hurt

I’ve been on a rather masochist bender. Not of the S&M variety, that might be preferable compared to the emotional flogging I’ve been inflicting upon myself as of late. 

Gilles Deleuze wrote that the sadist attempts to destroy the ego in an efforty to unify the id and super-ego, in effect gratifying the most base desires the sadist can express while ignoring or completely suppressing the will of the ego, or of the conscience.  So am I exposing myself to things that my conscience/common sense tries to scream will hurt me because I somehow think that that pain will get me close to my goal?  Insanity is most likely closer to the truth.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real
The needle tears a hold
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What am I doing to myself?  Not only am I hurting myself, I am hurting my relationships with other people and fellowships that once brought me such joy.  

Sometimes, I think it is selfishness above all else.  Do I enjoy wallowing in self-pity? 

Self Pity……

Party of ONE?  Your table is ready….

 

 

the eternal ONE…. also known as the last 3 letters of ALONE…… and NONE……

Life’s a BITCH

And then you die….

time

R.I.P.

This afternoon after I called my husband and my parents, I tried to call Leewer.   I wanted to share with him the news that I had secured my first teaching position.  Leewer was my favorite professor at MSU.  He pushed me.  He challenged me.  He called me a moron when I changed my major.  He emailed me frequently to complain about the dust collecting on my degree. 

The first semester that I had Leewer, I hated him with a purple passion.  He was obnoxious and snotty.  He  put on airs.  Worst of all, he was a damn Yankee.  He was a long haired hippie with an earring in a conservative Southern educational institution.  He was irony of ironies.

Leewer continuously spewed criticism of Southerners.  Me being especially proud of being a Southerner, I was especially offended. 

I disliked his teaching style.  He ridiculed students and yelled.  Then one day, I yelled back. 

He nicknamed me the Redneck Princess.  I thanked him regularly.  I called him the “Damn Yankee.” He thanked me in turn.

We debated in class often because most other students were afraid of him.  The comedy of their cowering was not lost on us, and; often encouraged the Yankee and I to spar.

The next semester, I signed up for him again…. and again.

Leewer taught me more with sarcasm and humor than a thousand Ben Stein lectures could ever accomplish.  The Yankee made me enjoy grammar. 

Leewer got married last fall.  He spoke of his joy in finding the love of his life.   He vibrated with excitement in his anticipation of becoming a father.  His wife gave birth in May.   Six days later, Leewer committed suicide. 

I have no clue what led the Yankee to this unspeakable act. 

But I weep for his daughter who will never know the wonderful man who was her father.

I weep for the children who will never sit in his classroom.

I weep for Education who lost a phenomenon. 

I weep for the man who could not see his own beauty through the demons.

Take This Job & Shove It

I’m really going to miss my downtown job.  I’ve never quit a job that I actually felt sad to leave before.  I enjoyed the people, the work, and especially the environment.  (And no smart ass, no one from there reads this blog!)

But I’m leaving to do what I really enjoy so perhaps it’ll be worth it.  And I did finally figure out why math is an important skill so now I can answer that question without bluffing!

Burglarized!!

Either a fairytale elf broke into our house or MY HUSBAND DID THE DISHES!  I’m not sure which is stranger than fiction at the moment but I felt the need for this occasion to be memorialized.

I didn’t ask, I didn’t beg, I didn’t threaten physical violence.  I just came home and they’re done!  WOW!  

Summer In The South

It hit 93 degrees today.  Sidewalks sizzled all over the city.  Summer in the South is like being trapped in a Mason jar for 4 months… or more.  June, July, August, and September are guaranteed to boil your blood.  October is a maybe month.  It’s not just the scorching heat but the humidity.  It’s sticky and opressive and it makes my hair go *poof*!  However, if humidity was an energy source, we would have no gas lines in the South!

Monkey Butt got himself well roasted at the lake yesterday.  Johnboy and Bubba are lucky enough to have their mother’s skintone.  They tan easily.  I’m slightly jealous.  Monkey Butt, the Sassy Brat, and I share a skintone commonly referred to as fishbelly and is often known to cause temporary blindness when hit with direct sunlight. 

I’m ready for Christmas, the South’s only other Season.