Sometimes I think this blogging thing is all about me - my opportunity to let my youngest child egotism thing run rampant, in a way that I really can't in my "regular life" with its responsibilities and complications and humdrum realities. And then every now and then there's a reminder that life's about a hell of a lot more than me, like when urlLink Jenica posted the lyrics to "Divorce Song" by Liz Phair. I'm not a Liz Phair fan. I'm not even sure if I'd know any of her music if I heard it. But the lyrics to this song are, well, here they are: And when I asked for a separate room It was late at night And
we'd been driving since noon But if I'd known How that would sound to you I would have stayed in your bed For the rest of my life Just to prove I was right That it's harder to be friends than lovers And you shouldn't try to mix the two Cause if you do it and you're still unhappy Then you know that the problem is you And it's true that I stole your lighter And it's also true that I lost the map But when you said that I
wasn't worth talking to I had to take your word on that But if you'd known How that would sound to me You would have taken it back And boxed it up and buried it in the ground Boxed it up and buried it in the ground Boxed it up and buried it in the ground Burned it up and
thrown it away You put in my hands a loaded gun And then told me not to fire it When you did the things you said were up to me And then accused me of trying to fuck it up But you've never been a waste of my time It's never been a drag So take a deep breath and count back from ten And maybe you'll be alright And the license said You had to stick around until I was dead But if you're tired of looking at my
face I guess I already am But you've never been a waste of my time It's never been a drag So take a deep breath and count back from ten And maybe you'll be alright I have to be grateful that I've never been to that point, literally. And envious, that I haven't written anything like that. Where feelings are so clearly conveyed through words. I've been trying to read Judith Kitchen's urlLink The House on Eccles Road . It's a 'good book', for what it's worth, but it's hard
for me to read. It's almost as if I think I could have written it. Not "I could have written this better", but I can imagine myself having written this book . Like these lines: “Nothing in his life was quite the way he’d planned it, if wanting could be called a plan. He supposed it couldn’t, because you’d have
to decide how to go about getting what you wanted, and he hadn’t really figured out how to do that.” I used to believe, or at least say, that "love is all there is." If we don't just dump our affection on other people (relatively indiscriminately), then we as humans are weakened and lose the sense of what separates us from non-humans. But maybe that's not really so true. Obviously, there's some value to withholding affection. Perhaps it's the ability to feel a pull toward someone and to intentionally pull
away that marks us as an advanced consciousness. If the decision isn't easy, but we make it anyway, then it's in our benefit and to our credit to have made it. Or, this could be as much delusion as the old conception. It probably doesn't matter anyway.
