a(bnormals) a(nonymous)

good plan, i think, to figure out why i can't trust.
him, especially.
everyone, generally.
there are reasons with him that are not entirely me and that are not entirely transparent. he is crafty. he is not an open book and, i think, truly doesn't want to be.
it is hard for me to wholly love someone so reserved, so guarded, so tentative and calculated.
how can he love flagrant, flailing me?
bertrand russell: gradually i learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; i came to center my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state of the world, various branches of knowledges, individuals for whom i felt affection.
csikszentmihalyi dubs this the best brief description of how to build an autotelic personality.
i covet one.
the root of all my problems, i'm increasingly intent on convincing myself, is the general lack of flow in my universe. short of sex, nothing cuts it. if i had that discipline, that autotelic personality, i could encourage myself to write seriously for non-blog publication and i could fall into the flow of the words. alas, as i said, i covet.
he claims it is attainable through training and discipline. frankly, i've never been much good at either. perhaps a good first step is to discipline myself to empty the dryer promptly. or mop the floor occasionally.
she is leaving. she's announcing it whenever she receives her review. i itch to be unbound, like her, free to fly wherever the fickle wind takes me. i, too, crave a different job, a richer life. i used to write him sticky slabs of gooey chocolate cake and used some variation of that line in a poem. now i write brittle bricks of dry and tasteless toast. and not to him. things no one really wants to read.
the graduate dilemma has me trapped in neurosis. i can't tear myself away from tuition figures, mileage figures, how the hell i'm going to live and where. and her care. all good reasons i dropped the doctor dream. maybe good reasons to force myself to aim a little lower.
she said she thought it would be a shame if i left academia. she said, after listening to me speak yesterday, that she thought that i was the smartest woman she'd ever met and that i could analyze theories with amazing aplomb. i think she might just be a little slow. although i think she was pretty on point with her curiosity comment.
i have urges to fortress myself. teetering, i am so on edge, so vulnerable. i hate his surreptitious swiftness before the screen because i detest my inner reaction. ditto his avoidance. he changed his approach, which is what i thought i wanted, and all i could do was question it. how did he know? too much coincidence for it to have come from the heart. oh, bertrand, that you were here to counsel me.
he can't begin to fathom what he does to her. for that, i need to learn to be more constant and controlled. less volatile than i was this morning.
i haven't talked to her in days and i'm dreading our interaction. i need to make contact today because tomorrow can't be the first time we've laid eyes on each other after our protected, protracted volley.
this would be so much better for her. i wish the galaxy weren't so centered on my vacant pocketbook.
by this time in the afternoon, i am consistenly exhausted and nauseated. a behindthedesk cot and a portable iv would solve things, but i suspect she might again question my professionalism.
somewhere, i'm sure, there's an organization for people like me.