goals - short term

In the next six months I'd like to see the following as a result of my therapy. The goals listed below are followed by a result that can be measured:

1. Foster a more compassionate perspective/reduce power struggles and road rage
   
2. Open myself up to new social experiences/form new friendships
   
3. Increase my physically activity/lose 15 lbs
   
4. Take more initiative in my life/get a mortgage for our house and get website up and running
   
5. Consistently perform the maintenance of daily life/take care of house and yard work
   

I hope those aren't too ambitious for six months. We'll see.

exercises

It's been a while since my last post. That is due partly to my fucking job wearing me down to a useless nub and partly owed to my hesitation in taking on the slate of topics I have set before myself.

My shrink gave me a series of exercises she wants me to go through. She wants me to list my fears and my goals (short and long term). She gave me some guidelines to keep me grounded.

I have recently learned how profound my split from reality is. Not that I think I'm Napoleon or need to wear a tin-foil hat, but when I look at myself through the filter of concrete reality the difference is striking. It is both thrilling and frightening.

Unfortunately, I lost the sheet of paper she gave me with the guidelines on it. Things like sticking to measurable, verifiable items.

I guess I'll just have to forge ahead and see what happens. Maybe I left it at work.

i grew like weed

So, my dad was a maintenance smoker. In order to maintain, he smoked. While I was growing up he would wake/bake, go to work, come home, fire it up, sit down to dinner w/ the family, and after the kids went to bed he'd hit it again.

My mom hated it. She became a detractor after a bad acid trip when I was 4. When I realized, in my pre-teens, he was "taking drugs" I was staunchly opposed. Just say no. On one occasion I was so mad at him (for reasons I can't remember) that I called the operator to "get me the police" (this was before you could dial 911). I lost my nerve while the phone was ringing.

In my late teens I thought it was awesome, and would shave his stash or join him from time to time.

In retrospect I can't believe what a selfish little man my father was. You can be a brain surgeon on meth if you can pull it off. I don't care. Being a parent is a different, more complicated, operation. Ultimately, his entertainment took precedent over my development.

There are a lot of reasons why I came out all twisted, but this is a big part.

Children build their unconscious perspectives based on cues taken from their primary role models. Imagine you are a three year old trying to get a handle on the world and what you get to work with is some burnout's stoned philosophizing.

Imagine you are a 12 year old trying to negotiate the new social minefield of jr. high school and the best advice you can get is some stoner's fried logic.

Etc.

forgiveness

I'm going to have to make a concerted effort to forgive everyone for my shortcomings.

136

I can't avoid it any more. My IQ is 136. I wanted it to be over 140, but it just isn't. It's time to move on.

As a child I developed a bunch of narratives in order to survive the constant onslaught of my vindictive gorilla of a super ego. These myths tend to center around some unexpressed, inherent, brilliance - waiting for the perfect moment to emerge.

From an early age, despite all evidence to the contrary, I held the belief that I was an unrecognized genius of some form. When the bulk of my age group started to drift away and eventually ridicule me, I wrote it off as just an expression of the jealousy of my less intelligent peers.

Well, it's time to let this one go. 136 is above average. By some measures it puts me between the 95th and 98th percentile. It isn't the deus ex machina my fragile juvenile mind needed, but it'll do.

I have spent too much time vacillating between the fictional poles of superiority and inferiority with regards to my intelligence. Maybe now I can put the matter to rest.

If I can ever shed all of this poisonous, crippling, self loathing I might be able to put it what brain power I do have to good use.

now i wanna be your dog

I can't hear this song without feeling shame and embarrassment. After my usual fashion, in the early 1990's I decided to be a rock star. I picked up the saxophone I hadn't touched since 1983 and got together w/ my friend Mike and the guys he was jamming with. Mike took, and I'm sure continues to take, music very seriously. We fell out pretty hard when I went paranoid schizo in 1992.

Anyway, they decided to play I Wanna Be Your Dog by the Stooges. There I am blaring musical garbage for a while - while the three of them, the real musicians, got into the song. I stop gibbering on the sax and pick up the mic and start to sing the song.

I finish and start to strut around, glowing with post rocking gusto, when I notice that they're still playing. Then, one of the guys that Mike played with starts to sing the song.

I had come in too soon. They had a thing going on, and I didn't get it. I felt like a fool.

I still feel like a fool. Writing this little post has been excruciating. I started to sweat.

I don't know why I cling to this poisonous shit. I've forgotten so much. Why do I need to remember this? It serves no purpose.

i am a mean person, and yes, i suck

Jen and I had a fight the other night. One of the things she said was that one of the main reasons our relationship has troubles is because I'm a mean person. It's true. I'm a jerk. I am one of the people that the slogan rails against.

Here's an example that drove it home for me. No pun intended. The other night I was leaving work early to go see my shrink. I ended up behind someone who was being more cautious than I thought they needed to be. I'm in a rush and stuck behind some vile little toad who doesn't give a shit about anyone but themselves.

I got tired of waiting for this person to drive more aggressively so I honked at them. I started to pantomime violently that they should speed up. I started to hurl laser beams at the back of their head. I began to hate this person.

Then I realized it was Jen.

We work out of the same building, and she was driving home. You'd think I'd be able to recognize my own car from behind, but I didn't.

I was heaping violent hatred on someone I love and treasure. I was terribly ashamed of myself for feeling the way I had. Then I realized that it didn't matter if it was Jen or some stranger. There is no one who deserves the kind of hatred I was throwing around.

satan has a legitimate claim on my soul

Here's the deal. I was raised by my father as a - sort of - superstitious agnostic. From an early age it was important to me to discover the answers to the great intangible questions of life. Chief among them: is there a god, and to a lesser extent: is there a devil?

In my early teens, using all of my pop culture info on the christian devil, I came up with a way to prove his non-existence. Standing in my parent's garage I offered, aloud, to sell my soul the the devil. My price, that he/she/it merely manifest itself.

The devil did not appear.

Five years later I had a bizarre dream. It seemed normal - full of snippets from my life. At some point an acquaintances of mine, at the time, turned to me and said something like: "Well. I'm here. You did not specify when I had to appear, nor where to appear."

It was perfect as far as my pop culture, teenage, understanding of the christian devil went. The devil is a con man, a trickster, who fools you into selling your most valuable "possession."

I had no proof of the existence or non-existence of the devil. I had sold my soul for a bad dream.

So, if he ever comes to collect, satan may have a legitimate claim on my soul.

joy

I just performed a creative act and am filled w/ peace. So little of my job is creative anymore that when I get to design something it is incredibly satisfying.

I feel that I am in the right place and it will all work out.

Maybe it's just the coffee.

out of time

I'm out of time and it's freaking me out. I'm nearly 40 and I feel like I have no way left to "win." I can't see a way to insure Saula's educational, or financial well being. If we buy a house now we won't own it until we're 70! We will never be able to retire. I'm going to be paying off my student loans until I'm 50! I don't earn enough money. I'm panicking.

Mid-life crisis. Mid-life. How strange. I'm in the period in which the halfway point of my life will occur.

This started yesterday on Facebook. A guy who I thought I had left behind in high school asked to be my friend. This guy had a superhero body in 6th grade. Athletic, attractive, popular, friendly, fun, married his high school sweetheart, stayed in the burbs... pretty much the antithesis of me.

I always consoled myself with the idea that people like him "peaked" in high school. Well they didn't. While I was screwing up in college and experimenting with drugs and mental illness, this guy went to school, got married, started a family, got a job, and worked himself into a senior position. He probably has savings for his kids' college, money for retirement, and owns his house (or will soon).

All of the things I thought were important, weren't. All of the things I thought weren't important, were.

the phantom of the paradise

Jen and I watched the Phantom of the Paradise Friday night. If you haven't seen it and like kitschy early seventies rock operas with music by Paul Williams I highly recommend it. It is a pop-rock mishmash of Faust, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and The Phantom of the Opera.

I saw it in 1974 at the drive-in. I was four. It was totally inapproriate, but in my parents defense, they may have expected me to sleep through it.

As I watched it this last time, I identified some bad ideas that got lodged in my head and ended up skewing my life negatively. Whether this movie was the primary source of these constructs, or just a manifestation of the psychological environment my father fostered, I can't say. Regardless, they stood out clearly in all of their cartoonish sincerity.

Here's a list of the bad ideas:

1. The true artist is unappreciated
2. The system corrupts and destroys the artist
3. The artist can only love from afar
4. The object of the artist's affection will destroy him
5. Martyrdom is the ultimate expression of love

I absorbed all of these things.

happy new year

We had a good time at John and Catherine's New Year's party Wed/Thurs. I drank too much as planned. Surprisingly I was, with a couple of exceptions, able to keep from hurting anyone's feelings, raising embarrassing topics, or offering too much information. Prior to the party I put together a loose list of things I should not talk about and in most cases was able to keep to it.

The hardest topic to sit on was my narcissism and this blog. I told Nathan and Pat about the blog and invited them to read it. I also told Pat and John about the narcissistic personality disorder diagnosis. Predictably John's response was negative. Not malicious, but negative. He pointed out that Narcissistic Personality Disorder is currently in vogue.

I also talked about the Talisker Scotch that I brought until I started to feel like I was begging for approval. The memory of that realization has lodged itself into the hopper and is currently running on an endless shame loop.

I did some reminiscing with Jim that might have been in poor taste. I don't think it upset him though.

Otherwise I think it went very well, and I had a lot of fun. It helped that Jen and I had a fight before the party, so there was no tension between us. At least I didn't feel any tension. To call it a fight isn't really fair to Jen though. It was more like: I acted like a jerk, she got defensive, I got defensive, she got upset, I felt bad and apologized, she explained how I hurt her feelings, I understood where she was coming from, and we made up. Maybe that is a fight. I don't know.

New Years day and today I'm dealing with the basic brain chemistry equilibrium issues that occur after a bender. Everything is skewed a little bit sad and I feel like I'm working without a net. It is getting better though.