tuckova

Frog and Scorpion

"But I had to do it. It's my nature," replied the scorpion.

Let's talk about the frog in the story, who represents everybody who has been gullible, who has trusted their heart in the face of facts to the contrary, who has agreed to do something in the hopes it would turn out well with the full knowledge it wouldn't; who represents, in short, you. You gullible trusting agreeable idiot. That is what the story tells us, that the frog kind of had it coming. So you kind of had it coming, is what I want to say. This is not strictly speaking the same as you asked for it but it has the same wah-wah-wah condescension. And it is as unfair as I told you so always is. The only person who takes pleasure in saying "I told you so" is an asshole. And the thing about the frog is that whether or not it was told is not important: The frog knew. You knew. You knew how it would end. Pushing off the shore with your strong legs, balancing danger on your back, you wanted to get to the other shore because it was asked of you and you always want to try, but you knew you wouldn't succeed.

So why did you do it? I think this part gets lost. We think about the scorpion all slithery and persuasive, but I don't think the frog fell for that. I think the frog knew it could be an awfully big adventure. I think you said: "Look, I will not make it to the other side with the scorpion on my back. I may not make it to the other side all alone, either. If I have the scorpion, at least the conversation will be stimulating. At least we will have some fun. And there are rocks and scary bits, and I will do better with a navigator. The scorpion will help keep me pointed in the right direction; I mean that stinger has to be good for more than just the one thing, right?" That's what you told yourself, isn't it. You got all caught up in making the journey interesting and succeeded in distracting yourself from the destination.

All I'm asking from you is that when it happens, when the sting of it hurts more than you can bear, that you not be crying as you resign yourself under the water. That you not say, "How can this be? How did this happen?" Because you did know. You knew full well. Keep the story your story; it's the only way to get out of this with some froggish dignity. Admit that you chose it. Admit that you had a good time. And keep your eyes on the shore in case there's mugwort there, which they say is an antidote for scorpion sting. As your precarious passenger slides from your poisoned back, one more strong kick can get you where you need to go. Stay calm, to slow your pulse. And remember it's okay to ask for help; it's just not okay to ask helplessly.

please see your doctor regularly

Today I found out that I do not have cancer. It was highly unlikely that I did, but the two weeks I was waiting for test results were pretty awful for me and probably anybody who had to listen to me. So that was a relief. I quickly moved beyond being relieved, which makes sense, to being pissed at myself and really embarrassed. I feel things very intensely but I'm generally a fairly level-headed person, and this crazy amount of dread, and the crazy if/then hamster wheel I put myself on, and my near-surreal need for reassurance felt like a betrayal of my character by... myself. Either it's bad or it isn't, but the two weeks while you wait for the results are not an appropriate time to freak out. Freak out after the results are bad, or better yet don't freak out at all. You know? It was stupid. It was like somehow if I worried enough I could influence the results? It's not that kind of test though, and anyway I am not a great holder of breath. Anyway, I'm fine. I am shifting myself back to relief, which is the more appropriate emotion, and to continued resolutions to take care of myself as if I were my best friend and not secretly a lunatic. I got home and painted my face up to see what I would look like when I get old. Deep frowny bits sure, but also I've already got some pretty good laugh lines already going on. It was not unhopeful. Then I forgot to take the makeup off before Squire came home, so he had kind of a surprise, there.

a woman of no consequence

You said what you were going to do and now you have to do it. Because that was what you said; you gave your word. You said here is the line. You said cross that line and this is what happens. It's what you said, you all but shook on it. Shook hands to seal the deal and shook in your shoes in case the punishment were insufficient deterrent. There is no punishment available that does not hurt you, too. Or I guess not punishment but consequence, newspeak. And it's your line. If you weren't willing to risk this result then you shouldn't have drawn the line. Dragged your toe across the sand, finger through wet concrete, a knife across your heart. Here's where can't be crossed. And it was crossed, double crossed, crossed your heart, the cross you bear, cross-eyed and painless. Only, it kind of hurts. You said what you were going to do and now you have to do it. You don't have to want to do it, but you have to do it. The idea is, the theory is, the plan is that this will hurt you, but not as much as seeing the line crossed again will hurt. You can say, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Though you like to hope that isn't true. You're doing this because you don't want to be hurt. And because you said you would. Can I wait a week? Sure. You can wait two weeks. A month. You can spend years ignoring the fact that the line was crossed, that the line is crossed again and again. But there was a reason you drew it, and no matter how smudged it gets from being crossed, you remember that it was there. And every time it is crossed and you do nothing, it's you who is crossing it now. And that is part of why you drew the line: to clarify to yourself later when you would need to act. And now you need to act. You said what you were going to do and now you have to do it.

Portrait d'Une Femme by Ezra Pound

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.

Great minds have sought you- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind- with one thought less, each year.

Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:

Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,

Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,

Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.

late birthday present

For my birthday, Squire said he would destroy my enemies. Apparently my enemies are people who litter, people who stand in the tram doorways, and people who are stupid on the internet. That sounds about right.

www.flickr.com/photos/53678649@N00/4672018463/

Someday I will figure out the scanner and then I will be unstoppable.

sail along the silver sky

I remember sitting on the edge of her bed. Her old boyfriend's picture in a drawer somewhere now, and her new boyfriend out of town for the weekend, which is why we were visiting. Me and Dave, who was really sub-league for me except at the time I was not really capable of interacting with my actual peers and he played guitar so he became attractive to me. This was the fall after the summer when I gave everything up. Most of my thinking at the time had to do with how excellent and frightening it felt to float away, rid of ballast, no ties. I cut off all my hair because it seemed a terrible encumbrance, and then balanced this with heavy bracelets, silver rings. I was not unconflicted. Deep down I knew that giving up what you want is not the same as giving up wanting. Anyway sitting on the edge of her bed, and he's brushing her hair, and then she's brushing his. Hers short and blond, his long waves of golden chestnut, something for a girl to envy, and I watched the brush going through her hair, going through his, the two of them giggling together. I felt like I was watching monkeys grooming, ridiculous. And I felt so absurdly jealous I wanted to cry. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched another connection I had imagined sever itself. Another rope cut.

I don't feel anything particular about that story now. It's a thing that happened. I remember it so that I don't repeat it, so that I never again find myself sitting on the edge of a bed close to tears for being who I am or for wanting something for a moment, wanting anything, even less than I deserve. It wasn't a good moment, but I got through it, I got through worse, and I wouldn't trade the memory for the absence of the pain it caused. Even if the scars are ugly, it beats the alternative, which is for all the fire in my heart to burn out while I stay in one place, tethered to a ground I know is uninhabitable.