Friday 14 January 2011

A Brief History...

... of my emotional love life:
I find a girl; I impute to her my perfect girl after a brief comment she makes about something which I overanalyse and consider evidence of a vast intelligence.; we're necessarily separated by something (often her leaving or me leaving or a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a significant age gap or a facilitator/delegate relationship or some combination of the above). The leaving happens, absence makes the heart grow fonder, I declare, she rejects, I pretend I never cared and find the next one.

... of my physical love life:
A girl finds me cute in a hurt puppy kind of way; she throws herself at me; then either she realises I'm a freak or I realise she's a freak and we move on.

... of my search for what I want in life:
Does she not exist? Surely I should celebrate finding anyone who could simply cope with a man who keeps magnets in his car just because they're cool.

... of my blog: username michael password cordover

Thursday 23 September 2010

A quick insight

I thought this might be informative for those who don't suffer anxiety disorders. People don't get it when I stay home sick but don't call work. "Just a quick phone call or a text message, that's all we ask." Well, too bad, I can't.

I have what must be descirbed as a very mild social anxiety disorder and very mild depression. I've thought about suicide but never attempted. I've thought about self harm and once or twice I tried to cut my finger deliberately but I only drew blood once. I'm not suffering as many people suffer. But sometimes life is hard.

Social anxiety is all about a fear of rejection. We all know what it's like to be rejected; it sucks. The reason anxiety is different is because it's just pretty stupid. I fear rejection in every situation, even situations where it doesn't make sense. When I am rejected it hurts so much it makes a cost-benefit analysis clearly against trying anything.

What's more, because I'm human, and because I know rationally that things really aren't so bad, I hate the idea of people pitying me, of not rejecting me but wanting to, because they don't want to hurt me. That makes me angry, mostly at myself. I absolutely don't want that. At the very least it's not a good treatment for my anxiety. I have to learn to deal with this.

I'm going to give you a quick, though not recent, example. I have never used cheques myself. I am not a cheque person, having banked only after the invention of Internet Banking and ubiquitous EFTing. I was once, however, given a cheque in payment for some tutoring I did. Other times this has happened I've put the cheque in a deposit envelope and the money has turned up in my account days later. Being out of money on that day and a bit hungry, I went to get it cashed - that is, to withdraw cash. I did this at my bank. The cheque, however, was not drawn on that particular bank.

Those readers with an understanding of financial matters will recognise that of course this won't work. Banks aren't in the business of handing out cash on presentation of little bits of paper. So when I tried to present my cheque to the teller I was told this couldn't happen, because it wasn't drawn on this bank, but would I like to deposit it. I replied no thank you and left. Once outside the bank, I cried a little bit. I didn't eat, instead walking around the city avoiding eye contact with everyone until I had to go wherever I was going that day. The feeling of rejection stayed with me for nearly two days. That afternoon I couldn't concentrate, I was too busy thinking what an idiot I was.

Was I an idiot? No. Was the teller particularly mean? No. That's what makes it a disorder. And it really hurt, that sort of physical pain in your stomach of utter humiliation. It's absurd. But that's what it's like. That's the risk I face every time I interact with anyone, for any reason. Some person's reaction to me may set me off, totally irrationally. As I say, that's what makes it a disorder, the fact that it's absurd and ridiculous and dare I say it, crazy.

This is why I don't do things. I hate that I have missed opportunities, from that time in grade one I could've spoken to that kid, through to just yesterday when I could've spoken to that guy. I hate this utterly because I know how capable I am. I know I could do it. I just don't because I fear what my fucked up brain chemistry could do to me if I do.

So much for quick. Sorry.

Friday 7 May 2010

Eye contact by the Woodbride bus

I was walking through the dark and quiet streets of Hobart just now. I had skirted the busy Salamanca strip, passed the waterfront, just warming up, and I was heading towards the buses. There aew lots of people around, for sure, but they are all of my mind: it's the end of the day and it's time to go home. Exhaustion is part of it. Another part is just enjoying solitude for a moment; relaxing.

To enhance this effect I'll frequently listen to music. I'm not alone in this practice either. Shuffle being what it is, Snow Patrol's Run is playing. I do quite like this song but it's not in my usual rotation. I'm not sure I've consciously known its name before. The scene is set.

The song has just started and I'm striding along past Treasury, though the dark patch towards the buses. My walk is more purposeful than usual, truthfully because I'm imagining I'm at the end of a movie. Or maybe a middle bit where the character is going on their solo journey and has to leave the mentor behind. Of course all I was leaving behind was the pub (not that I went to the pub. I was invited to the pub, made an abortive trip all the way to Salamanca and decided I didn't want to go, for all the usual socially anxious reasons. Whatever. I don't really like pubs anyway. They're noisy and expensive and either too hot or too cold).

As I approached the Kingston bus stop (the only one where people line up, as the facebook group proudly, honestly proclaims) where the bus to Woodbridge was taking passengers, I made accidental eye contact with a young lady of around my age who was wearing a red sweater. You know this phenomenon. You're wandering along and find that you've accidentally looked at someone's eye while they're looking at yours. I did the proper thing and looked away. As my eyes flitted around further, I noticed that this girl (curly dark hair; that's all i can reconstruct) was still looking to me. We made eye contact again. I wasn't sure what to do now. I panicked and looked away again, returning only to find that her eyes still held mine. I smiled, briefly, and kept walking. She got on the bus. And it was over.

Her eyes said something but I'm not sure what. It wasn't laughter but it was happy. I'm convinced she knew why I was walking funny.

Thursday 25 March 2010



Sunday 7 March 2010

Social Media

I really like facebook and twitter and stuff. They give me more opportunities for social interaction than I would otherwise have. They keep me up to date on gossip. They have normalised online interaction.


There is one very big but.

I can see everything everyone does. That's nice, it's interesting. The trouble is that I feel so left out. I even intrude on my friends' conversations to try to improve my rep. Most of all though I see just how few @replies I get and how infrequently people post on my wall. How much more popular other people are. It hits me hard, right in the self-esteem. And then it makes me sad.

Thursday 4 March 2010

say something retarded day

I guess I started it?

It's important to note that there is a reason nothing is deleted from my blog. I think one should be able to own their past. Even if what I have said is stupid or disgusting or ridiculous... I keep it because I once thought it. I don't necessarily think it now. But because I once thought it I think it's reasonable to recall it. Record it. Whatever. Why just use memory when I can keep the real thing around?

Also important to note, while we're on blog policy, is that I never mean to hurt or offend or anger anyone. If my writing does so, please let me know.

crappy epiphany

I had an epiphany in the past hour or so.

I've spoken before of how sex isn't real to me. I think I explained it badly back then and I'll struggle similarly now. When I think of my friends having sex... well, I can't. I simply can't imagine it. The two elements are so distinct in my mind that I just can't envisage it happening. Even when they talk about it. Doesn't matter how much detail they use, the them-ness of the sex-having-them (sometimes I wish I spoke German) simply isn't there. It's just a description of sex, distinct from the person involved.

This is weird, I know, but what can you do.

Anyway, I noticed again this evening the separation of these two and it got me thinking. As you'd be aware, I'm constantly on the look-out for a girlfriend. You know how it is, you desperately seek the love of your life, blaming Hugh Grant for your unrealistic expectations. But that, I now realise, doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with a friends-with-benefits arrangement.

I have always been, I think it's safe to say, fairly conservative when it comes to sex. I've always been accepting of sex-for-the-sake-of-sex with others, I've been a strident defender of the legitimacy of female sexual desire, I've even advised in favour of these arrangements. Of course, I've never been comfortable with them for myself. Tonight I realised: there's no reason for that. The relationship of two consenting adults is their business. If they want to carry on a sexual relationship without worrying about love, that's their business.

I think this arose from my old standard, I'm not interested in sex. People don't believe it when I say it but it's true. However, I now realise that even though I'm not interested, I would be open to the idea. Also, maybe I'm a little bit interested in a friends-with-benefits arrangement, primarily as an educational tool. I lack quite as much experience as others I know so it'd be great to bone up (deliberate and terrible, yes to both) on it a bit. That's not going to preclude my search for my One True Partner.

Insanity. Next thing you know I'll be going to strip clubs.

I think I may actually have thought (and blogged) a similar sentiment before. Hmmm.

Sunday 28 February 2010

gilmore girls on a saturday night

I love this episode of Gilmore Girls. The one where they have the CSPAN-broadcast speech (I refer to it as the debate episode in reference to the west wing episode).

Here be spoilers.

When Paris cracks... some days that's just what I want to do. Frequently, in fact. Scream to the world "fuck you, I don't deserve this!" I've said this before... somewhere else in my blog. A year or more ago. More, definitely. It's magnificent. Sometimes that's just what needs to be said.

Not expressing myself well tonight. But seriously, sometimes it's hard to believe this isn't just some cosmic joke.

Friday 26 February 2010


Can I just mention how funny it is that this blog is subtitled "just another sterradian in the blogosphere"? That's really a great joke.

Better even than how I'm ordering pizza as Geoff Kennett.

Thursday 25 February 2010

my day

My day today was just a sequence of unhappy.

I woke up too early.

I took a shower and had a bit of a cry about my dead dad.

I got on the early bus to work. It was crowded so I had to stand up the whole way.

I was in town early enough to have breakfast. I spilt bbq sauce down my (beige) trousers and the food was rubbish anyway - undercooked frozen scrambled egg. Still frozen in parts.

I got to work and budgets are on the agenda, again. Yay budgets. Two hours later we've redone what I did originally but this time with the data rearranged in a way that prohibits the use of metadata and limits our capacity to easily modify variables or presentation. And so what? It's all going to be printed anyway and any changes tasked to me.

Of course we'll then have to go through it in detail because preparing budgets is above my pay grade. Despite that my boss knowns nothing about the budget and I know it all. That I get asked about my collegue's pay rates. Good thing I know how to do a payroll enquiry through the finance system. Don't worry, it's not a breach of privacy. I can only find out the salaries of people in my unit.

Speaking of pay grade, that level we discussed? Think lower. And the position is still subject to confirmation. And that training we discussed? I don't know if we can provide it. The assumption is I'm fine though, because doing things I know nothing about is my specialty.

I tried to corrall some debating teams today, did all bar one. The only comment is that I should also call the other one.

And the other staff have heard my call for fixing our financial management system! They're going to make one up, without consulting me. The system I have in mind and have been talking about for a year probably isn't worth considering anyway.

I also was thanked for flowers I contributed too. Would've been less awkward if I knew we were buying flowers for my boss' wife because her mum died. I was in the mood to hear about sitting with the body until the ambulance arrived though, so that's good.

I think I may have missed the phone call about my failure to push a third party hard enough to get something done, despite I was assured it'd be done monday. Third party blames me too though so I guess I'm just a failure.

The call came to my mobile in the middle of an informal meeting with my boss. I ignored it the first two times but took it, with permission, the third. "It's ok to do that when it's just us but your phone did vibrate yesterday during our Important Meeting so leave it at your desk next time". Thanks for that, it wasn't belittling at all.

At about five o'clock I had enough so I took my dad's death certificate (which had been hanging around my office) and left. I got as far as the park across the road before sitting down, taking off my glasses and doing a very good job of not crying. I researched usb relays instead.

After that all I got told I was clearly in no state to do anything useful and should go home. (I know that's not what you said but that's how I'm going to tell it because that's how it made me feel. My sociopathy is failing me).

I got on the bus, didn't sit next to the pretty girl, and now I'm at the park near my house creepily watching kids and every now and then checking that my dad's death certificate is still there. It is.