Today, as I am wont to do (but all too frequently neglect to), I ate lunch. I ate lunch with several of the people I have been known to eat lunch with.
So, I was eating lunch with one of these people, and another arrives, and we joke about television or something, as we often do. We learn quietly that this latest arrival has just suffered the death of a family member. A pause, and people leave, and people arrive, and conversation continues. We acknowledge the sort of awkwardness that comes with a situation like that, and move on with a slightly different perspective.
Later on in the lunch hour, it comes out that the original person with whom I am lunching has a significantpersonal issue which this person plans to bring to a head tonight. A pause, and people leave, and people arrive, and conversation continues. I acknowledge the sort of awkardness that comes with situations like that, and I move on with a different perspective.
Suspend storyline;
I used to pride myself on being able to offer broad philosophies and insight and analysis in situations like that. I realized eventually that my insights and analyses weren't what people needed in situations like that.
Of course I am not talking about being aloof and intellectual when someone is sitting and crying and needing a hug. The situations weren't like that. They were simply people letting people know what was happening in their lives, at a time when what was happening wasn't particularly great.
I have come to terms with ( - a tired phrase; soft focus, strong music, sharp heel clicks - a strong early evening television woman comes to terms with loss or grief or failure) the fact that I'm not good at, well, that. The best I can do is keep silent and thoughtful, but I often substitute that for further self-absorbed observations that "I'm not good at, well, that." It doesn't help, it's not even terribly original or diverting, and it bespeaks a sort of character flaw that similarly written blogs have analysed in greater detail and simpler sentence structure.
Basically, I know the best thing I can do is sit silently and thoughtfully (the natural response) until a separate cue starts the conversation moving on.
People, I don't have a lack of sympathy. I just have a lack of ability.
Sidetrack; thank goodness, my peer froup is one that I think sort of takes all I've unnecessarily written for granted. Acts of sympathy aren't really expected, and the fact that they offer more awkwardness than help is universally acknowledged.
And as far as that sympathy goes, I think probably the best I can do there is merely have it: it's a lot less productive than even feigned sympathy from others.
Apologies for awkwardly overintellectualizing and then having the embarrassing and juvenile urge to publish. Overintellectual is basically where most things start and end with me. Well, that and music.
- - -
f'(blog)
I know (think) that my writing style is a tad overwrought and angular and obtuse. Angular like awkward, too many elbows; obtuse like the opposite of acute. My ideal is writing that is trim and precise and striking, gaining accuracy not from wordiness but words well-chosen and well-deployed to strike precisely how they are intended. The idea that you can get more effect from five words striking exactly the right effect than from three pages of directions and conditions outlining exactly what you're getting at.
I guess if you follow the quality I'm getting at to its extreme maximum, you get good poetry.
Unfortunately, I'm at the point where I'm not terribly good at that, and whenever I take a shot at it I feel that, not only does it swing-and-miss, but the attempt itself is sort of embarrassing. Frankly, I can do wordy well, and I hope that by working at that enough I can trim it down to greater precision and impact with less dead wood.
The upshot is that at this point, yes, my blog is practically unreadable (not unreadable; unenjoyable?) in its verbosity. Sorry. Hopefully it will get better.
Also, nine-tenths of what I write about, I feel I had made a better statement about before I had written. I suppose I publish out of sheer bloody-mindedness, and the hope that somewhere I might produce something worth more than what I assess it as.
- - -
And again, I write about myself.
- - -
Here's something I thought about today.
Note: I read this in class, and then took out my music machine, set it to record, and laid it on the desk. It was a math class.
- - -
Don't spend pathos on this. Spend it on all the people who I self-consciously didn't.
- - -
Every relationship eventually has something that gums it up. I guess a good one manages to not care. If I consider a close relationship, I see a gumming-up obviously and clearly and easily and beforehand; thus, I don't have girlfriends.
Hey! Stop wasting pathos. I'm among the happiest (most content?) people I know. I have trouble caring.
- - -
Aw, man, this has become one of those long, whiny, posts. It also gives entirely the wrong impression on the whole, I think. Let's all pretend I've already taken it down, and leave it up for perusal. God willing, I'll fix it later.
So, I was eating lunch with one of these people, and another arrives, and we joke about television or something, as we often do. We learn quietly that this latest arrival has just suffered the death of a family member. A pause, and people leave, and people arrive, and conversation continues. We acknowledge the sort of awkwardness that comes with a situation like that, and move on with a slightly different perspective.
Later on in the lunch hour, it comes out that the original person with whom I am lunching has a significantpersonal issue which this person plans to bring to a head tonight. A pause, and people leave, and people arrive, and conversation continues. I acknowledge the sort of awkardness that comes with situations like that, and I move on with a different perspective.
Suspend storyline;
I used to pride myself on being able to offer broad philosophies and insight and analysis in situations like that. I realized eventually that my insights and analyses weren't what people needed in situations like that.
Of course I am not talking about being aloof and intellectual when someone is sitting and crying and needing a hug. The situations weren't like that. They were simply people letting people know what was happening in their lives, at a time when what was happening wasn't particularly great.
I have come to terms with ( - a tired phrase; soft focus, strong music, sharp heel clicks - a strong early evening television woman comes to terms with loss or grief or failure) the fact that I'm not good at, well, that. The best I can do is keep silent and thoughtful, but I often substitute that for further self-absorbed observations that "I'm not good at, well, that." It doesn't help, it's not even terribly original or diverting, and it bespeaks a sort of character flaw that similarly written blogs have analysed in greater detail and simpler sentence structure.
Basically, I know the best thing I can do is sit silently and thoughtfully (the natural response) until a separate cue starts the conversation moving on.
People, I don't have a lack of sympathy. I just have a lack of ability.
Sidetrack; thank goodness, my peer froup is one that I think sort of takes all I've unnecessarily written for granted. Acts of sympathy aren't really expected, and the fact that they offer more awkwardness than help is universally acknowledged.
And as far as that sympathy goes, I think probably the best I can do there is merely have it: it's a lot less productive than even feigned sympathy from others.
Apologies for awkwardly overintellectualizing and then having the embarrassing and juvenile urge to publish. Overintellectual is basically where most things start and end with me. Well, that and music.
- - -
f'(blog)
I know (think) that my writing style is a tad overwrought and angular and obtuse. Angular like awkward, too many elbows; obtuse like the opposite of acute. My ideal is writing that is trim and precise and striking, gaining accuracy not from wordiness but words well-chosen and well-deployed to strike precisely how they are intended. The idea that you can get more effect from five words striking exactly the right effect than from three pages of directions and conditions outlining exactly what you're getting at.
I guess if you follow the quality I'm getting at to its extreme maximum, you get good poetry.
Unfortunately, I'm at the point where I'm not terribly good at that, and whenever I take a shot at it I feel that, not only does it swing-and-miss, but the attempt itself is sort of embarrassing. Frankly, I can do wordy well, and I hope that by working at that enough I can trim it down to greater precision and impact with less dead wood.
The upshot is that at this point, yes, my blog is practically unreadable (not unreadable; unenjoyable?) in its verbosity. Sorry. Hopefully it will get better.
Also, nine-tenths of what I write about, I feel I had made a better statement about before I had written. I suppose I publish out of sheer bloody-mindedness, and the hope that somewhere I might produce something worth more than what I assess it as.
- - -
And again, I write about myself.
- - -
Here's something I thought about today.
"Another recent report showed that over 99.8% of university faculty hold a doctorate degree, compared to a national average of 0.17%. Colleges have not responded to demands from the public that they take immediate action on establishing more representative hiring habits."-Fake
Note: I read this in class, and then took out my music machine, set it to record, and laid it on the desk. It was a math class.
- - -
Don't spend pathos on this. Spend it on all the people who I self-consciously didn't.
- - -
Every relationship eventually has something that gums it up. I guess a good one manages to not care. If I consider a close relationship, I see a gumming-up obviously and clearly and easily and beforehand; thus, I don't have girlfriends.
Hey! Stop wasting pathos. I'm among the happiest (most content?) people I know. I have trouble caring.
- - -
Aw, man, this has become one of those long, whiny, posts. It also gives entirely the wrong impression on the whole, I think. Let's all pretend I've already taken it down, and leave it up for perusal. God willing, I'll fix it later.
