Brooding Yet Again

It's a little irritating, how much I suck at bjj. More than a little. Even with white belts, I'm quite stupid. Rolling a bit now with some big ones, and I can't really do much. Easy to get by when everyone is smaller than you, but when it's a more equal playing field, well, I suck. I manage to get some results, but it's sloppy and non-technical and if they had any more skill I'd be just a doofus with too high a belt. Quite, quite irritating. Anyone else who'd rolled as much as I have would be good. I have an amazing brain, really first rate in some ways. Both analytical and creative -- a rare combination. In terms of the actual measurements, a genius, thank you very much. Ah -- now I feel better. But reality is what it is, and just as real brilliance is measured by what it produces, just so there is a difference between fighting, and being technically good at bjj. I get results, sloppy, the way a mugger earns his cash. Gracelessly.

Tonight there was a little humorous banter about repeating a word someone had said, maybe giving it a sort of accent, and then augmenting it, and I'm not quite sure, didn't really hear, but there might have been a bit of stereotyping involved, and now here I sit getting all bothered by it, because I am very protective of my friends, but we can't be hypersensitive, but how do we show our love and our loyalty, if not by acting in the moment? I didn't quite catch it, and I was aware that I may have been misunderstanding, so I butted in with a different tone, as a diversion. It probably all went unnoticed. But sometimes I am hypersensitive.

I was thinking, brooding, earlier today that I had as a very young child a teddy bear, and then a sort of stylized cat-pillow, and I invested these things with meaning and a sort of "love." I have the very real recollection of being aware that I did not actually love these things, but used them as a symbol of love. High-order thinking, for a 6 year old, but I do remember it. I needed something to love, and was aware of settling for mere symbols. Latter, when I was 10 or so, and had discovered reading as my drug, I read all the Hardy Boy books. I liked the original ones, not updated. And I had the very clear awareness of why I liked those books. It was because the brothers, Frank and Joe I think, really loved and respected and cared for each other. I had two older brothers, I regret to say. One is still a complete, complete asshole. The other is weak but likable in his way, if I were capable of forgiveness.

Ever since I last saw my father, well, I haven't seen him since. He told me I'd have prostate problems, and I asked when was the last time he'd read a book. Sometime in that conversation I told him, honestly but imprudently, that he was hard to be around. So he has no doubt given up his fantasy of being my buddy. Well, this is a man who told me, to my face, a number of times over the decades, that he didn't like me. Sort of hard to be around that. I don't like him either. But I don't think I'd say it to his face. A little hypocrisy must be a good thing. Wish I were more adept at it. Best I can do is keep my mouth shut, most of the time.

I just can't help but hear him fucking his girlfriend with the windows open -- I was at the other end of the block, out for a run. She was a screamer -- 19 ... I was 18. He'd just thrown my mother away ... you know, cuz she was 42. Point is, he was maybe sort of clueless, reckless, stupid, destructive toward dependents. As best we can, we need to nurture each other. Maybe I'm done sacrificing myself on the obsidian altar of Narcissus. We had thought him to be a minor divinity.

I just can't let go. I have a few phobias, but I can fake my way through most situations. Someone just found out that I don't like to be touched. "Oh, so now you've figured out that I don't like to be touched, and you're going to be touching me all the time." Indeed, that's her little joke, but it's under control. She seems to stand a tad too close to me. Well, she's just about the prettiest woman around. Married. I don't claim to be able to read signals very well, but it is just a joke of hers. Still, people shouldn't mess with my head. "Really?" someone else asked, "You don't like to be touched?" "It takes years and years," I replied, "for me to allow someone into my space."

Was I anally raped as a toddler?

As a toddler, only a very little older than a toddler, I was sexualized. These things should happen in their season.

There is some regularity to my schedule now, and I find I have more energy. Still controlled by my neuroses, but life is a bit more secure. I have my little jokes in these pages about sex, but in actual human interactions I don't think I make a lot of sexual jokes. Maybe I'm unaware of it? But I don't think so. What a, well, an irony. From what I've overheard of reality, it is my impression that I have a rather extreme overabundance of libidinous energy. Here I am, then, with this body, and this personality. What a mismatch. It's wonderful to be youthful, and hormones are great. Know anyone who could use some? What a waste.

But the same could be said of my gigantic intellect. In heaven, these gifts will be taken from me, since I did not use them. I'll be a retarded eunuch.

So if you're not too busy, and so inclined, maybe you'll do what I can't be bothered to do for myself, in my apathy and rut and self-loathing -- and pray for me. It would be a mitzvah. Yer a mench.

J