looks to me like you need a little juice in your life

how we became so ideologically diametrically opposed i'll never know. slices of us slide snugly into place while other slices rub each other raw. he makes me laugh until i cry. he makes me scream inside my head until i nearly cry. i am not the succinct, successful arguer he is--illustrated from a very early age, straight through debating him in a stuffy classroom and running too quickly out of ideas, wanting desperately to scream at his smug, smirking face to just shut up, to today, when still i struggle for the words, the rationale. i can back up theories if they're mine, if i've given them a great deal of thought, if it's something i hold dear...i can't back up notions as naturally preferable as taking another breath. the same genetic material is worth very little, for all he claims it sculpts. similar genetic material and even very similar formative experiences so rarely produce identical results. that's what makes case studies so attractive....that's why i cling to individual stories over general group trends: because the unexpected discrepancy is what makes human existence exciting, beautiful. if all human outcomes and behaviors were predictable on the basis of nature and nurture, what would be the point? what keeps things interesting is the uncharted interaction of the two. while speculation on the derivation of charles manson leads to some interesting theories and conversation, one can only ever partly know. the gauzy enigmatic element offers such propulsion.
evolutionary psychology is a backwards theory that, much like greek and roman mythology, attempts to explain what it sees, what is. not by examining occurrences, but by postulating from now to then until a suitable explanation appears. i'll put some weight in the theories, but not much more weight than i'll put in the origin of mulberries' bloody tinge.
he didn't apologize. not really. and then he tried to claim credit for remedying the problem he caused last night on the phone with his father. when he said that his major flaw was hubris, he wasn't kidding. there is a definite pride problem with a side order of machismo that is starting to fray my nerves. i imagined myself in his position. i don't know how i wouldn't apologize profusely, or at least admit, repeatedly, that i had made the mistake. and later laugh at myself. humiliation sends him scrambling for compensation, for ways to color the situation to make it look like it were somehow less his fault. this is a move i need to watch. and weigh. like the condescencion, which still pervades... though more subtly, sneakily. i wish i had a more holistic perspective on his previous relationships. i wish i knew why she reacted the way she did when he responded to her appeal to communicate about gay marriage. what did he consistently do that made her bristle when she read his words?
it's impossible to ever be the expert on everything. i wish he would just accept that some people are more knowledgeable than he. i wish he would just accept that sometimes i will have knowledge he doesn't. i wish he could listen to them talk about things, act in certain ways, and not feel automatically compelled to outdo them. oneupmanship suits no one well.
on prickpoint, i'm eager for their response, eager to know if i'll be hopping suburban lines in the fall, eager to know if she'll be somewhere she's appreciated, embraced for the next year. i can't stand the thought of her impending parent-teacher conference because i can script it in my head: what a dismal bore, what an utter waste of breath. how can you tell someone something if they're already convinced they're right and you're naive? why should i have to bother?
that's why routinely it's futile to argue with him about anything he suggests, or to even offer my opinion, which he's regularly not asking.
or to argue with him about his conspiracy theories.
or to argue with her about her postmodernist theories.
or to argue with him about his racist theories.
there's no point in trying to halt the oral masturbation.
i just don't want it violating my time, space, thoughts.
this experiment is encompassing my universe, and i'm not even convinced that it measures what i was looking to measure, or that it's a reliable, viable measurement method. but, if it "objectively" refutes the foundations of his crappy book, the effort will be worthwhile. as long as my name's in the byline.
she cried when she told me she feared it would be divisive to have him in the room. i just don't want anyone suggesting anything, trying to tell me what i need when i'm the only person who can ever really know; i'm the only person who should be consulted when it comes right down to it. and i'll be the only person telling them all to shut up when the time comes. it's my experience, more even than it is theirs. it's my body, my energy, my pain. it's my prelude to the next time. so i get to call all the shots. he needs to know, too, that this is where i am. as he's reading up and boning up, i'll need him to be shutting up. this is one realm in which i will always, always, always know more than him. whether he likes it or not.
he looked crazier than he has in some time on the lcd picture on his phone. a protest beard, he called it...and, yes, he put the spots on the car. he claims she's no longer an alcoholic. apparently tripping, toppling down the stairs in front of her small children suddenly shocked her out of her self-absorbed stupor. but she is skeletal, he said. she is wasting.
and he wondered at her origin. as if it weren't at least partly obvious. the blonde one drank like a fiend and fucked everyone in sight because she wanted control, because she wanted to defy the control that had been tyrannically imposed on her entire life. and her dark, less ravishing sister starved, because she wasn't quite so brave, wasn't quite so good with guys, wasn't quite that kind of catch, hadn't reigned her pussy power, because that was all she knew how to to do, because that was the only way she could escape. the only way she could tell her mother to fuck off. i don't know how he could possibly think that a country club membership and one's own horse would be sufficient, that no one should come out of a happy suburban childhood a raving lunatic who throws plates across her psychward room at her husband and young children.
did he not watch american beauty? or did he dismiss that as flim-flam as readily?
i ached for her while we walked through the galleries. i hope he respects her work. it's amazing and such a part of her. she has an incredible talent and a knack for artfully presenting the world with its own rot. the juxtapositions that papered her walls were both clever and insightful. that it's something he doesn't understand doesn't make it less respectable....or wrong.
i needed him to mention this venue. i needed him to remind me it was here. i have been sucked dry for the last 28 days...my stint in personal rehab...i needed to remove myself from my own life, the consideration of which was leaving me exhausted, drained, parched...but i needed as much to open this today and thrust myself reflectively back into the juicy, pulpy parts that have popped up along the way.