Mandatory Analysis

[greenstorm]

That's kind of interesting. I could probably count the number of times I've been that angry in my life on my fingers and toes, at least if I had a clear enough memory to catalogue them. I don't get angry all that often-- and it generally happens right around ovulation. I'm not sure that invalidates the anger, but it's noteworthy.

I definitely feel a little sick after something that intense. Writing in that state is fun; I spent a lot of time learning to swear (and still am doing) and it's something that feels exhilerating (do I sense the word exile in there?) to do as I imagine windsurfing might feel good to do, or maybe storm kayaking. Something like that. Afterwards, though, there's a sort of dull ick. Among other things, I hate feeling that self-righteous-- it tends to come with fury, for me. For another, it's not about doing anything, it's just something going on inside me-- and I don't like wasting effort in that way. I will spend tons of time and emotional energy doing something which only accomplishes making me happy (

) but spending all that effort on something which neither fixes the problem nor makes me happy? Eh. If you spend time on something it is you, and I don't want that to be me.

Given that, I don't have a lot more to say on the subject. I do, however, have an interaction with Angus which I need to relate.

We are in the shower. I have just got home from work, so it's about nine in the morning. We are talking about something, I can't remember what-- it's a ridiculous little thing that neither of us can now remember. I'm playing the little game I play sometimes where I make up totally specious arguments and shift the conversational ground I'm defending while he plays straight man to my patently ridiculous statements like "of course the moon is made of green cheese" or "I think sixteen boyfriends is the proper number for everyone in the world" or whatever. It's my way of making fun of fixed-perspectivism (this word does not exist) and people (like my former self) who live to win arguments rather than learn from them.

He says, "sometimes I think you're not making any sense."

I take this as part of the banter, open my eyes very wide, flutter my eyelashes, and tease, "did you just now figure that out?" I expect this to be part of the game. This interaction passes for affection with me. It happens all the time.

"Yes."

At this point I notice the interaction is not going how I expect. I expect him to say something in the same tone about how I'm a terrible girlfriend or a terrible human being for trying to win all the time, or for abusing him like this, but with the same relation to anger and real violence that wrestling in bed has to a murder or to the invasion of Iraq. Instead of a reply, there is a pause, and Angus looks... upset. A little thin-lipped.

"For real?" I blurt out, because my mind has suddenly stopped processing.

"Yeah. I always feel like I never can win an argument with you. It's like you're always trying to win." A

Angus is definitely looking thin-lipped or pouty, which is the second most terrible thing in the world. The worst thing in the world, of course, is that for the last two and a half years I have been doing to him the exact thing I find annoying, laughable, hurtful, stupid, etc, in others. No lie, I felt like I had been hit by a bucket of ice water.

I started to laugh.

I can't even describe to you what I was feeling. On the one hand, my boyfriend or more accurately the love of my life is so unaware of the way I exist in the world that he's been misunderstanding me for this whole time. On the other hand, I've been mean to him an awful lot. On the third hand, not only did he love me anyway, but I honestly didn't care-- it wasn't important to the way our relationship was in my head. There was a cascading wave of realisations now, each one hitting with another, slightly less icy, bucket of water to the face: maybe _this_ is why when I try to have an actual discussion with him it takes some time to get him out of wary and defensive mode. Wow, I should be feeling misunderstood but instead I think it's kinda cool that this isn't a problem.

I can't stop laughing.

He is looking very thin-lipped, understanbdably so. I am doubled over in the shower, squeezing my sides as hard as possible to stop the stabbing pains that come every time I manage to breathe a little, and I can't stop laughing. At some point it just becomes convulsing, I'm not sure if I'm laughing or crying, but I _can't stop_. And it's upsetting Angus, who has every right to be upset given what's just happened, though he is being very patient.

I have never laughed this hard in my life ever. You know, I've heard humour described as a sudden shift of perspective. I've heard it explained as a coping mechanism to deal with tragedy and terrible things. This kind of felt like both. You could almost hear the world grinding into a new track.

The rest of the story is immaterial. After quite some time I half-fell out of the tub and stopped laughing. Angus and I chatted for a few minutes-- I explained, apologized, described my realisation about how this influenced real arguments. He explained, accepted the apology, agreed. We further agreed that now things made a bunch more sense and maybe we could react in various ways but it wasn't a big deal. Story over.

There were two big things here, though, for me. One is that my relationship with Angus is obviously not based on wanting him to have perfect knowledge of me. When I was little I used to imagine there was a watcher outside my window, a formless presence that just knew I existed, knew what I did-- and that made my life worthwhile. I think I transferred that a little (or a lot) to my other relationships. But now I do my things for myself, and I am loved for myself, and that mysterious 'myself' has receeded further from my understanding and well outside the scope of this interaction to perturb. For someone to misunderstand my actions-- hey, happens all the time. I don't think it means he loves me less or our relationship is founded on fiction. I would have thought that, in the past.

The second thing I have come to know and accept with this is simply that, well, this is my sense of humour. Something that makes me laugh out loud will be an awful comment on the human condition, it will lift my brain up and shake it around, it is the transformation of tears into an odd kind of joy. I laugh when I'm happy, but I rarely laugh at the sort of thing most people pass around as funny-- and just as frequently I find something laugh-out-loud hilarious that no one else seems capable of 'getting'. Well, it appears this ain't going away.

So there we go.

Comments

[donnaidh-sidhe.livejournal.com]

This was a good thing to read about.