Patterns and Interludes
May. 30th, 2003 07:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormThe Exotic is a little worried about how much, to his mind, I'm throwing myself into the lives of the Juggler and the Other Woman, how much time I'm spending there, how wholly I'm doing this.
It's almost vaguely irritating, or is it amusing? to think that he has so little experience with me. I don't do things by halves, and I would consider that what I'm doing now is the closest I do come to halves at anything. I'm not living over there completely, after all.
When I first met the SO I spent something on the order of six months constantly at his house, going home for a couple of hours every morning.
When I first met the Exotic, he spent two months straight at mine, never going home (you could plead difficulties of transcontinental traffic here but it would have happened anyhow).
Now I'm spending a little more than half of every week with the Juggler and the Other Woman.
(Here's the SO home for the morning with the possibility of Pearl Jam tickets. Mrrrr)
What does this mean? Does it mean that I submerge my identity in someone else for the intense part of a relationship, that I use it as a refuge and an escape from my life? Maybe a little bit, but at the core surely not. What am I doing, then?
Let's think about this. I feel alive, big, bright, open, and -growing- while I do this. I also feel connected. To a certain extent it probably is some form of escapism, but I do think that at the same time it's the new experience that I'm after. I want to surround the possibility of this new person, to poke myself into every nook and cranny, to see them from all angles and at all times. The pattern of a human being's life and insides is immensely complicated and it's the most interesting thing there is. I don't like being on the outside of people, so I take this time to make a nice niche for myself inside. When that niche is safe, when it's always going to be there, when it's established -- then I can leave it alone sometimes because I can always go back.
And in the interludes, in the spaces between this connection and this drinking-in of other people, I am very complete. I can see the world through many sets of eyes, I can see the world as full of such wildly diverse miracles that people take them for granted. I can feel myself like some solid, weighty object, as a presence that is settled there against the fabric of the world and bound into it.
That's the ideal, of course. Once in awhile insecurity shortcircuits me, I forget that loneliness can pass, and I flip into oscillating mode. It's nothing to blame myself for given my experience, but definitely something to set about changing with new experiences. I wonder how long this relentless assault of love and reliability will take to get taken for granted? Will it ever?
I guess all I can do is wait and see.
It's almost vaguely irritating, or is it amusing? to think that he has so little experience with me. I don't do things by halves, and I would consider that what I'm doing now is the closest I do come to halves at anything. I'm not living over there completely, after all.
When I first met the SO I spent something on the order of six months constantly at his house, going home for a couple of hours every morning.
When I first met the Exotic, he spent two months straight at mine, never going home (you could plead difficulties of transcontinental traffic here but it would have happened anyhow).
Now I'm spending a little more than half of every week with the Juggler and the Other Woman.
(Here's the SO home for the morning with the possibility of Pearl Jam tickets. Mrrrr)
What does this mean? Does it mean that I submerge my identity in someone else for the intense part of a relationship, that I use it as a refuge and an escape from my life? Maybe a little bit, but at the core surely not. What am I doing, then?
Let's think about this. I feel alive, big, bright, open, and -growing- while I do this. I also feel connected. To a certain extent it probably is some form of escapism, but I do think that at the same time it's the new experience that I'm after. I want to surround the possibility of this new person, to poke myself into every nook and cranny, to see them from all angles and at all times. The pattern of a human being's life and insides is immensely complicated and it's the most interesting thing there is. I don't like being on the outside of people, so I take this time to make a nice niche for myself inside. When that niche is safe, when it's always going to be there, when it's established -- then I can leave it alone sometimes because I can always go back.
And in the interludes, in the spaces between this connection and this drinking-in of other people, I am very complete. I can see the world through many sets of eyes, I can see the world as full of such wildly diverse miracles that people take them for granted. I can feel myself like some solid, weighty object, as a presence that is settled there against the fabric of the world and bound into it.
That's the ideal, of course. Once in awhile insecurity shortcircuits me, I forget that loneliness can pass, and I flip into oscillating mode. It's nothing to blame myself for given my experience, but definitely something to set about changing with new experiences. I wonder how long this relentless assault of love and reliability will take to get taken for granted? Will it ever?
I guess all I can do is wait and see.
