l i l e p h y t e

May 16th, 19:37 | more ridiculous thoughts

There's something insanely carnivorous about spare ribs. I'm not really sure what it is, but something about the way you have to eat them, the way you catch errant sticky-out bits of meat with your teeth and tear them off. The way if you really want to get the most out of it, you can't just try cutting the meat off the bone.

And they're tasty. It's not really just the actions required to consume them. There's also the inherent satisfaction of having done it -- have you ever had spare ribs and felt disappointed, or anything other than sated? I haven't -- that also adds to the idea that you can't not enjoy this meal that consisted of you animalistically ripping flesh off chunks of bone.

...it's possible I've had a little too much sleep today. I'm going to go look for the scissors we lost. Excuse me.


Finished the first one. I think all the Coupland-reading is making me overanalytical of my life. Well, it's that or the having-too-much-time-on-my-hands thing. You know.

I was thinking about a story, an image. That secret fantasy that you live over in your head, crystal clear, that you really want to happen. For two of the characters in the book, it was very clear, every detail figured out, the whole sequence pristine. Like little movies in their heads they were hoping to live out one day. For the other character, though, it was more a goal, an idea that she was chasing. And I think I have the same idea-chasing dream.

(As an introduction, the first time I read the passage about the sun from before, when this character, Claire, was "formally" introduced, I stopped breathing at the end of the chapter. It's not really surprising that I find pieces of myself in characters -- how many people don't put themselves on a parallel with at least one character in a book they're reading, or movie they're watching. Lately, though, characters seem to jump out at me, grabbing me, shaking me, some screaming warnings, some smiling that everything will be okay, see? It's a weird existence. I think it stems from my recent decision that I have no idea who half of me is. Anyway.)

So my secret fantasy is combat. Not lethal, not mercenary. The reason changes, as do(es) the opponent(s), but it's usually something reasonably plausible since I really can't picture myself picking a fight for no reason at all. Oddly, even in the fantasy, I can feel that whatever the reason is, it's masking, oh-so-thinly, a deep desire to get into this fight. I don't entirely understand it. I've never been in a real fight. I hate the idea of violence, or hurting people in general. I'm the least likely person I know to engage anyone. So... why is this something that's recurrent in my psyche?

Part of it feels like the Fight Club thing, the whole Not Dying With No Scars mentality, something about learning more about yourself by pushing limits not normally tested by everyday existence. Part of it is probably a gesture to the world, or at least to people who wouldn't expect it of me, a sign that I'm stronger than they think, that I can take care of myself. Oddly, the people who feature in those fantasies are probably the people who know best that I can. So what the hell is going on?

Inevitably, the story ends with us walking/driving off, not really talking, vague motions of patching up light scratches, etc. And nothing seems to change in our relationship, or even the way I feel about myself.

I'm sure pop. psychology has something to say about this. For now, I'm going to chalk it up to one more indication of me not really believing that I can/have ever done anything entirely on my own. Wonder what it'll take to convince me otherwise. Any hints?

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