if we could sleep together, and I told her no. I felt her pain again, but she was a man about it. She went off to brush her teeth, and I got ready for bed. I opened my door to wish her goodnight. I wished we could go back to the way things were the first night we met and we had so much fun and just enjoyed each other without any expectations. I guess you can never go back.
I’m going to have to find a way… soon… to tell her directly, but gently… that it’s just not going to happen for us. And I’m going to have to take a look at why I’m only attracted to a back walking away. I spend so much energy whining that there’s not any love for me… but when it comes my way, I question it, and I reject it. Is it my destiny to be alone in this world? It sure seems that way. But still, being alone is much more palatable to me than feeling suffocated. Isn’t there a happy medium? God, do I miss Pegleg!
Can You Feel Compassion for a Cockroach?
The first time I ever saw a cockroach, I was 16 and staying in the dorms at the University of Houston. I got up off the toilet and turned around and there it was! That sucker was a good three or four inches long and it could fly! Eeeek! I don’t think I slept a wink the whole five days I was there. I just sat in the middle of the room, on top of my suitcase (as if that could stop them from reaching me), with the light on, playing cards all night with my roommate.
I didn’t see another one again until I moved to Florida about 15 years later. Because of the hot, humid climate, they were everywhere. Only, they gave them the cutsie name of Palmetto bug. It didn’t help. I still screamed the first time one brushed against my bare foot while I was feeding my cats. Fortunately, they only came in when it rained hard, because the apartment management came in and sprayed every month.
I soon learned that it didn’t pay to try and smash them, because they were so hard that they usually didn’t die anyway. So, I just got in the habit of scooping them up on the dustpan and throwing them outside. I eventually got to the point where they didn’t particularly bother me anymore. Then, I moved to Colorado and didn’t have to worry about them for a long time, but when I moved to Mexico, there they were again.
By then, however, after living with three cats for about 15 years, I had developed a different attitude toward the animal world. The longer I lived with them, the less I wanted to eat them or kill them. (I should qualify that… I do still eat meat, but I am moving steadily toward vegetarianism). I had long since stopped killing ants, spiders and mosquitos, and I no longer had the inclination to squash or poison someone just because they were bothering me or invading my space. Yes, I realize I said “someone” and not “something.” There’s a reason for that.
When I looked into the eyes of my cats, I saw a person, that is to say, a soul. And I felt compassion for those souls. Now, I know that isn’t unusual. A lot of people feel compassion for cats, dogs and other cute, furry creatures, especially their own pets. But what about the critters that ain’t so cute? Let me tell you about my pet cockroach.
This happened at a time when I only had one cat left. I was living in Mexico, and in spite of the humid climate, I didn’t get many roaches, because I lived on the second floor. But one summer, we were getting huge amounts of rain, and it wasn’t unusual for me to have to scoop one or two of them up every day and toss them out the door. After a while, the rains stopped, and I didn’t see many any more.
Then, one night, I came into the kitchen and turned on the light, and there was a rather large cockroach sitting on the drainboard. I went for the dustpan and went for it, but he was too fast for me. He got away that time, but I swore I would get him the next time. We played this game every night for about a week or so. I tried outrunning him. That didn’t work. I tried a slow approach. That didn’t work either. I tried explaining to him that I wasn’t going to hurt him, just relocate him. But that didn’t work either.
As I looked at him from across the room, I could actually see the fear in his eyes. And it was then that I decided to stop tormenting him. From then on, when I would come into the kitchen at night and see him there on the drainboard (he was always in the same spot), I would just say “hi” and get on with my business. I would even joke with my friends that now I had two pets, a cat and a cockroach.
Unfortunately, “he” soon started reproducing, and my house was overrun. I had to do something, because I couldn’t go on sharing my house with an ever increasing number of cockroaches. I guess if I were as compassionate as I aspire to be, I could, but these are my failings. I was hopeful, though, because I had heard about a type of Chinese chalk that you could use to draw a line on the floor in front of doors and windows, and this would prevent the cockroaches from coming in. I thought, if I did that, then no new ones could come in, and I could eventually scoop up all the live ones and throw them outside without having to kill any of them.
I went to the neighborhood Chinese store and asked the store owner about the chalk. She said that the way it works is that when the cockroaches walk over it, it gets into their joints and causes them to slowly die. That sounded just as bad or worse than poisoning to me, and it was with a troubled heart that I set some traps and eventually got rid of my problem, but I was haunted by those fearful eyes and the glimpse they had afforded me into the soul that inhabited that crunchy, little body.
How about you? Could you feel compassion for a cockroach?
I didn’t see another one again until I moved to Florida about 15 years later. Because of the hot, humid climate, they were everywhere. Only, they gave them the cutsie name of Palmetto bug. It didn’t help. I still screamed the first time one brushed against my bare foot while I was feeding my cats. Fortunately, they only came in when it rained hard, because the apartment management came in and sprayed every month.
I soon learned that it didn’t pay to try and smash them, because they were so hard that they usually didn’t die anyway. So, I just got in the habit of scooping them up on the dustpan and throwing them outside. I eventually got to the point where they didn’t particularly bother me anymore. Then, I moved to Colorado and didn’t have to worry about them for a long time, but when I moved to Mexico, there they were again.
By then, however, after living with three cats for about 15 years, I had developed a different attitude toward the animal world. The longer I lived with them, the less I wanted to eat them or kill them. (I should qualify that… I do still eat meat, but I am moving steadily toward vegetarianism). I had long since stopped killing ants, spiders and mosquitos, and I no longer had the inclination to squash or poison someone just because they were bothering me or invading my space. Yes, I realize I said “someone” and not “something.” There’s a reason for that.
When I looked into the eyes of my cats, I saw a person, that is to say, a soul. And I felt compassion for those souls. Now, I know that isn’t unusual. A lot of people feel compassion for cats, dogs and other cute, furry creatures, especially their own pets. But what about the critters that ain’t so cute? Let me tell you about my pet cockroach.
This happened at a time when I only had one cat left. I was living in Mexico, and in spite of the humid climate, I didn’t get many roaches, because I lived on the second floor. But one summer, we were getting huge amounts of rain, and it wasn’t unusual for me to have to scoop one or two of them up every day and toss them out the door. After a while, the rains stopped, and I didn’t see many any more.
Then, one night, I came into the kitchen and turned on the light, and there was a rather large cockroach sitting on the drainboard. I went for the dustpan and went for it, but he was too fast for me. He got away that time, but I swore I would get him the next time. We played this game every night for about a week or so. I tried outrunning him. That didn’t work. I tried a slow approach. That didn’t work either. I tried explaining to him that I wasn’t going to hurt him, just relocate him. But that didn’t work either.
As I looked at him from across the room, I could actually see the fear in his eyes. And it was then that I decided to stop tormenting him. From then on, when I would come into the kitchen at night and see him there on the drainboard (he was always in the same spot), I would just say “hi” and get on with my business. I would even joke with my friends that now I had two pets, a cat and a cockroach.
Unfortunately, “he” soon started reproducing, and my house was overrun. I had to do something, because I couldn’t go on sharing my house with an ever increasing number of cockroaches. I guess if I were as compassionate as I aspire to be, I could, but these are my failings. I was hopeful, though, because I had heard about a type of Chinese chalk that you could use to draw a line on the floor in front of doors and windows, and this would prevent the cockroaches from coming in. I thought, if I did that, then no new ones could come in, and I could eventually scoop up all the live ones and throw them outside without having to kill any of them.
I went to the neighborhood Chinese store and asked the store owner about the chalk. She said that the way it works is that when the cockroaches walk over it, it gets into their joints and causes them to slowly die. That sounded just as bad or worse than poisoning to me, and it was with a troubled heart that I set some traps and eventually got rid of my problem, but I was haunted by those fearful eyes and the glimpse they had afforded me into the soul that inhabited that crunchy, little body.
How about you? Could you feel compassion for a cockroach?
What is Home?
I guess most people would answer this question by talking about a place. But it's never been that simple for me, and I guess that's why I ask, What is home rather than Where is home? I've been on the move my whole life. Before I bought my house, I had lived in 18 different places in 18 years. Different houses or apartments, different cities and different states. And since I sold my house, I lived in four different places, three of them outside of my birth country, before I took up a permanently nomadic existence. So far, this year, I've slept in 36 different beds, and there will be more before year's end. I usually feel quite at home wherever I am, but is that the same thing as having a home?
So, home as a place has been a constantly changing notion for me, and I can't think of my parent's home as my home, because I have been more or less estranged from them for most of my adult life, and they've moved around a lot in recent years, too, so I've never lived in or even seen the house that my parents live in now.
I used to have the romantic notion that I could find a feeling of "home" in another person... a soulmate. When I got married, I wanted to have Billy Joel's song You're My Home sung during the ceremony, because that idea of finding a home in someone while still clinging to my gypsy soul really appealed to me. That song expressed what I was looking for in a marriage. But my husband objected, because he thought that some of the lyrics..."use my body as your bed"... "You're my castle, you're my cabin, and my instant pleasure dome"... were too risque' for the relatives. Hmmmm, choosing decorum over romance... could that be one of the reasons the marriage didn't work out?
Anyway, I never have found home in the form of a person, because I've changed relationships even more often than I've changed homes. And not just romantic relationships. Friends tend to drift in and out of my life. Some are more tenacious than others. There is one ex-boyfriend that I visit on occasion. I refer to him as my emergency contact, because he is listed that way on my passport. He's probably the one person in the world that I would probably come back to if I ever decided to settle down. He's the closest thing I've found to a personified home. We're very comfortable together. We are equally weird. He makes me laugh. He likes me and I like him. We count on each other. But we've known each other for less than seven years. Where will our friendship be in another seven?
I've never considered my job to be a home, either first or second, the way some people do. And I've changed, not only jobs, but careers, almost as much as I have houses and relationships. And now, I've given up working (for a living) altogether. So, that doesn't do it for me either.
As I wander around in the world at large, I do feel that I am looking for something, and I've never known what that something was. But now I think I've got it narrowed down, and that is that I am looking for home. Whether home will turn out to be a person, place, thing, sight, sound, smell, taste or memory, I have no idea.
But this feeling of home does come to me in little glimpses once in a while. It doesn't wait to be invited. It just comes into my consciousness. Sometimes it's the smell of a freshly mown lawn... sometimes a light spring breeze coming in through my bedroom window in the morning... the sun dodging behind a cloud... a light spring rain... my favorite Christmas movies... a letter from an old friend... the taste of chocolate. Perhaps these bits and pieces are all I will ever have to call home. And maybe I've made a mistake in going to look for it. Maybe I just need to be patient and let it come to me.
What does home mean to you?
So, home as a place has been a constantly changing notion for me, and I can't think of my parent's home as my home, because I have been more or less estranged from them for most of my adult life, and they've moved around a lot in recent years, too, so I've never lived in or even seen the house that my parents live in now.
I used to have the romantic notion that I could find a feeling of "home" in another person... a soulmate. When I got married, I wanted to have Billy Joel's song You're My Home sung during the ceremony, because that idea of finding a home in someone while still clinging to my gypsy soul really appealed to me. That song expressed what I was looking for in a marriage. But my husband objected, because he thought that some of the lyrics..."use my body as your bed"... "You're my castle, you're my cabin, and my instant pleasure dome"... were too risque' for the relatives. Hmmmm, choosing decorum over romance... could that be one of the reasons the marriage didn't work out?
Anyway, I never have found home in the form of a person, because I've changed relationships even more often than I've changed homes. And not just romantic relationships. Friends tend to drift in and out of my life. Some are more tenacious than others. There is one ex-boyfriend that I visit on occasion. I refer to him as my emergency contact, because he is listed that way on my passport. He's probably the one person in the world that I would probably come back to if I ever decided to settle down. He's the closest thing I've found to a personified home. We're very comfortable together. We are equally weird. He makes me laugh. He likes me and I like him. We count on each other. But we've known each other for less than seven years. Where will our friendship be in another seven?
I've never considered my job to be a home, either first or second, the way some people do. And I've changed, not only jobs, but careers, almost as much as I have houses and relationships. And now, I've given up working (for a living) altogether. So, that doesn't do it for me either.
As I wander around in the world at large, I do feel that I am looking for something, and I've never known what that something was. But now I think I've got it narrowed down, and that is that I am looking for home. Whether home will turn out to be a person, place, thing, sight, sound, smell, taste or memory, I have no idea.
But this feeling of home does come to me in little glimpses once in a while. It doesn't wait to be invited. It just comes into my consciousness. Sometimes it's the smell of a freshly mown lawn... sometimes a light spring breeze coming in through my bedroom window in the morning... the sun dodging behind a cloud... a light spring rain... my favorite Christmas movies... a letter from an old friend... the taste of chocolate. Perhaps these bits and pieces are all I will ever have to call home. And maybe I've made a mistake in going to look for it. Maybe I just need to be patient and let it come to me.
What does home mean to you?
The Empire and You
Empires do not suffer
emptiness of purpose
at the time of their creation.
It is only after they have become
established
that aims are lost
and replaced by vague ritual.
Diary of the Princess Irulan
Frank Herbert – Dune
emptiness of purpose
at the time of their creation.
It is only after they have become
established
that aims are lost
and replaced by vague ritual.
Diary of the Princess Irulan
Frank Herbert – Dune
What is Your Definition of Heaven?
Aw, come on... you knew this was coming, didn't you? So, tell me... what is your definition of heaven? Whether earthbound or celestial, what is the one experience you're just dying to have? I'll be back later to post mine, once I've seen a few of yours.
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