Verfremdungseffekt
videodrones; questions
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2009
- Messages
- 866
- MBTI Type
- INTp
- Enneagram
- 5w4
Romance absorbs me totally. That's romance for a girl, romance for a new idea, romance for a new favorite author or a band or a brand of root beer. Once those boundaries clash, I am committed to incorporating every bit of this new perspective into my own. I subsume myself, that I might better understand.
This is the opposite of what I now need. Neither do I want it, except when I'm weak and despondant and in search of a crutch. As I've said before, I'm doing a decent job at reclaiming myself. I've just begun to draw again, after a five-year lapse. I'm starting to rediscover a mind for fiction. Not long ago I remembered how to write music. It's all coming back. I'm in no hurry to lose it again.
Which is all well in theory. Yet I've two gorgeous young women in my life. Maybe a week ago, Hilda -- the curious old woman I've mentioned -- asked me to brunch with her nerdy son. On the way to the restaurant, she effused to me as she does about how lovely both Huckleberry and Elizabeth are. "And they're both so sweet on you," she said. "Are they?" I asked. "Yes they are," she said. And the conversation quickly went strange, so enough of that.
The point is, I guess... this is flattering if true, but. Dash my self-uncertainty, I can't say I'm sure either of them is worth getting worked up about. I love Huckleberry, and I would enjoy little more than to expand our adventures and non-events. Today she gave me the cinnamon bun she had been saving for herself; when I realized it was in the bag, I left her a phone message, telling her how much I appreciated her.
There is a romance there, but it's the romance of a childhood friend. She's just swell, and I'd like to chase her around the garden and watch the sun set with her. I can't give her the stimulation she needs, and were we more intricately entangled I would soon be driven insane by her unreliability, and by the same impulses that make her such fun at this distance.
If the situation demands it, I can overlook anything. I don't mean to judge her. It's just, do I really want to invest myself, particularly in the state that I'm in, in something that would demand I so warp my expectations? I don't think I do.
And then Elizabeth -- oy. She's not as judgmental as Annie, but I'm not jazzed about another uncommunicative woman who is fond of leaping to conclusions about me. I'm not fond of justifying myself, and I'm not going to spend my energy chasing someone. I've too much of my own to think about, without waltzing on eggshells for someone else's amusement.
Though in the specific Elizabeth engages me as no one ever has, in the abstract she irritates me terribly. Quite irrationally I have grown to resent her. Much of that is, I imagine, projected from my own infatuation with her.
This is the opposite of what I now need. Neither do I want it, except when I'm weak and despondant and in search of a crutch. As I've said before, I'm doing a decent job at reclaiming myself. I've just begun to draw again, after a five-year lapse. I'm starting to rediscover a mind for fiction. Not long ago I remembered how to write music. It's all coming back. I'm in no hurry to lose it again.
Which is all well in theory. Yet I've two gorgeous young women in my life. Maybe a week ago, Hilda -- the curious old woman I've mentioned -- asked me to brunch with her nerdy son. On the way to the restaurant, she effused to me as she does about how lovely both Huckleberry and Elizabeth are. "And they're both so sweet on you," she said. "Are they?" I asked. "Yes they are," she said. And the conversation quickly went strange, so enough of that.
The point is, I guess... this is flattering if true, but. Dash my self-uncertainty, I can't say I'm sure either of them is worth getting worked up about. I love Huckleberry, and I would enjoy little more than to expand our adventures and non-events. Today she gave me the cinnamon bun she had been saving for herself; when I realized it was in the bag, I left her a phone message, telling her how much I appreciated her.
There is a romance there, but it's the romance of a childhood friend. She's just swell, and I'd like to chase her around the garden and watch the sun set with her. I can't give her the stimulation she needs, and were we more intricately entangled I would soon be driven insane by her unreliability, and by the same impulses that make her such fun at this distance.
If the situation demands it, I can overlook anything. I don't mean to judge her. It's just, do I really want to invest myself, particularly in the state that I'm in, in something that would demand I so warp my expectations? I don't think I do.
And then Elizabeth -- oy. She's not as judgmental as Annie, but I'm not jazzed about another uncommunicative woman who is fond of leaping to conclusions about me. I'm not fond of justifying myself, and I'm not going to spend my energy chasing someone. I've too much of my own to think about, without waltzing on eggshells for someone else's amusement.
Though in the specific Elizabeth engages me as no one ever has, in the abstract she irritates me terribly. Quite irrationally I have grown to resent her. Much of that is, I imagine, projected from my own infatuation with her.
