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bear by san

March 2017



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bear by san

GIP. also, another narcissistic meme

commodorified made this for me. Isn't it loffly?

1. I hate to be needed. This is one major reason I will never have kids, because it gives me the creeps to have people relying on me in other than a professional manner. If I were being self-analytical, I would say it was a boundary issue; my general response to having somebody try to hold on to me is first to attempt to withdraw, and then to grow prickles.

This would not be a good way to raise a kid.

This isn't to say that I won't offer emotional support or friendship or a sympathetic ear, but, catlike, I tend to scratch when grabbed. It's not a pretty characteristic, but it doesn't seem to be one I can fix, either. Also, I go through cycles where I do not want people around, mostly, and I sure as hell don't want to talk about it.

This is on my mind currently because I'm in one of these cycles right now. And because I was, as I mentioned yesterday, identifying a little heavily with Heath Ledger's character in the movie. Though without the great repressed self-destructive passion.

2. From the weighty to the ridiculous: my small toes are on sideways. No, literally. It's actually not that uncommon, but it's particularly striking on my feet, as even the second toes are slightly twisted. They work okay, though; just not pretty for sandals.

3. I like gray days. Extended exposure to warmth and sunlight makes me cranky unless I'm under trees. Blue eyes. Headaches.

4. I used to wear a lot of rings, all the time, in positively dyketastic profusion. Before I started to develop a nickel allergy. And gained a bunch of weight. On the other hand, I bought two (very different) silver-and-tourmaline rings at WFC, and have been making an effort to wear them more often. The rest of my rings are in storage in Connecticut. Once I get back to the gym (slated for the week after I move into my new place, which of course I first have to find) and start getting back into shape, I may make an effort to start wearing them again, because I miss them. I sense a lot of clear nail polish in my future.

5. I am not the sort of girl that men, in general, buy flowers or jewelry for. (There have been a couple of exceptions.) And I'm okay with that, because I am the sort of girl they have long soul-baring conversations with, and that's generally better.

6. I'm not a perfectionist, in that I will keep working on things in a futile attempt to make them better. On the other hand, I am always acutely aware that whatever I've done isn't as good as it could have been, just as good as I could have made it.

7. I love pomegranates.

tagging, oh, naominovik, katallen, truepenny, stillsostrange, clarentine, scott_lynch, and allocthon.


An artist friend once mentioned that the perfectionists say, "this must be done before I can turn it in or call it finished -- and not a minute sooner," while the pragmatic perfectionists simply say, "it's done when I run out of time."
See, I don't do that either. It's done when I can't see any ways to make it better or I can't stand to look at it any more. *g*

I just hate it for not being perfect at that point.
For me, I consider the piece "finished" when I'm afraid if I do anything more to it, I'll seriously screw it up.
If those are white metal rings, you might want to talk to a jeweler about the possibility of rhodium plating them.
I bet clear nail polish is cheaper.
Initially, yeah. Depending on the degree of sensitivity to base metals, and how meticulous one is about reapplying nail varnish, it can be a better idea to replate at least a few treasured items.
Hey Red Shoes -- I think our mothers must have been identical twins separated at birth.

Why do they *DO* that.

I had not really made the connection between that particular relationship and my need for space (followed by prickles).

Is this why I tend to want to punch chatty people in the nose when they corner me and talk at me for three hours.

I own a shirt that says "Don't be offended I if just turn and walk away."



Why do they *DO* that.

For nine months another human being takes over your body and brain. A connection is forged, stronger than anything else known to mankind.

After the bodies are separated, the dependance continues. And while the younger one learns they can be their own person, you never lose that sense of connection. (If anything, it can grow stronger.)

It is addictive, this connection, because it is made of pure love, which humans crave from time to time. Sometimes it's so intense it's scary and one feels it will overwhelm one and one fears losing your individuality (that same individuality that one developed when one learned they could be their own person, about twenty or thirty years ago).

While some of us learn how to let go, no matter how painful that release can be, others feel the need to continue the connection, because as long as you nurture it, it will continue to feed you... forgetting sometimes that the other is a real person too, with their own hopes, dreams and personal needs.

That is why they do it.

One of the ways I have demonstrated love for people is to stip a pomegranate and just bring them the seeds.
That *is* love.
14k or 18k doesn't guarantee a lack of nickel.

People who are really allergic can become sensitized to even minute quantities. This is why I suggested rhodium plating -- rhodium is a platinum group metal and hypoallergenic.
http://www.dyjewels.com/je_whitegold.shtml gives some idea on rhodium plating pricing.

The thing about 10k is that *under* 50% gold. Bleah. 24K gold is pure gold, 18K gold is 75% gold, 14K is 58.3% gold and 10K is 41.6% gold. Gold less than 24K is mixed with other metals (usually copper, zinc, silver, nickel, steel or iron) to make a gold alloy. If someone says they're allergic to gold, they're probably allergic to one of the other metals in the gold alloy. (Whoops, lost the attrib on the website I got that from.)

Silver rings. *g* I like it better than gold.
I sometimes feel guilty for not liking pomegranates. My maiden name is supposedly Yiddish for pomegranate.
1. Oh lord yes. I didn't think anyone else in the world had exactly that quirk. You have put it into words perfectly. I had a friendship of several years go horribly, desperately wrong because it went (from 0 to 60 in about 10 minutes, because she was staying at my house) from someone being able to ask for support, and me to provide it, to her becoming clutchy and demanding and terrified and hysterical, and I coped, but it forever changed the tenor of our relations, and I don't know how to be friends with her again, because I just disappeared off her radar for a while.

I can't STAND being clutched at like a life preserver. It turns me into this nasty, awful, Snape looks good next to me, thing. I like commitment, but I won't have children because my reaction to desperation and clutching is to grow prickles at once.

I don't know what to do about it either. My longest marriage lasted three years.
I think I'm an afficianado of the Hepburn school or relationships.

"Live close. Visit often."
I believe that, spychologically [sic] speaking, the scratch-when-clung-to reaction is not uncommon at all, particularly in folks with traumas in their past; PTSD will do that sort of thing. When you've been through traumatic situations, you value people who can stand on their own two feet and give you cover fire, not clingy needy things with no survival instincts that will drag your gun arm down and handicap your survival in the next traumatic situation.

Alternatively, having a leechlike black hole of emotional need attempt to limpet itself on to you will also do this. Such psychologically damaged whackjobs leave serious scars. (And may inflict PTSD too.) Learning to have good boundaries, recognize those leeches as people one should not associate with, and so on helps with those. (Bad broken-wing complexes.)

I *think* the cure for the PTSD part is partly to come down from the adrenalized combat-ready lifestyle, and partly to become more assured in your own strength, to be able to be Sigoruney Weaver versus the alien while clutching NEwt under one arm if necessary. ALso, as one comes down from the combat state, one should be able to see value in skills other than combat survival, and value people for those as well. (But they must know how to duck and cover at least, damnit! I may be a wheelchair cripple, but I can do that and reload for somebody.)

My mom's family all have short little weird toes, and while the pinky toe is relatively normal, the one next to it is short and feeble, sometines shorter than the pinky. Nobody in that family wears open-toe shoes. I got that mutation, but tempered by dad's long-prehensile-toes gene, so my toes are just a weird uneven length. But of course I still see the weird German Mutant Toe in them, and don't wear open-toe shoes. Plus my ankle is lopsided after surgery, so my feet tend to stay in supportive shoes which allow me to kick people and things as necessary. (Although I am exploring the world of sexy heels now that I'm in the wheelchair and don't need to stand in them. heh. I reassure myself with the probably-disproven cliche that a spike heel can inflict a wound not unlike that of a .22, and could kill if stabbed through the temple.)

I have light-sensitive blue eyes and am now on a profusion of meds which add to that light sensitivity. Daylight hurts us. But I always liked gray days.

I had a vast collection of sterling rings bought in the cheap-imported-from-India market stalls in London. These days my hands ache if I wear them. I have a few special ones, and the one I made two of for myself and darling gets worn any time I leave the house. (Which happens to be lightweight wire construction.) I miss my stacks of sterling, though.

Ditto number five, despite the occasional resentment. And six.

However, I do not particularly like pomegranates, although their juice has its uses, and it's a lovely symbolic fruit for rituals and the like.
Oh, I'm pretty much over the combat readiness thing. It only took about 28 years. :-P

Mm. Sterling.
Reloaders are intensly handy people. "Girl, gun!" :-)

BTW, just a stray tidbit re "...that a spike heel can inflict a wound not unlike that of a .22." I was a juror on a shooting case once. The victim had been plugged in the low back with a hollow-point .22 from about 50 yards. It was entirely a soft tissue wound... that little lead pill damn near did the guy in.
One of the things that drives me crazy about my job is this 'being needed' thing (Them: 'You're going to take vacation? What if we need you?' Me: 'Don't need me. Intelligent monkeys could do my job.' Them: 'Like, then, we might have to pay attention *whine*'). I want to be respected, consulted for my experience, but not needed because at least in this context it's about caretaking, not about being good or experienced or skilled, and the one thing I never wanted to be in my life was a caretaker. I'm not structured right for it.

Of course, our reasons may be (likely are, even) utterly different. I have a post rattling around in my head about stoicism and what that means and trying to be middle class and stoic at the same time, which really doesn't work all that well, and how 'if you can't fix it you've got to stand it' makes more sense to some people than others and a bunch of other stuff I'm not at all sure I'll completely figure out let alone get down the way that I want to...
Working-class stoicism. Yeah.

And you know, I dragged my ass to work with pneumonia for one whole winter because it was that or starve, but I'd rather have the kind of safety net that makes you able to go "fuckit, I'm not going in today."

And because I was, as I mentioned yesterday, identifying a little heavily with Heath Ledger's character in the movie.

Heeeeeee. I sent Mek an email when I got back from the movie and said, "I don't remember identifying quite so strongly with Jack when I read the story first..."
In unrelated news, Mark Knopfler is love.
Yes. Yes, he is.