Saturday, January 07, 2012

DSC_8492 - Points of IngressGrr. One thing about this whole making up for lost time malarkey, except really it's about trying to compensate for that I can never recover, being with the one who no longer is, is that the remaining one is sodding annoying. Childish, petulant, unwilling, contemptuous, pessimistic, aggrieved.

She responds not with delight to invitations, but with internal fury for the slights she finds in the manner of asking. She just doesn't seem to get that people doing things they do not have to do not have to do those things, so being thankful and pleased is really the deserved response.

She prefers to let life be bad, so it matches what she expects of it, than to put herself in a position, to do anything, that means it might not be. The woman who rails against the arrogance of others, who manages to be as stubborn and bloody-minded as they come, responds to any attempt to be prompt her into being proactive, or even just sensible, with sudden concern for the much lambasted others. Instantly she doesn't want to tread on the toes of others, yet would happily cut out their hearts with a soup spoon.

Life is the poison that swirls about her, trapping her twisting helplessly in its eddies, or so she suggests.

She is become Cassandra, and quite frankly life's more fun if you are one of those doomed fools who do not heed the predictions of the nay-saying soothsayer (regardless for their potential to be true).

And I am become the teenager, wanting to scream for the folly, the parental incompetence, the still grating awareness that parents are not the all-knowing and all-wise beings of childhood, instead languishing as the inept lesser mortals all humans are. Except screaming is tedious and the shrunken house no longer affords the run-up needed for a good slammed door (that and I sort of grew out of it when the bathroom window fell out).

I just have to remember baby steps, despite the absurdity of having an adult do them.


I know somebody whose mother is lost to vindictiveness and anger. Her despair has consumed the person he knew as a child, and seeks to consume him when he strays too close. She is conducting an internal war in which reason has no place. There's nothing to be said or done. One isn't necessarily heading for the same fate. I expect I shouldn't have come here to say this :/
This the one from Leeds? It's nothing quite so bad, just an enduring refusal to cope with life, preferring to be damned to live out her self-fulfilling prophecies. But then her chief excuse for not doing things has just disappeared, so the flailing and failing is somewhat understandable, if lamentable.
I'm trying to plot your description against the Kubler Ross model. Somewhere between anger and depression, maybe? Although bargaining seems to have been skipped.

What on earth are doors for, if not for slamming?
Mmm, Leeds. It's a bit chastening when complete strangers (which I feel you are even tho' we've been formally introduced) reveal they know small details of your life. The fact that one's been writing all about it out in the open doesn't ever seem to register.
Also I've been caught out not knowing the first thing about Kubler-Ross which I've had to look up. I was hoping for an easy life, without further education. I'm not feeling that beezer, as Leeds would say. x
Ben, it's not chronological. And large parts of her responses pre-date events (which is not say they are not a mix of anger and depression).

And the doors here are the same age as the house, and about as well built, which takes the fun, and thunder, out of slamming.

Alec, yes, it can be disconcerting, but I tend to forget who I've told what to IRL, so it's not unique to blogging. I'd encountered your blog via another link a while ago and forgotten about it, then when Ben plugged it I had a hurried recce.

I too had to look up Kubler-Ross, but roughly knew the theory, if not the name.

Beezer? Google's not helping.
Apparently it doesn't have to be chronological, which seems an easy get-out if someone doesn't seem to conform to the model, but there you go.

And I failed to look up Beezer too!
Beezer's meaning is not complicated, but I've no idea of its origin. It just means marvellous or wonderful, and dates from the 20s or 30s I think. Leeds has been basing his (its?) vocabulary on Wodehouse, Yates, and a variety of school stories including Angela Brazil (?) lately. It morphs into gangster stuff sometimes. God knows why he does it but it's irritating and makes him very slappable.
Does God really know and would you resort to violence?

And people wonder why I'm not good at small-talk.

Beezer makes sense now, but I'd just been reading the sentence differently (but will probably be able to explain how I had been reading it about as well as I can retell the what-was-it-muesli joke).

Tally-ho and toodle-pip. I cogit I need to enprand my contempsery (look, Wodehouse made as much up as the writer of Clueless did).
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