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Wednesday, Nov. 27, 2002 / 4:03 p.m. ~On Judgments, Stereotypes, and Men In Their 40s, Etc. as always~ How about a blanket statement or two? Men in their 40s have mucho baggage. They tend to talk about their 'ex'es a great deal. They tend to be a bit spacey, their memories fail. You think they're listening, but really they're thinking about something else. They don't really want to know you, they want to be known by you. They're quick to compare you to every woman they've ever known, and when you least expect it they'll tell you what they think of you, whether or not you ask. For the record, Aries women are not 'emotionally needy'. And for another record, or part of the same one, I am no more 'wounded', nor 'hurt', than any other human being. Ay Caramba! This is my diary, I wanted to write this here, so I am. I don't want to feel that I can't write this or that because of who might read it. I've been conflicted over the past year and a half or more, and I will be conflicted again, but this is where I come to write, and I'll be damned if I can sit back for long and say, "Oh, no, I couldn't write THAT, not THERE, what if he/she/it reads it?!" No. This is my diary. It's for my thoughts, my feelings. Here's a tip: Do not meet, in person, someone who reads your diary, unless of course you already know that person. Because?? Well, because if you want to write about that person, as you normally would if you went on a blind date, or if you went to dinner with people you previously had not known, you will feel like you cannot possibly. That's a load of hooey. I can hold back no longer. Being around people who barely listen to me enough to remember what I said two sentences ago, then make blanket statements about my emotional health?? Well. No, make that WELL! Fuck it, man. I don't think I'll be meeting anyone else from the Interweb, it's just not a good idea. I know other people say it, and I've always been one to scoff, but it's true. It's good to just go about your business, especially if you keep an online diary, and especially if you write honestly, and personally. Unless maybe you're a heterosexual woman and you're meeting up with another heterosexual woman, hoping to become friends. Hmmmm.... I can think of a woman or two or three that I've met through Diaryland whom I might truly enjoy meeting face to face. I mean that. I don't know that I can be friends with anyone, but I'd try with a few. Hurt? Wounded? Try pissed off. I could tell you the things he said, I could charcterize him, I could collapse his being into a paragraph or three, and I could analyze, it would not be hard at all, and I could tell you whether or not he is wounded or hurt or even emotionally needy, but at this point I really don't care enough to take the time. The point is I didn't do that, did I? Um, no. I was polite, I was considerate, tactful. (I know! ME?!!! Yeah.) I never would've written that crap. Uh, gee, I think you're pretty obsessed with your ex there, buddy, and you seem pretty desperate to have a woman in your life, and you sure do want everything to be about you, eh? Isn't that scene in "Hannah and Her Sisters", the one wherein Woody Allen shows two, or maybe one, of the sisters some really beautiful architecture in Manhattan? He's pointing out the buildings, the ornamental aspects that make them so unique, he probably even knows the architect's names. I love that scene. I suppose I feel that way about my city sometimes. I suppose when someone from out of town comes to visit I want to take him/her on a tour. I've lived here most of my life, I can show you a thing or two. Fell on blind eyes. Fine. Okay, if one might call members of my species, the Aries female, emotionally needy, and me personally wounded and hurt, I'd have to say he might be desperate, lonely, dependent. Just observations, that's all. He's okay though. Okay. I need a hot bath. And luckily I can take one. I'm leaving out so much lately. I've been crimped, cramped, stifled. This isn't what it was, or maybe it's a phase. A phase of constriction, but the above is a little emission, trying to appease the glaring ommission from before. Not meant for any particular eyes to read, only mine. A diary written for me, knowing anyone else can see it too. That's basically my philosophy. I'm not even going to document what occurred today. Suffice to say I need a soak. Oh yeah, and stay away from grocery stores on the day before Thanksgiving. Cost of the War in Iraq
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