Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Of Jung and Flaming Bowling Balls

It appears to be a lovely day outside, and there is no reason to assume that it won't be one in here, as well. The cats look happy, the dog is sleeping and the coffee is hot. I have no human interaction of any consequence scheduled today, and that suits me just fine. In a deeper recess, however, it concerns me, and that is odd. I'm vexed a bit at being so content with social isolation, as it clashes with my affection for the other human beings. But it is no matter.

Sometimes, the effective dose for an ailment calls for less of a given medication, not more. I was told that I'm not a good, "candidate for hermitude" given my fondness for people. I'd be too lonely, it was said. And that is probably true, although part of me thinks it may be the ticket to Heaven.

Three people keep me from being lonely (my brother and father, my beloved Linda) in a sort of embrace of identity. The Jungian mask rarely comes off for anyone. We have a lot of layers in our society, that you have to peel through to get down to the hairless ape with a pen and a Social Security number. The minimum mendacity zone that is established with caution and varying degrees of hesitation, or even resistance, is a very good place to roam with one of the other humans.

Right now, on FaceBook, my page says that I have about 60 "friends." I haven't any idea who most of them are, having not met with them in person or even had any correspondence.

But I digress.

Methinks that I am making the world a better place by not seeking friendships that are entirely based on small talk. Fewer humans are subjected to my advances as I seek to deliver myself from loneliness. Linda alone keeps me outside of a melancholy funk of fond remembrances, and I'm given to sentimentality by nature, so it's no small trick.

There is love in all her forms in that single relationship. Enough complexity of emotion and thought to occupy me for a hundred thousand years! And all indications are that she loves me, as well, which isn't easy. Despite the recently sent words of encouragement from an anonymous source, I can really be a jerk. If she ever kills me, I would like everyone to know that I'm not pressing charges. I love her so much I sometimes think I owe her the satisfaction of breaking my nose. Sort of a gift for being hard to deal with sometimes.

My brother, Kent, also gets to be one of the few people with whom I'm totally open. You can't lie to your older brother. He simply knows me too well for me to get away with pretense. And my father and I have been especially close since I joined the Socialist Party at age 17. He eventually joined as well, and we became a father/son team of radical socialists. Ah, good times. He, too, knows me through and through.

He's my father, too, so, there you go.

Ask yourself how many people you truly open up to, if anyone. People say that I am pretty open, but that is all an act. Simple psychology. People have said that I'm quite amusing at parties. That I'm just funny. But that is a big, fat deflection! Aha! J'accuse! Shit, I would juggle flaming bowling balls if I thought it would prevent people from talking to me.

Last night, I found myself staring at the bookcase next to my desk, which contains many books left over from college. Studies in Drama and Symbolic Logic, in particular, compelled thoughts about where I fit in, given what I am. The answer was a bit dark.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You are quite the writer, D-Man. Write a book shit.