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Insanity and Drama

June 26, 2014

Insanity is described as doing the same thing over and over expecting the same result.
That means different things to different people, of course. For some it might be licking shopping cart handles and never being able to figure out why you are sick. For B, it is an endless stream of texts over the last three weeks begging forgiveness even though I do not, and will never, ever respond. That bridge has been burnt and the faint smell of smoke still lingers in the air. It is the same tired routine he tried with the others who came before me to no avail. I have to admit, I can’t really fault him for wanting what he can’t have – don’t we all?

Cried enough tears to fill a river. Moved on to higher ground. Not looking back, ever.

My insanity is borne of the constant brutality of Hope, yet the Hope lingers on, now mingled with the terrible, permanent grief that comes with the knowledge that I am a fool for my inability to cast it aside. Always looking for the Good in others no matter what wrongs I know they are capable of visiting upon me; stupidly believing that Good exists – even though I have learned not to seek it – that, is my insanity. Yes, no matter how many times I get burned, I will still touch a hot stove just to feel the warmth. So it seems to me a forgivable offence, if not a bit ironic, that I thought I caught a glimpse of Goodness and Hope even though I had wholly intended to wash my hands of any personal entanglements after the last go-around.
Drama is the kissing cousin of Insanity. Dwelling on a difficult situation, just for the sake of dwelling on it while taking no corrective action, or somehow seeking to utilize it as a stepping stone towards positive change is the hallmark of a Drama Queen. These people seek, yes, revel in spreading negativity and highlighting their woes to gain attention of anyone who will listen. They can whip up any perceived slight or offence into a creamy froth of mock outrage, and while that is a real and true issue, the biggest problem with Drama is that others can foist it upon you without your consent.
Got a flat tire? Fix it? Ok, crisis averted. All’s well that ends well. Got a flat, fixed it, told one of these conjurers of Drama about it… and they are now using the fact that you told them about your day to whine, bitch, moan, weep and gnash teeth at anyone who will listen because they heard about your ‘problem’. All the while, they are manufacturing their own Drama, yet labeling you as the Drama Queen for telling them X-Y-Z in the first place.
This is not the fault of the ‘party-of-the-first-part’ – it is the creation of the second party – you know this person: He/She is the one who claims to hate Drama and avoid it at all costs. It really wasn’t drama to you, it was simply a great story. It’s the kind of thing that you can’t help but share, because it’s funny, or factual, or just worth sharing as a cautionary tale.
For instance, the power went out one morning, I left without shutting the stove off and the house was filled with smoke when I came home. My. Friends. Laughed. Oh, but you have to be oh-so-careful who you share a story like that with. Some people have this irrational thought process where anything less than stories about peaceful sunny skies, butterflies, skillets, or kittens may cause them to run screaming from the room, or, as an alternative, they may stop talking to you altogether.
That bitch is such a Drama Queen. She mentioned that she chipped her nail polish and I had to cut her loose, aint nobody got time for that Drama.
Those obsessed with “avoiding” Drama have no ability to distinguish between you problems and their problems. They simply can’t tell the difference between a story about your day and being roiled in some sort of movie where they are the star of the show and your imperfections threaten their very existence. Weak character; latent narcissism; lack of empathy; solipsism? All within the realm of possibility. tHe only drama that is acceptable to these people is their own Drama. Geez, these asshats can’t even be bothered to take pleasure in your pain like true friends. I had to clean up dog shit from a back seat and one person just got all offended by the story, but my friends laughed their asses off. Only one person took it as some sort of Drama… guess who isn’t my friend anymore? Guess who was never my friend to begin with??? Live and learn. C’est la vie.
I happen to have the misfortune of circumstances beyond my control that seem very much like drama to people who only feign interest in my life. Not drama of the dogshit on a seat variety, or the kind where my wireless gateway crapped out and the freaking internet provider is going to take a week to get the replacement here, but Actual Drama ™.
Last week was a prime example. Getting the Parole Hearing notice a little over a month early certainly was cause for worry, even mildly dramatic, but (with the exception of spouting off here on the blog) only just another thing that happened in the normal course of the day. That’s not to say that I don’t get upset. I just keep most of the tears to myself. After all, the news wasn’t unexpected, it just came at a time when I wasn’t expecting it. The acceleration of my slow descent into hell, as it turns out, does have a reason, but not one that I can control – as is typical of any dealings I have with the criminal justice system.
The Ministry of Truth has made the brilliant determination that the poor, down-trodden criminals should be rewarded with 4 days of “good time” for each day served. If it had been like that the whole time, I would have received my first notice of a Parole Hearing over a month before the sentencing took place. Hell yes, I am worried, and it isn’t some imaginary Drama invented to garner attention or sympathy. Anyone who cares will just take it as a simple recitation of fact and not use it as an excuse to cut off all contact.
If they are scared themselves, that is understandable, and that is precisely why I tell this type of thing to the people I think I am close to. Family, employer, my two Victim Advocates and about 3 other people to whom I have a moral and ethical obligation to share this information with were the only ones I informed. They need to know what the hell is happening. If for no other reason than my own absolution, I felt compelled to bring these people into my confidence.
“Mandatory Disclosure”, also referred to as, “Duty to Inform” is not only moral and ethical, in many places, it is the Law. It is my belief that some people (even in cases where it is not a legal requirement) deserve the courtesy of a heads-up in situations like this.
I’m really gonna miss Bike Boy, but his feelings about my life, or me as a person, are simply not my responsibility. This fact was made with abundant clarity over the course of the past weekend. It’s not that I don’t care what he thinks, I am was just unwilling to pursue the matter.
“It’s not that I don’t care what you think, it’s just none of my business unless you choose to make it my business.”
All I ever wanted from Bike Boy was for him to be himself. Guess I should be careful what I wish for. Tuesday was the first time I told him that I had discovered that there was a reason why the Parole Hearing was accelerated. It was the last time I heard from him. I stupidly, I’m sure, sent another message last night, “Hope you had a great day” or something to that effect.  Crickets.
For all I know, he fell into a vat of raw sewage and drown. So here I am, not knowing what he thought about me or if he ever thought about me at all beyond the few times we managed to see each other in person, and I’ll be damned if I am going to go chasing after his attention to find out. (That’s what B is dong to me and I despise him for it, even after all this time, and “I don’t wanna be *That Guy*) Not to mention, it would be intellectually and emotionally dishonest to pursue contact after acknowledging that his feelings and choices are his own and none of my business.
I could hear from him in 5 seconds, 5 minutes, or a few days from now when AT&T gets my new equipment here, or never again, but the decision is not mine to make. In any case, it will make very little difference. For once in a great, long while, I can truly say that more good was done than harm, and for that reason alone, it was time well wasted.
Number Two and I have been enjoying our time without Number One and Number Three here by working on a craft project making our usual batch of Summer soap. Aside from the stuff we made for Bike Boy (which I guess I will just leave on his doorstep this weekend since it seems my other plans were all for naught) it’s been a great time even though Number Two is grounded. Think of it as somewhere between teachable moment and boot camp…
One thing about the soap project is that there are so many ways that it can be a learning experience. I really like the integration of concepts entailed in this project. There is the science behind how the soap itself is made; the selection of ingredients for specific purposes; gathering the ingredients (a fair portion of them we wildcrafted –i.e. hunter-gatherer style on the side of a dirt road) and then, my favorite part, the packaging design – which allows me to impart both basic design concepts and some real knowledge of software applications. So, other than the whole thing being an exercise in futility when it comes to the intended recipient, is all a win-win for us.
Meanwhile, I guess this weekend, I will take Number Three to the big city for a baseball game, and I can just sit in my car reading the new poetry book I scored for ten cents today.

This is most difficult —
The cause of love is beyond words,
or cannot be believed,
an imageless certainty:
(the sense of untraceable movement
at an inner distance,
eyes beyond eyes, a trembling of being,
a calling, a stillness
which flickers and lures, as in the wind,
shuttered as quickly.

How can we not stumble into love?
This is the hardest lesson.
Not only to realize
That what we are is not enough,
buy why. That is horror
and prayer; to be struck naked
by the light, and, slowly, by light
to be eased, to stand alone.
– Gordon Grant 1969

Yes, for that reason alone, a dime well spent.

Blessings,

Lady Sadie

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One Comment
  1. Why visitors still use to read news papers when in this technological
    world the whole thing is existing on net?

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