Bounceback
The mood ring/finger watch is stopped at 9:26:55.
Yesterday was bad. I have been arguing with
myself over whether to pull that entry or not. It's a journal, a
diary, so it kinda goes against the principle to yank it; still, there
are no rules in this medium.
Other journalers have spoken about suicide, and
suicidal thoughts; the subject even came up recently in diary-l, and it
kinda got explosive. Look, I did not write what I wrote to get anyone's
attention. I didn't write it as a plea for help. I simply got
on the computer after the events mentioned and spilled into it what transpired
and what was going on in my head at the time. My journal is where
I vent. It's where the bent and twisted contents of my mind are laid
out for perusal, not just for whoever stumbles into here, but also for
me. I do a lotta self-discovery in here.
I still feel odd because most people who feel the
need to wax themselves have major issues. I have issues, but not
like, oh say AIDS or sudden death of a child or anything like that.
It's very unclear to me why I'd rather die than have a verbal altercation
with my spouse. Something very sick is going on there. And
I am only half-certain I wanna dig up the reason. Actually, I am
pretty sure I don't wanna dig up the reason; I'd rather just go.
Running away from problems...
Today, I actually feel good. Maybe the reason
it's so easy for me to point out bipolarity to other people is that I suffer
from it myself, to some extent.
My scavenging entries tend to begin, "I didn't mean
to scavenge today but..." Well it was that way again today.
On the way back from the bank I saw something bright red and cheerful-looking
in the top of a couple trash cans and so pulled over, finding two bouquets
of artificial blossoms. Beneath one bunch was a shoebox full of cans,
cans of blueberries. Six small cans of whole real blueberries, some
Betty Crocker and some Duncan Hines. Apparently these came from cake
mixes or something of the kind. I inspected them carefully for expiration
dates, punctures, or signs of botulism. Finding neither, I shrugged
and gathered them up. Thusly encouraged, I took a spin around the
neighborhood which yielded one of those old fashioned school desks with
a lid you can store stuff under, a matching chair, and a dresser with all
its drawers. That last item needs only a bit of glue to the tracks
of the drawers to be in virtually new condition. Oh yes, and two
really small end tables and a bucket. The flowers, berries and bucket
can stay here, the rest goes off to storage.
I might make a cobbler. A couple weeks ago
I bought some canned peaches and condensed milk with that idea in mind.
Now I have canned blueberries and some hand-me-down cherry pie filling
to add to that. Multi-fruit cobbler, might not be a bad idea.
Think there is even some ice cream to go with that...
The HuzBend is threatened by my bisexuality.
He is afraid I am turning gay on him. It wouldn't be the first time
the woman in his life suddenly discovered she was homosexual, and that
is a hurtful thing. It's pretty natural for a guy to get the impression
that something is so wrong with him that he "turned" a girl lesbian, scared
her off men forever, although that is not likely to be the case at all.
It certainly isn't in my case. Sexually speaking, there is nothing
wrong with him at all, not even inexperience. And I do like men,
I really do. And I like women. I crave both sometimes, and
either, one or the other. My needs vary day by day.
It's just taken me a lot of years to acknowledge
these things. It took me some time to allow myself to even think
of women, feel about women, that way. See, my pubescent years, I
was a Mormon, and Mormons are capable of extreme levels of mental discipline,
when they apply themselves. The fine art of curbing a sinful thought
or feeling before it even begins to take shape is an admired and strived-for
skill in the LDS community.
Now that I am out to myself, my spouse, and my online
communities, I am trying to establish some kind of connection to others
like me in meatspace. And this is what's raising his red flags.
I think he sees me as on the prowl for a wife, ready to ditch him at the
first opportunity. That's not it at all.
link o' the day:
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