I like list making. I like order. I like imposing order on chaos. I like being able to locate a tool, a book, an item when I need it. I like control. My control. I like pulling weeds because there is an end product. I like knowing the names of birds, plants, trees. I don't remember place names. I can no longer remember the names of people. I no longer remember people. They come into and out of my life and this makes me sad. I think this is one of the reasons I keep a journal.
I like sequences. Ordering events on a timeline. Life is ephemeral Each moment slips through our grasp. OK that's silly- grasp. What is there to grasp? If I don't remember it - did it happen? If an event doesn't make a change in my brain chemistry/architecture then it didn't happen in my life.
I am a sharp knife. I cut people by my very existence. My first husband sought to blunt me by isolating me. He preferred my company when I was ill, the sharp edges blunted by weakness and vulnerability. My present husband chooses not to engage. He chooses to use me. Pick me up by the handle and use my sharp edges against the world. He makes sure he is impervious. No soft spots. Don't let the knife penetrate. My daughter is also a knife. She and I can fence with each other rapier against rapier, jousting in a prescribed manner. Books, ideas, psychology - little sparks fly. Occasionally we slip and draw blood. We both get hurt at different times. Often we are oblivious when our knife has penetrated the other. Yet we continure to develop the footwork, the moves, the rules of engagement because we like engagement and having our moves honed.
My son is not a knife. Not a hammer, not a whetstone - he doesn't like sword fights and knife play. He refuses to engage. Withdraws turtle like into a shell. He's a tortoise, I'm a hedgehog.
"The elegance of the hedgehog" is the title of the book.
Perhaps I should write one and call it The Reluctance of the Turtle.
That's my story for today. Knives, turtles, hedgehogs.
I like sequences. Ordering events on a timeline. Life is ephemeral Each moment slips through our grasp. OK that's silly- grasp. What is there to grasp? If I don't remember it - did it happen? If an event doesn't make a change in my brain chemistry/architecture then it didn't happen in my life.
I am a sharp knife. I cut people by my very existence. My first husband sought to blunt me by isolating me. He preferred my company when I was ill, the sharp edges blunted by weakness and vulnerability. My present husband chooses not to engage. He chooses to use me. Pick me up by the handle and use my sharp edges against the world. He makes sure he is impervious. No soft spots. Don't let the knife penetrate. My daughter is also a knife. She and I can fence with each other rapier against rapier, jousting in a prescribed manner. Books, ideas, psychology - little sparks fly. Occasionally we slip and draw blood. We both get hurt at different times. Often we are oblivious when our knife has penetrated the other. Yet we continure to develop the footwork, the moves, the rules of engagement because we like engagement and having our moves honed.
My son is not a knife. Not a hammer, not a whetstone - he doesn't like sword fights and knife play. He refuses to engage. Withdraws turtle like into a shell. He's a tortoise, I'm a hedgehog.
"The elegance of the hedgehog" is the title of the book.
Perhaps I should write one and call it The Reluctance of the Turtle.
That's my story for today. Knives, turtles, hedgehogs.
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