Posts Tagged ‘ Flawed logic’

Vanity, Insanity and the Plight of Being Uncomfortably Numb…

Posted on April 14, 2009

Natural State of Things...

Natural State of Things...

The Girl hates pain (careful, or this could get metaphorical…)
The Girl has been known to employ extreme measures in order to bury, dull, anesthetize or otherwise conceal any offending hurt, be it the mental or physical sort.

But what of the pain that one cannot hide?
What of the dis-ease which callously arranges itself all over the face?
That most impudent and cruel brand of malady, which defies even the cleverest tactical obfuscations…
This is exactly the impertinent variety of pain ailing The Girl, at present.

The dentist and her drill have turned my previously soft and impressionable face into a distorted, engorged, and distended shadow of itself.

The prescription painkillers have effectively assuaged a reasonable amount of the physical ache, but seem to be doing little to relieve my visual and mental discomfort.
I study myself in the looking glass, and imagine my misshapen face as though it were a chaotic, dream-like representation depicted by Salvador Dali’. By turns revered and reviled, Dali’s overstated flamboyance has always intoxicated me personally, and I have an inking that he might be equally as intoxicated by my current oddity.
This thought makes me smile in spite of myself, but the expression that stares back at me is virtually unrecognizable.
My trademark ‘subtlely amused’ smirk looks ghoulish and macabre.
Perhaps I should photograph this smirk-turned-grimace and post it on the inter-web, in hopes that I might become the muse for some undiscovered and currently uninspired Surrealist painter.
We would travel the globe and he could paint portraits of my gruesome image in front of landmarks and town halls and all seven of the World’s Wonders.

Time magazine will put us on the cover of their December 2011 issue under the headline,“The Face of the Apocalypse and the Man who made it so…”
Gypsies and circus freaks will send me fan mail and praise me as their idol.
People magazine will dedicate a side bar in their annual ’50 Most Beautiful’ issue to me and my “Least Perfect Golden Ratio” which, even before the issue hits stands, is sure to be the newest trend in cosmetic surgery. Women will flock to their local plastic surgeons begging for their natural proportions to be mathematically warped, until they are satisfactorily maimed and disfigured.

I forcibly shake myself from this reverie, lest I get too excited about the possibilities of living life as the new-age archetype of post-modern anti-perfection.

I resign myself to pretending that I am recovering on “The Swan” (arguably the most obnoxious ‘reality’ show EVER.) I once read that all glossy or potentially reflective surfaces (including utensils, shiny plastic, or laminate of any sort) were banned from the recovery house, so that the contestants had no idea what they looked like until the big reveal in the finale. Perhaps I might do well to apply that tactic to my own convalescence.

I lie on my bed as my brain sifts aimlessly through the dossier of nascent thoughts I’d haphazardly filed away for ‘further ponderance at a later time,’ until it happens upon one of interest.
A friend recently solicited my opinion on the value of propelling the plot of a story forward at all costs, regardless of how many characters are destroyed en route.
Her initial inquiry was broached with respect to a television show we are mutually obsessed with, but I found it challenging to answer her solely within that context; a fact which I made clear in my reply, but later lamented when I did consider the thing as the thing, sans extenuating circumstances.
My (partial) initial and fully loaded response is below:

“I find it hard to address your ‘plot at all cost and destroying characters to get there’ query objectively. But, since this is really an opinion and I know you aren’t seeking hard and fast answers, I shall give you mine. Here goes:
I think it’s necessary. I tend to correlate everything on the show to life, and in life, sometimes we must go against ourselves and others (or Others) to move the story along. To get to the next space…
We make choices that we know are ‘wrong,’ or we stick with an ideal that we’ve ceased believing is ‘proper’, simply because we refuse to acknowledge that what we thought we knew, was ill-conceived. And often, we’d rather accept the consequence of these familiar choices, than give over to a new way of thinking. Little by little this destroys bits of our innate being and innocence. We affect our personal plot lines shift our storylines with every decision we make. We introduce new characters and ‘destroy’ others. I don’t always like it but I don’t know if there’s any other way.”

In retrospect, while I maintain my afore stated stance with regard to certain aspects of life, I cannot help but wonder if plot turns, puzzles and mysteries aren’t less interesting when the protagonists who drive them have become contrived, pseudo-versions of their former selves…
When does one draw the line on principles (eff you, principles!) and man-up to nature?
Why do we numb our pain and make decisions based on our deadened perceptions rather than truly feel our despair and allow it to create the story?
Why kill our innate good OR evil in favour of utter dispassion?
Since when is a fruit that is grown like a grape and tastes like a grape, called an apple just because it looks like an apple? The preceding question was brought to you by Rx painkillers
Still, in defense of the passion and the pain and apple and the grape, this numbing, this wholly un-sensational murder of sensation, is appalling.
It is the physical version of inducing ignorance.
And though ignorance may be a reason; it is never an excuse.
So what then, is my excuse?
How might I justify introducing this faux-tranquility to that which riles me so?
Why must I blunt the force of my ugliness, just because it threatens me?
Why does Vanity provide reason towards the unreasonable?
Today, when I called upon her to dissuade my internal anarchist from rearing its swollen, disjointed face; I learned that Vanity was out sick.
And with no positive imagery being mirrored back to sway my thoughts on the matter, I acknowledge that I’ve the same degree of internal disorder whether my externals appear orderly or otherwise.
And suddenly, I feel an odd zing, a fast flash, a quick sizzle, if you will, surrounding the possibilities that await once the effects of this numbing agent subside.
I shall explore. I shall spelunk through my ugliness in hopes of finding my innate cave-dwelling crystals.

I shall…hope that I do not heed the call of my ‘pain’ and pop another of those tablets before I get to the caves in the first place; an option which grows more and more appealing as the seconds pass.
It’s getting late. And my swelling appears to have abated a bit…

“I always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.” W. C. Fields

Filed Under People of Interest | Leave a Comment

My Transitional Lamp

Posted on September 5, 2008

The bedroom in our new apartment gets minimal light, and in spite of the 8-foot window, has a distinctly cave-like feel. So, I had to buy a lamp. I hemmed and hawed and researched within an inch of my life and ended up deciding to go with one of the first I’d seen. The Hampton Bay Cherry Wood Shelf Floor Lamp. Functional yet Zen. I dug the style and appreciated it’s utilitarian flare.

As I wait for the Ferry bus, I glimpse the package again praying that it’s packed properly and that the twine handle tied on by the helpful Home Depot man which is now ripping the box, hasn’t affected the wood inside, when I notice the writing on the box… “Hampton Bay~ The Transitional Collection”. Hmph. Transitional? Really? What does this mean and why would Home Depot judge me?

I’m not transitional… I’m an adult, dammit! It doesn’t make sense…you don’t even KNOW me, Home Depot. Then it hits me. They’re right. I am totally transitional. This lamp was made for me. Shit. They have a whole collection made for me and those just like me. Case in point…. this is the very first apartment I’ve ever had which does not contain ONE thing from Ikea. Nary a “Malm Dresser” and no sign of an “Ivar Wall Unit”. YET, I do not have even one piece from ABC Home and Carpet (home of the 4,000 dollar plastic chandelier). See… I AM transitional. Sigh.

So, I transport my transitionally appropriate lamp home and get into a transitional fight with my hopefully not-transitional spouse over it’s assembly and then took a walk through Weehawken questing for Diet Pepsi, and realized what the term “transitional neighborhood” means.

Meanwhile, my lamp remains in transition as the shade was never completely put together by the time my husband decided that the only way to end our disagreement was to transition into another day, by going to bed early.

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

Filed Under Growing Pains (and not the TV show) | Leave a Comment

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