Frogger

Lately, my sharper edge–double entendre’d–has let me down. Although I have spent the significant portion of my life honing my taste, “intelligence,” and discernance, my analysis finally f e e l s more counterpro than pro(-ductive). Although many good critiques have a late lining of hope, the negativity of criticality is swamping me. And although I notice, admiringly and disapprovingly, the critiques and criticisms of others, my own criticism, spoken and un, woes me the moest.

The other day I was sitting next to a friend at a talk and they were occasionally giving postive, quiet feedback to the speaker, nodding vigorously, whispering in my ear, and (worst of all) smiling, mouth slightly agape. Although I enjoyed the speaker, founding him amusin, and deeply admired his work, I felt two things most pronouncedly–critical of him, and critical of my friend. For the speaker: Why was he making so many bad jokes? Why was he so self-righteous? Why did he have to implicitly undercut the competitors in his field who were working toward the same goal, but who hadn’t achieved the same success? For the friend: Why couldn’t she just sit still and listen? Who was she talking to when she was giving feedback? Him? Me? Did either of us ask to be talked to?
I wish I could say this was me at my worst…but of course, it’s probably not. (Why did I put that ellipsis there? Do I really need it?) The trouble is I appreciate both of these people immensely. They have a positivity and capability for production I dream of having.
Each time I criticize someone or something these days, I end up regretting it. Even though sometimes people want or need “constructive criticism” or feedback, I often don’t know how to give it well. More often, I send out my critical vibes unsolicited and then bounce back to high jack me.
I don’t think I’m espousing gushing, and if I go the uberpositive route for a while I’ll probably boomering toward ultracriticism, but what is it that people need in life? Do we need to improve? Do we need to feel good? (N)either? Can(’t) both happen at once?

so i shouldn’t be writing write now

i should be getting ready to go

cuz i’m gettting picked up from work soon
and i’m not ready

but i’ve been putting off this entry
cuz i have to drink coffee
to get through the day
there was some month or so long stint where/when i drank lots of water with emergen-C instead but it was still hard to stay awake and it was a low pressure time

in december i said i’d stop after my classes ended
but here i am
hectic schedule
needing to drink it to make it through the day
today i made it till 4:30
long,
but the hours, moment, before i drink it are a struggle
and the hours moments after
and it’s only tasty for the first 15 sips
and it only lifts me up for an hour
then i crash
CRASH
lower than i already was
like that coke episode of Fame (TV)
which make s the large r
point
coffee is a drug, and it represents my attraction not to (all) drugs necessarily, as in i am attracted to some “drugs” (apparently i’m too ___________ not to put drugs in quotes)

but too a compulsivenss of addiction. and when i exercise
with other people
or alone
or spend time with other people
who are healthy
and we’re not drinking
or eating poorly
or staying up too late
this compulsiveness of addiction–i wrote “attraction” instead of “addiction” earlier (where’s my id? anyone seen my id?)–mas o menos evaporates
it’s gone
i can see the day
when i get tired i go to sleep
but i don’t need lots of sleep

alcohol, tv, internet, coffee, video games, a packed schedule, being social, staying up late–all these are just some of the examples of things i do that can be “good” in measured quantities, but i don’t take a measured approach
usually
but i’m still having a hard time with stark
i see everything in black and white
not gray
and when i’m at my best,
contrast is relative (gray)
not absolute (black and white)
but it seems that if i’m in black and white most of the time (p)
and i don’t like that about myself (q)
then i don’t like myself most of the time (q then p)
which isn’t really true
but a lot of the time–but, but–i’m too hard on myself (aren’t we all)

and i just have such a hard time picking the “healthy” over the “hedonistic”
they’re probably not directly opposed tho are they?

anyone a Brain surgeon?

On Wednesday night I left Schenectady for Boston circa 8pm. This was the last leg of a last minute trip to west central Pennsylvania, for my great aunt Jeanne’s funeral.

When I heard about it my instinct was not to go. I can’t remember the last time I saw Aunt Jeanne but I remember her well. She was the youngest of five Walsh kids, my Nana was the eldest. I don’t remember ever meeting Aunt Jeanne’s kids–there are four, four of my mom’s 44 first cousins.

Nobody knew exactly what to do with their sorrow, and I wasn’t sure what to offer, except hugs, if they felt okay with them (rather than no touch, or handshake). I traveled there with my mom (#3 of 6 kids, eldest daughter) and my uncle (#1 of 6). It was nice to (over)hear their conversations and occassionally pipe up. I returned to rereading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which I had stopped rereading in late November. Something to make me feel good. On the way home, Mom turned on the dome light at dusk. “You sure?” I said.
Nodding, “It gives me great pleasure to see you reading for pleasure, Bri.”

Uncle Jerry, Aunt Jeanne’s husband, “held it together” for the most part. She’s had a pulmonary disease for a long time, apparently. Oxygen tanks. My mom’s cousin Tim (short for Tom, Jr.) is a friar and gave a great homily. It was the first I’ve been in church in about three years even though every time I see my mom she asks me to go. Lately I’ve been looking for that kind of ritual, supportive community, just not religious. Those church songs test my voice.

So many things people did, or were described, or accents, or lexicon all reminded me of my mom and her fam. Jerry talked about her criticizing him a lot and also about her being sweet as pie. “She never complained.” “She always waited to tell me something until I left the room.”

The alcohol was out but it seemed people were too aggrieved to drink their troubles away. Conversations would quickly switch from high school and military yearbooks (early 60s) to “I gotta tell you about Jeanne” or “She suffered terribly.”

I definitely felt middle america, listening to John Gorka’s “Houses in the Fields.” We passed housing development after development and began referring to them as “the beige.”

It was so good to see my extended family. Sure I got bored sometimes, didn’t know what to do because I wanted my mom and uncle to have alone time with their cousins, and wasn’t sure why I went because besides two of Jeanne’s grandchildren I was the only one of our generation there until the actual funeral. However, now that she’s died, of my grandparents and their siblings, of which they both had 4 (so 10 total), only 5 are left. Aunt Rosemary (#4) was there and played piano by memory…the last time I saw her and most of these cousins, was at her husband Jack’s funeral. Rosemary and Jack & Jeanne and Jerry had a double wedding. My mom was the flower girl at age two. Two of that wedding party remain. Five of the 10 of the siblings. Jeanne’s two older brothers couldn’t attend because of sickness, despite being only a handful of hours away.

What does all this mean? Where does grief go?