The Rome Song “The Accidents of Gesture” speaks to the darker aspects within me and my desire to know the “thief for hire” within. I could call her my inner femme fatale, as she is a bit of a thug. She looks for the Nick Cage to match her Holly Hunter. She likes rude boys who wear golf caps, have a sleeve of colorful tattoos, enjoy picket lines, listen to conscious hip-hop, and have pride in their working-class roots.
I acknowledge these arguably fetishistic desires exist within me. I seek to make peace with them and to move forward in my life toward more stable goals and relationships. I seek a monogamous coupling that will be real, accepting, and as unconditional as humanly possible.
R and I are talking of counselling (that is, talking of talking about stuff that’s not easy to talk about). I married a very patient man in October of 2001. We’re separated now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward together in ways that will be loving and honest. Building intimacy after a series of affairs of the heart on both sides will not be easy, but that’s the trajectory I’ll follow with all the tenacity I can muster.
Sometimes I hate that I have to learn lessons the hard way, but in this case it could have been a lot worse. I have my health and kitschy Carpenters songs. The fact is I’m no longer rooming with a man with whom I’ve been pursing romantic entanglement, but with close female friends from my program. We plan to watch movies, talk of school, drink beer, and work on grant applications at the conference we’re all presenting at during spring break. Moreover, I no longer have a “friend” (the same man I’m no longer rooming with) flying to visit me in my tiny studio apartment in Tucson after next week’s conference.
Upon reflection, there were many difficulties, technical and otherwise. Let’s put an emphasis on word “many” and its origin from the Greek: poly. Combine that with the word “amor.” Next, add a person who declines to define himself as such only to later cryptically “come out” as living a “lifestyle” he denied any interest in practicing. What does this all add up to? A crash course in the darker aspects of myself and a recognition that I respect myself enough to put boundaries in place so that I don’t risk self harm.
I’ve been separated from R and living on my own since the end of January. Since then I’ve learned some things about myself. First thing: I’m far too easily conned by seductive rhetoricians. My philosophical training taught me to be tough minded, skeptical, and to research matters carefully. Thankfully, philosophy has not failed me.
Quintilian waxes rhetorical about the virtuous man who speaks well. I’ve wondered aloud about the eloquent leader who makes false promises in order to gain power and gratify his ego. I don’t have to speculate about the later as he is no longer merely a theoretical supposition. I have firsthand experience with a charismatic liar. The ruse was mediated through ASCII, snail mail, and the telephone. And, the ruse is up.
I’m just grateful I didn’t wake up with dirty, bloody knees and have to walk my sad self over to campus health. And, I’m thankful to be learning more about my shadow side in singledom. In a nutshell, I like myself more these days and that’s a good thing. It means not taking risks with questionable characters with a knack for flirting and emotional manipulation.
This post would not be complete without a badass video about the repercussions of honey theft. The video flies in the face of the whole “do no harm” mantra. It’s fun though and I’m too earnest for liars who like to add a “baby,” “dear,” “sweet,” or “love” to conversations for flourish. I hope to never be duped by that rubbish again.
I’m glad I had the strength to move out. The physical act of moving and the prolonged lack of sleep have been challenging but there are whole hours when I feel like I’d move a thousand boxes for the freedom I have now. A friend is coming to visit me from Milwaukee over his spring break. I’m still pinching myself over this development. I’m certain I couldn’t get any luckier.
Today the contents of the joint savings account were divided in half. I opened my own savings account. As I go to U.S. bank to take out cash for my first month’s rent the teller must have read something about the situation. Not only did he explain to me what I needed to do to withdraw the money, he asked me if I wanted to apply for a Visa card. I told him that I’ve never had a U.S. credit card before—all of my accounts were joint with R. The teller was so kind to me that I swear I nearly cried. He even gave me his business card for any banking related questions I might have.
I’m going to be living on my own, without housemates or a roommate, for the first time in my life. I won’t have a car, but I do have my first U.S. credit card. It has a $3000 limit. I feel like a grown woman reconnecting with the young woman I was when I first moved to Windsor. We’re going to eat a lot of Annie’s mac and cheese together. She’s a very earnest individual.
I think my idea about a sociological aesthetics in composition studies was way too abstract even for me. I am thinking about why I’m even began revising the list: the goal was to include a neo-Marxist account of negative dialectics to my tweedy list on the rhetoric of dialectic. As I’ve been doing research on how to incorporate negative dialectics, I’m growing to think that the rhetoric of dialectic might not even be what I’m on about. I think my interests have more to do with the possibility of resisting self-improvement narratives, which of course assumes there’s a resistant self that chooses. I’ve begun reading an interesting article titled “Self Improvement” by Ian Hacking—all roads are leading me back to Foucault. Toes crossed that something fruitful comes of this detour.
I spent most of the day planning while trying not to freak out. The deal is that I’ve set a deadline for my comprehensive examinations. Now it’s time to buckle down in the midst of a lot of work. I am rebuilding my first list around the possibility of engaging a sociological aesthetics in composition studies. It’s really exciting for me to tackle this area and I can hardly wait to unpack all of the implications of said project.
Practically, I have to gather all of my readings in a box. Since there are two lists I’ll need to organize accordingly. The lists ought to have between 12-20 books and 16-24 articles each.
I was up late last night editing this little montage. It’s absurd and that’s why I like it. I came across the scene in an American vaudeville class I took this summer. I haven’t watched all of Flying Down to Rio (1933), but would like to. In the spring I’m helping put together a vaudeville exhibition on campus, which is what inspired me to revisit my notes on dirigibles, zepplins, and air travel.
The first week back to school started uneventfully enough. I’m enjoying the classes I’m teaching. When I’m not teaching I’m working on my comprehensive exam lists and paying attention to the birds. I need to get back into some kind of exercise routine with Erica. We were going to the gym together five days a week during the summer.
My sore throat has turned into a nasty flu. My forth of July plans are ruined. No bbq with friends and no party tonight. Just some cold medicine, a Forbidden Hollywood dvd, and my best friend Ryan. Amazingly he hasn’t gotten sick, which can only mean he has an immune system of steel.
The fair weather friend about whom I wrote earlier no longer has any reason to text me. I returned his camera and he returned my bike lock. It took less than a minute and now it’s done. What a relief.
I woke up with a sore throat today. It’s odd because nothing else hurts and I don’t even feel like I’m getting sick except for one nasty clot of phlegm.
Ptichka has another feather cyst and a vet appointment on Tuesday. This one is under his beak. I’m worried because I don’t know if there’s enough skin under his beak for the vet to put stitches in.