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n the morning pool treatment does not restore my leg to its usual state. The random pain up and down my leg tell me just how much damage was done by this week?s attempt to placate the office by being physically there longer hours and more days. Resigning myself to another lost weekend, I abandon my plans, including finally seeing the second LOTR, and concentrate instead on calming the nerve, doing much of nothing. I realize I've done it again, put the "needs" of the office ahead of my own. I resolve it will be the last time. Yeah, right.
I watch The Big Chill yet again while I piece together my sweater of olive mohair. The movie is even more True every time I see it but I've now caught up with the age of the characters. It always leaves me contemplating the nature of relationships and our perception of them, how the individual and the entity of the relationship itself change over time. Realizing now I have sought a more mature version of Jay for fifteen years, trying to recapture that elusive paradox, feeling complete freedom yet utter vulnerability while sleeping in the protected safety of his arms.
It is early in the process, but I'm calling it anyway: another one bites the dust. Honesty is getting me less than nowhere it seems, although it's all I have to offer. It may have taken me eighteen years to learn to be this open with persons of the opposite sex, but I'll be damned if I'm going to waste time now with games, lies of omission and coyness. If you don't want to hear that I want to meet you, look into your eyes, how will I ever be able articulate the really hard stuff? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I ride out a long day, too long, fueled on promises of Crimson. On the later train again, I watch the sunset on the ride home. Although the cause was something else, yesterday's assumption was correct - another possibility is gone even before it is explored. I tell myself the reward of seeing King Crimson live two nights in a row will be sufficient, but by day's end I am beginning to doubt I'll be capable of the trip as there will be no healing rejuvenation of the pool between now and then. What will they play, how will it sound?
Dynamic tension, indeed. Watching him on stage, cool fire swathed in crisp white linen, even his guitar strap is white, so the oversize Warr guitar seems to weigh nothing as he sways back and forth, a jazzy, funky cadence pulsing through his hands to the ten strings and echoing throughout his lean body, his shoulders, hips, thighs. Quiet but commanding, he plays a menacing growl from a wide-legged stance. "Virtuous Circle" renders me anything but virtuous as the whirling dervish in me begins to rotate, lifting off to create my own orbit around his firey Sagittarian sun. The music? Fabulous.
Tonight I come armed with chocolate, prepared to melt with complete, utter abandonment. He cradles the guitar, standing solid yet dancing with a shoulder dip and hip twitch, fingers flying across the fretless neck. I imagine dancing within his arms, that he cradles and plays me that intently. His movements flow like liquid and I blink at the thought, imagining him flowing over me so smoothly. Playing a different Warr with each hand on Level Five, he blithely shadows Fripp's helter-skelter musical chase, enthralling me. The electric chilled mood of Virtuous Circle soars; the sound mix is even better tonight.
Boom Boom. It's John Lee Hooker Time! I nearly fell out of my chair, gasping at that one. A hour, an aon, filled with smart, snappy pop-culture references and internal history that is the hallmark of this ensemble at the top of their form. How can it be nearing the end? Damn SciFi for not renewing it for the final season. Life is filled with change, but the immanent passing of John Crichton, Aeryn and Dargo from my weekly schedule is a change I would rather live without. Friday nights will be really depressing without my weekly voyage with Moya.
My world has gone Crimson. I can't stop listening to the new album, it plays in a nonstop loop on the stereo and in my head. I post reviews, bounce comments and commentary back and forth with others online in the Roadcam. I find myself poring over the Diaries, looking for hints about the men behind the music, how did they bring together the threads of the last three or four releases into this coherent, coalescent, shimmering dragonfly that soars on gossamer wings? This is dangerous ground, prying into the incidentals around the music rather than just the music itself.
Humans build communities, that was the alien verdict on B5 even before the World Wide Web existed. The virtual meeting places contained within the confines of a browser that have been spawned since Netscape came into existence are apparently infinite in their variety and purpose. And in my present isolation, both real and imagined, having a virtual community is better than no community so I jump headlong into the adventures of being an online Crimhead. I am welcomed into a space where I can let loose with eloquent rantings that will be understood by others infected with this particular affliction.
The battle lines have been drawn. They have chosen the strictest possible adherence to the letter of the law, to the detriment of everyone and everything involved. If that's how they want things on their side, then I will do exactly the same in return: I work only in the office and for just the specified number of hours. Any time I'm not in the office I will do things other than work for the company, as it will be counted as intermittent disability leave. And who knows? I might even manage to find a new job in that time.
Filled with the need to do something, to somehow rid myself of this negative energy, but unable to sit any longer, I run errands and stop for a chai, but the comfortable, not-home/not-office space is filled with teenagers at this late afternoon hour. I return home still in a fit and unsuccessfully try to work it off talking to the irregular consultant for an hour while pacing the library in circles. Settling on the couch I take up the knitting needles; eighty-eight yards of yarn later, one 50 gram ball, I am finally soothed enough to consider going to bed.
A whirling dervish in the water. I don't know how it occurred to me, but there I was in class, going out to the deep end with floating barbells in my hands, and I began to swim while rotating my entire body around in the water in synch with my straight arms circling in and out of the water, hands still holding the bells; my body the turbine axis, my arms the propellers. And using the dancer's find-the-spot-on-the wall technique with every rotation, I traveled in a dead straight line through the water. It was exhilarating and made me laugh.
"This is a dangerous place."
Some mighty interesting types (and the occasional frightener) inhabit the KCNN forums. As in life, I'm probably one of the more intelligent inhabitants of this community, inclined to cerebral ramblings fired by romantic poeticism yet my posts are welcomed, even quoted to other related communities. Perhaps it is the nature of Crimheads to be more accepting of the unusual and different, to desire it not just in their music. I feel an absurd sense of, what is it? -- gratification, perhaps. I am welcome here. I've found a community to call home, albeit a virtual one.
In a handful of words, his voice ripped me through time, yanked me back a year. Was it only a year - has it been a year yet? The memory, the experience, has become imprinted on my DNA and so the passing of time appears irrelevant. I am disappointed I haven't made more "progress" distancing myself then realize it has only been since New Years' I've acknowledged that however ideally we are suited, it will never come to pass in this lifetime. Now we watch each other cope with life's disappointments and desperately hope the other finds happiness first. RAH!
The Wizard's well-intentioned exhortations ricochet off the walls of the interior landscape. He of all people should realize how difficult it is to find someone to relate to on a deeper level. It is not as though I'm sitting in a dark corner, pining for him. There are simply no viable possibilities open to me at this time; I have knocked on all the doors, and either received no answer, or was denied entry. And they are certainly not knocking on my door, although the porch light is on and there's a car is in the driveway, as it were.
Spring is close at hand, you can smell it in the air today. The sun shines warm and benevolent overhead in the clear blue sky. The equinox is approaching, bringing with it thoughts of chicks, bunnies, bulbs, eggs and the other seasonal implications of fecundity. In my current state, I have rather a Jekyll-and-Hyde complex about the whole issue, compelled to celebrate the rebirth of life and possibilities after such a long hard winter of body and soul, and yet overcome with viciousness and despair at the actual state of affairs. My reaction to this Solomon's dilemma? Buy tickets to Dragon*Con.
Today the universe chose to open a few doors long enough for me to glimpse a few other exits to the dungeon where I've been holed up for some time now. It is tempting me with vague yet luscious possibilities, luring me into making an instinctive move toward whatever actually is my deepest desire. Life is so tangled up now that I don't know what I want most at a conscious level. I might grasp at the first opportunity just for the sake of change, ending up further away from what I really want. Or perhaps closer to the truth.
A curiously empty day at work, no major documentation project deadline immanent, no massive system crisis driving me forward through the day, just the mundane usual assortment of picayune requests, meetings out of control and email errata. I should be thankful, as this new attempt at a second consecutive day of the commute isn't going as well as I'd hoped, my body already feels the impact while I'm at the office and by the time I'm home it will be distinctly worse. I wonder with no small measure of concern what will happen tomorrow in day three of the commute?
His idea of team building:
You were smirking and rolling your eyes
I saw your body language, you didn't.
Do you agree with the message?
Don't you know what changes are in a build?
You should be asking your management what the build does, you shouldn't be blindly doing things. It is your responsibility to ask questions about this, otherwise you are as culpable as they are.
You need to get with the program or leave the program.
What do you say to that?
I say you're a bully, afraid of capable people who don't automatically say yes to you.
The memory of his words still inflames me - I am NOT on the development team, you eejit - but I try to find a way past them by ignoring his morally deficient universe today. Freed from the tyranny of work today, that "intermittent disability leave" scenario imposed by Catbert, I become as domestic possible, creating an insulating wall between then-and-there and here-and-now so that I might enjoy the vernal equinox, the promise of spring and its possibilities. Ignoring the foul reality perpetuated by the Leader of the Free World, I revel in out-of-character activity at my online Crimson home.
An hour of magic that allows for complete fulfillment, then snatches it away in the final seconds. How can this be?? The Hero and his Love, zapped into rubble by a three-eyed monster? How could they do this to us, the faithful followers??
Farewell, Farscape. No more drooling over the sight of Ben Browder in black leather pants on a Friday night. No more of John Crichton's foolish rescue plans. No more wicked cackling at the pop culture references that whiz by so fast you can hardly catch them. No more, no more.
I need to get out more, obviously.
In the gloriously unseasonal season weather more suited to May than March I tend my garden, dreaming of what might blossom this year, flowers and other things. I no longer try to stem the obsession and instead give it free rein. The recent posts, including another teasing inquiry, "will you be my girlfriend?" still have me giggling. What would they think if they knew I lived in the Crimson Tower Palace, that it has been so named for years? Christened by someone who didn't even know of the existence of King Crimson, the name stuck for a variety of reasons.
Finally saw The Two Towers today as part of the Equinox Weekend Blowout here at Crimson Tower Palace. I was almost as impressed with the theater as with the film; comfy seats, even for my back through the very lengthy showtime. One I dispatched the noisy children with a word to their father, the theater was ideal. Warriors bold on trusty steeds, the races unite to do great deeds. Enough rhyming, epic stories like this and Farscape, a Hero's Journey across time and space, featuring a real Axis of Evil, make our current reality less worrisome and, regrettably, less interesting.
New resolution made to concentrate on shining moments of Truth or Beauty, or pondering the unknowables, or moments of enlightenment, rather than the immediate incidentals of struggling through daily life. I am letting what is really not important twist me up and turn me out and it has to stop. Finding small moments of peace are hard enough in this life without allowing petty tyrants to intrude into my real life. There is much to be done to answer the question of what I want most to be happier in the here and now and to bring that into being.
Would you really be ready to leave, was the question asked, acknowledging it has been my working environment for more than 8 full years. I truly enjoy the team I work with (minus one), and I can't imagine two better, saner people to report to, people who try to help me do better in every way. The mission of the company never causes my over-active idealism a moment's grief. I've been very bored by the nature of my current role, however, and there is no more growth opportunity for me here. And the most senior executive imports are simply intolerable.
And what if it never gets better than this? What if the nerve stops recovery at this point? I am functional for daily life, certainly, but not for the current job which demands a certain rigorous lifestyle of long hours at the office, on the train and off-hours. Such conclusions are premature, but realistically I can't keep playing wait-and-see, the situation at work won't allow it. I need to be sure I'll be capable of a similar lifestyle for a new job in the city, or I must change my world to suit a job outside the city. Decisions, decisions.
I'm unable to keep to my resolution to avoid the daily, mundane reporting in this venue. There is simply too much going on right now, it is rare to find a moment of reflection; when I do, the memory is quickly buried beneath the constant accumulation of stuff to do now, things that just happened and plans for tomorrow. But for an hour this evening I stepped outside of my current career life and talked about the future with someone who did not focus on the rut I perceive myself to be in; instead, I was encouraged to be bold.
Relief that all is well, within the bounds of normal, despite the new symptoms, flows through me. Disappointment at the same time, when I understand that this is to be expected, that it will continue to be expected for the rest of my days.
I wouldn't have believed it, but finding someone else who has been there, done that and has the T shirt to prove it, actually does give me some not-so-small comfort and provides an instant bond, the bond of survivors of a sort, even if we did not experience it together. The feeling is mutual, he says.
It always rains at ICON. The beautiful day melted into the evening rainstorm and now lightning dances on the horizon. I want to stay up late and reflect upon the day, but exhaustion has claimed me. After this long, hard winter of body and soul, it was time for me to do something foolish for a change, and I managed to do quite a good job of it, becoming Gossamer Wing for the evening, the first iteration. Harlan was momentarily stunned by her appearance. Safely camouflaged by another persona, I actually notice those men who take an interest in me.
The world reflects my mood today, grey. What happened overnight, while I slept, I don't know. I seem to be caught firmly by all aspects of the rut today, and able to see them for exactly what they are, yet I'm not able to discern a way to release myself. I've decided I must extract myself from the current work scenario first as it seems to be the lynchpin holding the whole mess together by the massive constraints it places upon my life. I think of Thursday night's conversation and wonder why I feel reluctant to be bold right now.
The system went live today, although it took two dives into oblivion before going offline early to allow enough time for the first backup and bridge cycle in production to complete by start of business tomorrow. Both dives were caused by instability in the Java App server code, which has never lasted 36 hours without being restarted. It's all rather scary to think about, this monstrosity we must now support, these mismatched bits and pieces of dubious origin, stitched together, some bolted on, others hanging by a thread.
Just as long as I'm not the Bride of Frankenstein...
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