Divorce papers

My divorce papers came.

I had decided not to go to the hearing, just to let it all be done.

There were promises broken, in addition to the divorce happening in the first place. Foolish me; I'd hoped someone incapable would become capable.

I want to have no more feeling about this. She can flip a switch and feel she wants. She says. I don't believe her. She believes her. I'm jealous of her capacity to self-delude.

My karma is no longer legally bound to someone who lives by a whim, who can't keep to a budget, bargain, timetable, promise, or vow.

I'm mainly relieved. I'm still angry.

All those years with someone who can't see their own part in anything, who thinks their blame extends no further than starting a thing that failed, with no clue in what action of hers caused the failure.

I have no charity left for her. I was thrown away like trash by someone acting like trash, acting just like the mother she hated.

My curse, until she changes herself: That she see herself as she is rather than how she wishes, and feel appropriately at the sight of herself.

Rules of Wrist 12-1-10

Rules of Wrist 12-1-10

• Being unable to say something to someone’s face loses you moral high-ground.* Being unwilling to subject your views to scrutiny, or criticism, thereby talking down to someone else loses even more. Being unable to say something to someone’s face, AND talking down to someone because you’re unwilling to subject your views to scrutiny, or criticism, AND turning out to be wrong makes you worse than you thought they were in the first place.
  
  *Exception: When dealing with a narcissist or psychopath who will not see themselves as wrong despite evidence, and may do you harm in confrontation.

• It is statistically impossible for it to always have been them.

• Being “eternally young” is NOT the same as being “perpetually immature”. When you have only the same problem-solving skills you had 20 years ago, with no new ones, you are not “childlike”; you are “childish”. At some point immaturity becomes insanity.

Axes

I retrieved my axes from her house. I found how to write their names (yes they have names) in Russian, and engraved the blades using my Dremel. The black one is "ярость (Rage)", and the silver one "Долг (Duty)". (To hear them pronounced cut and paste on this page.)

It's been so long. 

"Rage" was bought when we lived in Michigan, and the fat meth addict burglarized us. I was so angry, and so frightened, and needed to reclaim some power over my life. He broke in while we were at the doctor for my kidney stones. 

I wanted that bastard to come back so badly. He's serving life in prison, and I have my guitar back, but the damage he did us was permanent.

"Duty" was purchased when we went to my mom's, and I had to clear an impassable ice sheet from her driveway because the landlord refused to.

These tools remind me of my responsibility to my family, and how, sometimes, that family is out of reach, even unsafe to be around.

These tools remind me of my decision to reclaim my shape from the ravaging it took in Michigan, with poor diet, and bad water. 

These tools remind me that, though willing to commit drastic action to affect a change, a drastic action is not always available.

The tools remind me that, though eager to do a job, I may not have the right tools to do it. 

These tools remind me that some people are too toxic to be around, and should be cut from my life.

These tools remind me that someone who is incapable of perceiving truth is incapable of telling truth.

These tools remind me that insanity is infectious, but sanity takes decision and work.

These tools remind me that I am a dad, which is more than a donor of genes.

These tools remind me that, when I entered his life that boy was often a beast, and, by my influence, he is now often human (as far as a 12 year old can be).

These tools remind me that anyone can change anything that goes on in their head if they'll just try.

These tools remind me that failure is a risk of being human, but to not try for fear of failure is cowardice in the extreme.

These tools remind me of the extremes of my nature, and that in the distance between those poles is a whole man, who deserves much more than suffering, and punishment.

These tools remind me that some people are too sick to do right. These tools remind me that I have decided not to be them.

Rule of Wrist 11-9-10

"Living in the now" doesn't mean pretending the past never happened.

On Narcissism, because it keeps coming up in my life

 (This is largely for the person who reads me at approx. 6:45AM most mornings, and at 1:45AM this morning, if you are whom I think (if not then disregard). Most others may be uncomfortable with parts of it. Some of it is hidden, and has to be highlighted to be read.) 

Read the name of this site:
narcissisticpersonalitydisorder.org

Narcissistic Personality Disorder Dot Org.

The condition is so hard on people that someone developed a website to specifically learn about and deal with the effects of it.

I seem to be a magnet for these creatures. I want so desperately for people I care about to be genuine that I have a blind spot for this disorder; I want the grand, sweeping, impossible claims that Malignant Narcissists make to be true, no matter if they sound too good to be.

These struck me as uncomfortably familiar:

• An inability to listen to others, and a lack of awareness of another person’s deadlines, time frames, or interests. I repeatedly asked for so many forms of consideration, like your not attempting to take a heavy load of groceries from my hand for my fear I'd drop them, not making me late for things, not wearing things that reminded me of horrible times in my life. What you wanted to do at any moment was always more important than the things I asked for.
• An inability to admit wrongdoing, even sometimes when presented with evidence of their ‘wrong’ behavior. Even now you act like ALL of it was my fault, that you did nothing to me, ever.
• Coldness or overly practical responses to interpersonal relationships, a sense of distance or matter-of-factness emotionally. No matter what you say about how you feel all of your actions indicate a calculated decision to be with someone who fits your lifestyle. 

"The cause of excessive Narcissism often stems back to parental issues for the individual, for instance having a narcisistic or overly controlling dominant family member."
Narcissistic parents CAUSE narcissistic children. She did this to you. All the dysfunction in your whole life stems from her. It's not your fault, but you are not alright. You are really not. You can decide to change. NPD may not be the whole of the problem, but there is a problem, and your happiness will always fall apart until you admit it.

An as yet untitled zombie story

This story has been in my head for ages. The two main characters are finally what I want of them. This may be the first chapter of their story. Title suggestions welcome.

“C’mere ye great, violent, French, bollocks ye! Eric, leave it out, lad!” the limping Irishman yelled to the Percheron. The 2,100 pound draft horse assumed an attitude of self-absorption, and continued what he was doing. What he was doing was fighting, the very reason his kind had been bred. And this horse reveled in it. The Irishman never failed to marvel at the site, imagining some equine ancestor in centuries past, armored, ridden by an armored man, charging down ranks of unarmored conscripts, stinking and terrified. The differences were scant, but significant: the enemy stank, but knew no fear, nor need of weapon. And the horse had refused the armor, apparently feeling it limited his agility. Impressive as it all was the pair needed to get on the road.

            “Ye great pillock! I’ve got the feckin’ supplies, what? We can feck off now, and be done with it, if ye’d be so kind as to hurry up!” said the Irishman, indicating the saddlebags full of medicine, and sundries from the pharmacy he’d just raided.

            Pronsious (Prawn-shees “It’s Irish For Francis, just feckin’ call me Murphy, Ye Cunt, Ye”) Murphy and the horse had abandoned their jobs with the Dover, NH Police department only when it became apparent there no longer was a Dover Police department. All the officers had “fecked off away to their families, but”. The other horses in the police stable had panicked, or rebelled against human orders at the first sign of the crisis.

            The horse turned towards the man and proceeded to walk nonchalantly towards him. He tossed his dark tail, adding to the image of being unconcerned. The two foes he’d left standing followed slowly behind. Eric’s ears pointed backwards, a sign normally reserved for a bad mood; this time he was just listening.

            Murphy and Eric, being of like mind, and work ethic, had refused to abandon their posts, until there were no posts to man. Murphy had been raised to confound the stereotypes that branded his people, and would never leave a job undone, nor a debt unpaid, while Eric just loved to fight.

            The remaining enemies, being none too bright, had followed in such a way as to end up shoulder to shoulder as they closed on the sauntering horse.

            It had been 21 days since the first news agency said aloud the phrase “reanimated corpses”, 16 days since the hordes left the smoldering ruin of Boston, and 5 days since Dover, NH, (Settled 1623), had ceased to be a going concern. Panic had killed more than the dead, but it always killed more than any enemy, at least as far as Murphy could tell. Eric advanced no opinion on the subject.

            “Quit fuckin’ about,” said Murphy, losing patience with his companion, and using the full form of the old Anglo Saxon swear word, rather than the more polite Irish form.

            Since 2008 Eric had been part of the department’s “practical approach to specific law enforcement problems, providing increased visibility and approachability.” Except that he was the least approachable horse in northern New England. The horse only liked people who were willing to fight to earn his respect, which meant only Murphy, and the mounted officers had a chance with him. Eric had been made exempt from social functions for attempting to eat the hats off the heads of children, but caused a ruckus if denied the chance to participate in crowd control, and woods patrol at both of which he excelled.

            A dirty, scabrous hand reached for Eric’s flank. With ears back he heard the swish of the fabric, and knew by footfalls how close the targets were; he kicked back with both rear legs popping the heads off each zombie simultaneously. He turned to survey his work, and faced his companion again, striking an upright, and triumphant pose.  

            Since the year 2000 Murphy had been in the USA, and tending the stables of the Dover Police. He had learned the care of horses in Ireland, and perfected his knowledge in the northwest of England, even tending the horses of several famous footballers, (“what ye yanks in your nonsense call soccer players”), as well as those of team managers, and owners. For 12 years he’d cared for the animals of the topflight of England’s favorite sport. He’d even developed a loyalty to Manchester United, as they’d had a slew of Ireland’s finest players, both Republic, and Northern. Adding to that he shared the birthday of United’s Irish midfield enforcer, Roy Keane, making the loyalty too personal to shake. (The English press referred to Keane as a ‘professional psychopath’, but Murphy never understood the fuss.)

            “Aye, Eric, I got it. Ye can score with both feet, and yer the bloody King. Tell me, were they makin’ French jokes?” The horse made as though he hadn’t heard, walked part way past the man, and farted directly in the man’s face.

            It was actually this club loyalty that (according to Murphy) resulted in his limp, when, after a race, a horse owned jointly by several members of Liverpool Football Club had stomped on his foot, breaking two metatarsals. (It was with no small joy that Murphy noted one of the owners of the horse began to suffer repeated breaks to those very bones, though with no permanent results. Save a shorter career, of course.)

            He’d been made to feel a bit unwelcome in expressing (loudly) his view that the offending horse was a Liverpool supporter, and had injured him out of club loyalty, and spite; neither the other Irish, nor United fans in the stable shared his view. This, having no family, and the fact that United had won all there was to win sent him to the States, where his he had his pick of jobs ( “As long as they were outside of racing, because the feckin’ sport is a smaller feckin’ town than the whole of feckin’ Ireland, but!”).

            Sponsored for citizenship by the mounted officers themselves, Murphy’d been American since 2001. (And if not for him “their stable’d have fallen apart, the horses running the department and all, so sponsorship was the least they could do, aye?”)

            “Are ye done prickin’ about, then? Can I pack the goods, and climb up?” said Murphy, unfazed by the demon-trumpet noise made by his large partner (“A life in barns, and even shite don’t smell like shite no more.”)

            The horse stopped walking, and craned his head, seeming to consider if he really was done prickin’ about. His eyes suddenly widened (but did not roll as another horse’s would), and his ears pinned back. He turned fully around, and charged at Murphy. Murphy, knowing better than to resist and get really hurt, went limp. Eric’s massive head shoved the man aside, like a boxer taking out a toddler. The horse reared, and brought one massive hoof down on the head of a very large zombie who had been mere inches from his companion. The skull pulped like a melon, ending the dead thing.

            Murphy immediately went into a roll, allowing the momentum carrying him to a safe distance to dissipate, got to his feet, club at the ready. The man knew the horse would never do more than joke with him unless there was danger at hand. Or at hoof.

            It was summer of 2008, and Eric had arrived in Dover. They’d called him ‘Freddy’, one of those stupid attempts at making the giant animals seem somehow less capable of stomping you into paste. Murphy looked at him, took in the darker-than-white, coat, and the bristling cropped dark mane. He also noticed the look in eye that, without malice, said he accepted all challengers, that this horse wanted battle because battle was fun.

            “Ye look not a bit like a ‘Freddy’, aye. ‘kind of fuckwit named ye?”asked Murphy as he began grooming the large animal.

            The horse nickered as though to say “I’ve no idea, but fuckwit they are.”

            “Ye remind me of someone.”

            It was that afternoon when Murphy had his answer. Horses, having a detailed social order, have a habit of hazing the new one. The other 3, Percherons as well, ganged up on him as soon as ‘Freddy’ entered the paddock. Ducking a kick at his face ‘Freddy’ charged his first attacker, knocking him hard into the fence. This left him perfectly aimed at the next attacker, who mistakenly believed his herbivorous teeth a real threat to a born fighter; he was kicked in the mouth, and backed off.

            The last reared, more in panic than attack. ‘Freddy’ reared as well, clopping one dinner plate sized hoof on top of the other horse’s head. That horse backed down, and the three attackers huddled together in defeat. The victor stood proudly with attitude that said ‘I’ll fight you all, and happily, and win every time.’ There was a new leader, and his name was…’Freddy’.

            “Aye now! That’s it! I know who ye remind me of, son! Sure’n you’re Eric Cantona made horseflesh! Aye, but yer breed's French, an ye’ll fight anyone anywhere for the love o’ the challenge, what?” howled Murphy. Eric Cantona was the French captain of Manchester United for most of the ‘90s, and a man unafraid of any challenge. He did as he pleased, and did all well, and his arrogance was earned.

            “Bollocks to it, I’m callin’ ye ‘Eric’ from now on! ‘Eric’. Aye? It means ‘honorable ruler’, wha’? ‘Eric’.”

            The horse gave Murphy the first of many ‘thinking it over’ looks. He walked over to the fence, put his massive head over to look at the man. He put his mouth against the man’s arm and nibbled gently, a horse’s sign of affection. He’d shown that to none in his short life; compliance, or defiance, but never affection. Most would assume that the horse just liked the sound of Murphy’s voice, but Murphy’d seen horses smarter than those what owned them before. Here was one such.

            From then on the horse responded only to ‘Eric’. Murphy sanded the wooden plaque that said ‘Freddy’ down to bare wood, then carefully wrote ‘Eric’ in the same script used on Manchester United jerseys. It took a week for the officers to come around, but the name ‘Freddy’ even disappeared from the paperwork.

            “Cheers, ol’ son. To be more careful, I have. We’ve to get back. Them kids’ll’ve burned the feckin’ place to ground, or eaten each other, or be up each other, whatever ‘Lord o’ the Feckin’ Flies’ nonsense. Let’s be off, aye?”

            By way of reply the horse walked over to Murphy and turned his left side to the man. Noticing the reins dangling on the ground he flipped his head to put them on his back for the man’s use. He stood still while Murphy placed the saddlebags, and climbed into the saddle.

            “Cheers, lad. Get us back.”

            The horse picked a path, and set off, the man only holding the reins out of habit.

Rule Of Wrist 10-26-10

It's a tragedy when someone's whole life is an attempt at feeling as little pain as possible. A lack of pain is not pleasure, nor is it love, nor is it accomplishment. 

A lack of pain is not necessarily evidence of intelligent decisions, but of risks not taken. 
 
Life hurts. It hurts because there is love in it, and loss. Too much control exerted means shielding yourself from both.

On Women's Notion of Beauty and Attractiveness

Women’s Notions of Feminine Beauty and Attractiveness

I was talking to a very good friend yesterday, mentioning that there was a young woman I like to look at in Breaking New Grounds.

“Is she hot?” asked my friend, an extraordinarily attractive woman herself.

 

“Good Christ, yes!” was my reply.

“I don’t think of myself of as ‘hot’ anymore.”

“Well that’s stupid of you.”

She appreciated my compliment, backhandedly expressed as it was, but explained that, after 30, she no longer cared about making the effort to impress people, and get attention for her looks. This started me thinking about how women think about their appearances, and how men view them. I came to the unshakable conclusion that, ladies, y’all are fucked up on this subject. Alright, not all of you, but on the whole, you’ve got it wrong.

And, yes, men don’t generally help. The thing is we’d help more, but the appearance industry would make less money if guys like me were listened to.

Start with this thought:

A woman’s attractiveness is in no way proportional to the time she spends in front of the mirror.

 

Think how many women you’ve ever seen wearing so much makeup their faces could barely emote. Did this look good, or more like a mask that was put on? A scary one?

There are two important aspects to attractiveness: physical attributes, and personality.

The young woman at BNG I mentioned was in t-shirt and jeans, and wearing no make-up. One of the reasons I find her so attractive is that I've talked to her.

My rule:

It is patently impossible for a woman who is empty or ugly inside to be beautiful, regardless of what she looks like; most celebutantes and their ilk merely photograph well.

In September I attended a poetry reading, and one of the featured readers was a woman I wouldn’t have given a second glance to just seeing her: she was short, round, bespectacled, and had a big ol’ fro. Appearance did not do it for me. However, when she started her first poem, a piece about how the media had no say over how she felt about herself, or her appearance it was as if a spell had been cast, pulling the scales from eyes. As she recited she had a glow increased to a fire, and she radiated warmth, and true self-love until she was the light in the room.

So:

If what’s inside is magic, nothing outside can hide it.

And:

Self-acceptance is magic. Self-love is powerful magic.

There is also a notion among many women that attractiveness and sexiness are the same thing. THEY ARE NOT. Have a look at the Widow Garret from the show ‘Deadwood’. That character was not portrayed in any overtly sexual way, but she was alluring, and beautiful. The way she dressed is one I’d characterize as just pretty, because that was how it was in that time period. Examine the era the show was set in: even the most interesting women’s clothes were anything but sexy, but the ideas behind many of them still make an impression today with elegance, refinement, color. Sexuality didn’t have to be overt; designers knew that men would go there in their minds anyway, so why just take them?

Whenever I see a woman who is intentionally “all tarted up”, short skirt, high heels, the whole nine, my impression is always that she is either hunting cock, or unaware that she appears to be hunting cock.

From listening to women (because I do that) I understand that there are many purposes to an overtly sexualized appearance. The ones that don’t make me wince, though, are the ones that have to do directly with sex: their own exhibitionism, or their man’s; a genuine cock hunt (a woman with confidence to be unapologetically sexual, even promiscuous if that’s her wish, has a special kind of allure).

When the appearance is assumed to gain some type of advantage in business dealings, or to otherwise outright manipulate a man then I don’t want to look anymore; attractiveness diminishes at that point. It’s rather whorish, and, most times, I prefer sluts to whores; they’re more likely to do what they do for the enjoyment.

 

Beauty is beauty, and fuckability is fuckability.

Related to this is the notion that high heels are the end all of sexy footwear. Breaking your ankle on the brick sidewalks of Portsmouth is not sexy. Walking like you’re afraid of breaking your ankle is not sexy.

Being confident enough to wear what looks good on you, rather than what some rule tells you to wear is much more likely to be sexy.

So one final thought before I leave this for piece to get coffee:

The way to tell if a woman is beautiful: listen to her; but if she doesn’t listen to herself, you may not be able to hear her.

(For those who are wondering, by my stated standard my "extraordinarily attractive" friend is beautiful. All my female friends are; I'm too much a snob to have it else ways.)

A Message To All Readers

At the bottom of each post there are reaction buttons. Use of these buttons is totally anonymous.  I can't know who said what.

Just letting you know.

Rule of Wrist 10-20-10

It is not possible to "get over" someone while you are with that someone. Your feelings can change, sour, even become hostile, but while you are with that someone you are not getting over them. Think of it like this: you can't recover from the flu while you are in the grips of the flu. 

Rule of Wrist 10-18-10

Some people, with fantastically delicate egos, would rather commit an ever growing series of crimes just to not have to admit they lied, cheated, or behaved like a douchebag in a single instance.

The latticework of bullshit they construct to obscure their initial folly/douchebaggery is so intricate that they forget details of it, and get angry at others for pointing out the inconsistencies in it. It's a great personal offense to them that their great labor is not appreciated, completely ignoring the fact that it's born from a dishonest action, and built up into a major pathology.

Walters' Rules of Wrist 10-17-10

Rules of Wrist 10-17-10

Just because they say nothing complimentary doesn’t mean they hate you; you really may be an asshole. In fact, calling you an asshole may be the only loving action left to them.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Just because they say only complimentary things doesn’t mean they love you; they could very well be delusional. And you could still be an asshole.

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If all your friendships, or romantic entanglements have always gone a certain way, and all you’ve done is change friends/partners maybe you were the problem all along.

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Cutting people out of your life because they criticize you is not the same as removing the negative influences.

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Equating criticism with hatred or insanity is a childish attempt to get out of blame.

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Sometimes people act hurt because YOU HURT THEM.

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Sometimes a person is so hurt that they can’t possibly act in a way that reflects kinder feelings towards the one that hurt them until the pain subsides. Live with it.

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It is entirely possible for someone who cares about you to have a view about you and your actions that you don’t like. They still care. That view might even prove it.

Walters' Rules of Wrist To Date 10-17-10

The reflexes developed from parenting are hard wired, and permanent, as long as the instinct was there to begin with.

Seeing someone younger, or less capable about to enter a problem you can help with will trigger these reflexes. If they are not a child, and especially not your child

YOU HAVE TO ASK FIRST

before helping. The presumption of superiority frequently makes ones' help totally unwelcome. But, if you ask, and they accept, help away BEING CONSCIOUS OF BOUNDARIES THE WHOLE TIME.

+++++++++++++++++++++

It is no one's sole job to take care of everyone else. Some people believe that it is, and deny themselves care, caring, comfort, kindness, honest compliments, or decent treatment because they believe it's their job to provide those for others.

But if your own supply isn't restocked from outside what have you to give?

You are just as deserving of decency, care, and good treatment as those you give those things to. No, not "But". Shush. I'm right.

+++++++++++++++++++++

You feel how they make you feel.

Wait. Rewrite.

You feel how YOU LET THEM make you feel.

Yes. That’s it.

If they try to make you feel bad DON’T LET THEM.

If they make you feel good LET THEM*.

While it's true that you feel how you feel, and can't decide otherwise, you can decide what stimuli you have in your life.

You have a say in what actions you accept towards yourself. If you’re upset because you read an email/letter/msg from someone whose communications regularly upset you, that’s not really them upsetting you; that’s you allowing yourself to be upset. Do you have a good reason for communicating with them, ie kids, business, property, family? No? DON’T DEAL WITH THEM.

Conversely, if someone regularly sends/says things that make you feel good accept them, and revel/bask. If it feels good to be around them do so.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Figure out what your brick wall is and stop fucking headbutting it, because it ain’t coming down. Doing the same thing hoping for different results is nuts.

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Any conditioned reflex or compulsion can be retrained. Even instincts can be ignored. We are the only animal who can choose to act contrary to instincts. No matter what your life has taught you to do/think/feel you can choose to do differently.

Drunks can stop drinking.

Smokers can stop smoking.

Co-dependents can stop running to their side when they call.

You have a choice, even if that choice is to behave in a way completely foreign to yourself. Yes, doing something new and different is the unknown. Yes, the unknown is frightening. But it might not hurt. Hell, it might even feel good. What you’ve been doing hurts. Isn’t that a worthy gamble?

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If he regularly buys you expensive gifts, and he’s not rich, he thinks you’re his future. Really. No, he’s not just generous. Dumbass. Seriously. Dumbass.

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Informed consent is the key to anything working out. Accurate self-assessment is the key to informed consent. If someone is emotionally, or intellectually incapable of accurate self-assessment then their consent will never be fully informed. Two people similarly incapable will involve themselves in a mess.

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Spending time with the Old, and the New does not synthesize one perfect partner. Your feelings, and motivations are very suspect if you do.

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If you want them to move on LET THEM. If you say you want them to move on act like it.

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If you want to move on, do that. Acting contrary to feelings that may prevent that. See several rules above.

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If you're comparing the new to the old constantly you haven't really moved on.

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How you think of someone you are interested in must only be based on that person, not them in comparison to another.

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A way to tell someone really loves you: they know everything about you and love you in spite of it.

BUT

Telling them everything doesn’t mean they know everything.

BECAUSE

Some people decide to feel a certain way, and refuse to let their actions be influenced by reality at all. Sometimes they want it to be true so badly they don't actually hear anything anyone says. They may have fallen in a short time for a false image of you, and can't let go of it no matter what you have done in the past.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Someone who’s made up their mind to feel a certain way doesn’t really feel that way. They can act like they do, and sometimes feelings will adjust to the action. But more often the feeling doesn’t develop, and it leaves the person seeming desperate or crazy acting as though it has. There’s always a sense of trying to stay ahead of something. Sometimes this artificial decided-on feeling becomes ritualized, even dogmatic. But it isn't real.

The most tragic of these type of feelings is that which a person believes they should feel. He treats me well so I should love him. She treats me badly so I shouldn't love her. I was taught this in church so I should feel it's true. YOU FEEL HOW YOU FEEL. There is nothing you can do about that. You can act counter to your feelings, but you can't make your feelings run counter to themselves.

Not acting on real feelings can be sensible, and kind. Acting on decided-on feelings is false, and can be terribly cruel.

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It doesn’t matter someone’s chronological age, or their ability to hold a job. They can be a child regardless.

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Being Dumbasses, Control Freaks mistake deciding when and how they hurt for controlling hurt. They write off whole possibilities, and allow real love to pass them by just to avoid being swept up in an unknown, and maybe get hurt in a way they didn't plan on.

What they don't realize is that in narrowing the scope of their actions they are not minimizing only the risk of damage, but joy as well. That vigilance against pain, that need to control outcomes doesn't allow for wild happiness; only tame, manufactured, safe contentment. In the final balance all the safe, predictable things a Control Freak actually does are dwarfed by the potential they have shut themselves off from. These people allow fear to rule their lives, and that's just sad.

So are the "What ifs" that will pop up in quiet moments forever: What If he meant every word? What If she was sorry? What If they really did forgive me? Etc, and so forth. Those are not good company in your old age.

The only thing Control Freak should ever try to control is the need to control outcomes. Then at least if they get hurt it's whole, real pain they can grow from, instead of managed, regulated, medicated half-pain that leaves them broken. Because in the end, the regret over not having honestly tried with someone hurts so much worse than the pain of them leaving. And there are no drugs, drinks, or rebounds that can dull that hurt.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Pisces actually rule the world; we're just really passive-aggressive about it.

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If you are angry, upset, vexed or annoyed at

them

because they haven't forgiven

you

for hurting

their

feelings

you have none.

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When getting advice on relationships it's good to consider whether the adviser has ever had a successful one. Consider: are they married, and for how long; if single, do they date anyone who isn't married; have they ever been involved with anyone who wasn't insane? If your adviser has had a long run of unhappy, unsuccessful relationships then take their advice with a grain of salt. Or a fifth of tequila. Because even if they say something you like that you believe leads to happiness it's meaningless; you can't use as a guide someone who's never been there.

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Conversely, commiserating with someone who has fucked up in similar or identical ways will actually lead you to somewhere better, provided you want to not be the person who fucks up like that anymore. Knowing you're not alone makes a big difference.

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Asking different people until you hear what you want is for teenagers. Adults know the real answer is the one they don't want to hear, but hear repeatedly.

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All the rationalization in the world will not shield you from Karma.

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Anything born of another's anguish is not worth the price.

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After causing great harm to another some people say "I didn't mean to..." Or "That wasn't my intention..." to which the Universe replies "Karma's in the mail".

(The wronged party is entitled to "Go to hell", or "Go fornicate yourself with an iron stick".)

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Once you find yourself saying things like “I don’t want you to hate me” you have probably surrendered the moral high-ground so totally the French Army would be embarrassed over your retreat.

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You have NO say in how they feel. If they don’t feel the way you want them to TOO BAD.

If you want them to feel differently then act in a way that earns it.

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Two mirrors facing each other will only reflect an object placed between them, and that, endlessly. Without that object they reflect empty refection. Endlessly.

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Boundaries define us, like lines define the end of one object and the beginning of another. When someone has clearly stated their boundaries, and you purposefully ignore them you are saying to that person “I’m more important than what defines you. You don’t matter.” Don’t get mad at them for being offended; figure out what’s lacking in you that makes you seek that kind of inappropriate validation. Because this is all your problem, not theirs.

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You want to understand them? Then you don’t matter when analyzing them. You have to be able to eliminate all trace of your wants, wishes, and hurts to be able to understand them. Otherwise you’re just looking at them as some kind of extension of you, and that’s not really them.

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Suddenly feeling good is often mistaken for happiness.

By control freaks who discover that drinking lets them relax,

by the shy having a line of cocaine and being suddenly confident,

by someone confused dropping acid and being able to clearly articulate what was in them finally,

by a bi-polar who, after months of depression triggers a manic and can finally do something useful again.

None of these states are happiness; they are highs. Highs always level off. Sometimes, when a person thinks that happiness truly depends on the substance/person/condition they end up dependent, even after no more good feeling comes from it.

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It's never all one person's doing.

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If you say something intentionally because you know it will provoke an extreme response you, not they, are the one being childish.

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If you need to be  

worth

So much

That he will:

·       Wreck his life,

·       Forget his morals,

·       Act in a way contrary to his nature,

·       Regularly suffer pain, or humiliation to be near you

Then you really

ARE NOT.

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Not all infidelity involves sex.

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You may not be lying; doesn’t mean you’re telling the truth, though.

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It is patently impossible to accurately analyze another person when you have no clue who you are.

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If you do unto them

what they once did unto you

you turn into the asshole they were.

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Everyone is more than their relationship to you.

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Yet another way to know you love them: your anger evaporates when their safety is threatened.

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If what you’re doing must be kept from those you find most trustworthy it probably isn’t; if you’re really doing something okay then you shouldn’t need to hide it. If you feel the need to lie about what you’re up to it probably shouldn’t be done. Justifying lying with “They wouldn’t understand” isn’t really a justification, and it’s not really accurate: THEY understand perfectly well; YOU are missing something.

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If it’s about the money you’re a whore. If you tell yourself it’s love because you don’t like to think of yourself as a whore then…

.

.

you’re a self-deluding whore.

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If you don’t want them to be with someone else don’t tell them to be with someone else. DUH.

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Saying you want one thing, yet expecting someone to know you mean the opposite is…how to be diplomatic…I can’t: IT’S FUCKING STUPID. Even supposing someone can read your mind they deserve the courtesy of being told the truth; everyone else has to be.

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Someone who

caters to your every whim,

tells you only good things about yourself,

makes you feel like the center of the universe,

does everything you want,

is a sycophant.

Or a puppy.

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If the first thing you say about Them is “They Bought Me ______” whenever They come up in conversation, then you may want to consider what THEY GET FROM YOU. (If all you can come up with is something sexual then you are a...you know).

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If you are going to be a judgmental (Son Of A) Bitch then you must:

1) Judge yourself first, and without pity,

2) Be Right.

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When someone who's totally incompetent at psychoanalysis attempts to psychoanalyze someone who's really good at it it's rather like a toddler attempting to kick start a Harley-Davidson: kind of cute, and charming in its fumbling ineptness, but potentially terrible if something accidentally kicks over.

*As long as you, or they aren’t going behind someone else’s back, or breaking vows to spend time together. Your commitments have to come first, for the sake of your integrity, conscience, and trust. Only teenagers can rationalize past that.