Convention for those wounded in love

I should be doing my assignment, but I thought I would take a moment to post this up. More than a few people have been having less than stellar personal relationships of late. Some of us are coming out the other side of our funks, and some of us are still wading through. I found this a while ago, and reading it helped. It seems appropriate to put it up now.

Convention for those wounded in love by Paulo Coelho

General provisions:

A – Whereas the saying “all is fair in love and war” is absolutely correct;

B – Whereas for war we have the Geneva Convention, approved on 22 August 1864, which provides for those wounded in the battle field, but until now no convention has been signed concerning those wounded in love, who are far greater in number;

It is hereby decreed that:

Article 1 – All lovers, of any sex, are alerted that love, besides being a blessing, is also something extremely dangerous, unpredictable and capable of causing serious damage. Consequently, anyone planning to love should be aware that they are exposing their body and soul to various types of wounds, and that they shall not be able to blame their partner at any moment, since the risk is the same for both.

Article 2 – Once struck by a stray arrow fired from Cupid’s bow, they should immediately ask the archer to shoot the same arrow in the opposite direction, so as not to be afflicted by the wound known as “unrequited love”. Should Cupid refuse to perform such a gesture, the Convention now being promulgated demands that the wounded partner remove the arrow from his/her heart and throw it in the garbage. In order to guarantee this, those concerned should avoid telephone calls, messages over the Internet, sending flowers that are always returned, or each and every means of seduction, since these may yield results in the short run but always end up wrong after a while. The Convention decrees that the wounded person should immediately seek the company of other people and try to control the obsessive thought: “this person is worth fighting for”.

Article 3 – If the wound is caused by third parties, in other words if the loved one has become interested in someone not in the script previously drafted, vengeance is expressly forbidden. In this case, it is allowed to use tears until the eyes dry up, to punch walls or pillows, to insult the ex-partner in conversations with friends, to allege his/her complete lack of taste, but without offending their honour. The Convention determines that the rule contained in Article 2 be applied: seek the company of other persons, preferably in places different from those frequented by the other party.

Article 4 – In the case of light wounds, herein classified as small treacheries, fulminating passions that are short-lived, passing sexual disinterest, the medicine called Pardon should be applied generously and quickly. Once this medicine has been applied, one should never reconsider one’s decision, not even once, and the theme must be completely forgotten and never used as an argument in a fight or in a moment of hatred.

Article 5 – In all definitive wounds, also known as “breaking up”, the only medicine capable of having an effect is called Time. It is no use seeking consolation from fortune-tellers (who always say that the lost lover will return), romantic books (which always have a happy ending), soap-operas on the television or other such things. One should suffer intensely, completely avoiding drugs, tranquilizers and praying to saints. Alcohol is only tolerated if kept to a maximum of two glasses of wine a day.

Final determination:

Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflict, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they have to accept both the agony and the ecstasy of their choice.

And those who have never been wounded in love will never be able to say: “I have lived”. Because they haven’t.

A homily on forgiveness

As we round the 60 day mark since things went pear-shaped, I’ve been looking back and doing some cleaning out. My old laptop is almost officially purged. I just have to empty my inbox for two of my email accounts and all trace of my “relationship” with Ms L will be gone. While this cleaning house is necessary, I still miss my friend. I know this doesn’t make sense to anyone. I know many of you have wanted to slap me silly. Some of you even have. The most common question I get about Ms L is: how can you still want to be friends after everything?

The easiest answer would be that I’m stupid, or a masochist, or I have a thing for lost causes. Two out of three have been true at one point or another in my life, but I don’t think they apply here. I could be wrong. We all know I’ve been wrong before. Instead I like to think this is about forgiveness.

I have not always been Hawm of the infinite patience. I have been Hawm of the incredible (bottled) anger; Hawm of the impenetrable void; Hawm who falls off the face of the earth, and Hawm of the inexplicably complicated. I don’t think I’ll ever truly be able to shake the last one, I have managed to grow out of the other three. 

My relationship with my mother is probably the best example of this. I didn’t have the most brilliant childhood. There were more than the occasional beatings with the leather belt, there was the psychological warfare that existed between my Mum and my Nan (we were the both the prize and the pawns), the unresolved anger between my parents (divorced nearly 30 years now and it's still there), and the constant need to control our lives even after we ran away from home as teenagers. If you asked me how I felt about her then I would have been completely sincere when I said that I wanted her dead. 

When I came back from the army my perspective slowly started to shift. I was still angry, and the huge slices along my shins only added more fuel to the fire, but I started to fight back. Unfortunately fighting fire with fire, especially in my family, doesn’t improve things. It only makes for a bigger fire. So we didn’t speak. Not the best way to deal with a problem. Sometime the distance helps give us a clearer picture. Sometimes we need to have shitty relationships of our own to understand other peoples. I only knew how to have dysfunctional relationships, so I managed to rack up quite a few shitty ones. Until I figured out what I was doing. Well, that and I started having heart palpitations. Nothing quite like having what feels like a heart attack at 21 to put things in perspective. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. I had several attacks before I figured out that what was putting the biggest strain on my life was me.

My anger. Me being angry at everyone; my life, my family, lovers, work, the world in general. Being angry was fucking me up. And when anger is what has kept you upright for so many years, got you through all kinds of abuse, it is an extremely hard habit to break. Even now anger is seductive. It’s so familiar, the buzz you get from the adrenaline, the energy, and you just want to push everyone away and give yourself over to it. Giving into it never ends well, as my body made a point of reminding me early last month. I hadn’t even realised I was slipping until I was sitting here with chest pains.

The reason I no longer hate my mother, and eventually managed to love her (and my father too, though I don’t claim to be able to like the man), is that I was finally able to forgive them for being human. They were young, and made bad choices (which fucked a lot of things up for all of us), but they were trying to do the right thing. Raising two children on her own wasn’t easy for my mother, and she didn’t always get it right, but she looked at my two year old self carrying a bong to my pothead father and decided she wanted more for us. I can’t blame her for that. I didn’t understand why I didn’t meet my Dad until I was 10 years old. I didn’t understand why we weren’t allowed to get in a car with either him or my Nona if they came to the school. None of these things made sense to me as a child, but as an adult I understand. I may not always agree with the how or the why, but that doesn’t matter.

Forgiveness isn’t about right or wrong, it’s not about blame or recriminations. Forgiveness is about looking at a situation and recognising, with brutal honesty, that if we were in the same position there is no guarantee that we would have dealt with things any better. We’re human. We do the best that we can, and hope that the people we love don’t judge us too harshly. 

This is how I can think of Ms L and miss my friend. 

more library love

Every so often the council like to check that those of us down at the library are servicing the community. This means that the "Feedback Tablet" makes it's way around the branches. Today it was at Alt. Most patrons have seen it before, and as such ignore it. Much easier than taking a few minutes to recognise just how much work the library staff put in to running their local branch. 

But, every now and then, someone actually looks at the thing while I'm putting their books through. This is probably one of the better conversation I had. 

Guy looks at it, "What's this for?" 
ME: "That's there to tell us all how much you love us."
Guy leans over, puts his hands on mine: "I love you."
ME: "As you should."

Now I'm sure that the little old lady who came in on the end of the conversation was very confused. The guy and I had a chuckle, I gave him his books and he went on his way. This is why I like public libraries. I don't see that happening in an academic or specialist library.

Do I stick it out with the public system and pray that a full time job will come up before I hit 40, or do I try my hand with the academics? Decisions, decisions. Either way, job hunting sucks.

other people's funk

Miss R and Ms S joined me for this evenings roast. The roast was awesome, as all my roasts are. It's hard to go wrong when they all start with garlic and onions, at least from a wog perspective. The conversation was also good. As anti-social as I am, I have to admit that I have a weakness for good conversation. I suck at small talk, mostly because I'm lousy at faking interest. Apparently this makes me a really good listener, as some people are happy just to have someone to talk at (rather than to). But I digress.

While Miss R was on clean up duty, Ms S and I had a chat about our recent brushes with "the funk." Ms S has been keeping busy, catching up with everyone she left behind since her grand tour. She freely admits that she's in denial about the whole thing, but despite that she is doing ok. The last three weeks for her have been one long play date, and felt she confident that Ms B was doing the same thing (despite the fact that Ms B has made no contact with her in the last three weeks). Ms S was therefor rather surprised to find that Ms B has not been enjoying her new freedom. In fact, Ms B has been in a serious funk. A serious laying on the couch for three weeks funk. 

Now I am the first to admit that you have no control over when a funk hits, or how long it will last for. However, I do find it a little odd that Ms B can dump her girlfriend at christmas, and then go straight into a funk over the whole situation (especially when you consider that the situation is entirely of her own making). 

I would like to say that I was a better person, and did not enjoy for a brief moment the thought of Ms L suffering her own funk over how our friendship imploded. But I can't. I may be an arsehole, but I am at least an honest arsehole. I can take a modicum of comfort that my moment of pettiness was brief. I doubt very much that she is sitting at home, watching all seven seasons of the West Wing, playing with her blythe dolls, and thinking that maybe she over-reacted, or that she misses our friendship. And if by some infinitesimal chance I am wrong (highly unlikely, but stranger things have happened), and Ms L is in a funk, then I can honestly say I take no joy in that. But like I said, it's not likely.

After all, the olive branch probably ended up in the green waste bin.

But in the garden of simple ...

The good mood continues. I know, I'm even starting to freak myself out. Though I did have a few moments of pettiness the last three days. Actaully it works out to one each day, so I guess that's not too bad. The cardinal rule is to never piss off your librarian. Especially not when I am the librarian in question. I will continue to smile at you, and tell you everything that you don't want to (but need to) hear. And then, once you have gone, I will fuck you up! Some examples of this from the last few days are:

• I will send emails to my boss letting her know in advance all about the little temper tantrum you had because your supended account wouldn't let you use the internet. I will also include the details of how you demanded that I find a way to work around the software just so you could use the internet, becasue you are a library patron and you pay your rates. (Seriously, when the rates argument comes out it's time to go home, you're only embarassing yourself).

• I will make sure that the book you still haven't finished reading, even though you've had it for 9 fucking weeks, will be given a chance to be borrowed by someone else. (Even if that someone happens to be Miss R, who thought the whole thing was hysterical, especially when I produced the book at the end of the story).

• And lastly, arguing with me about the library's opening time will not make me open the doors any earlier. We run on council time. All the clocks are set to council time. I don't care what your watch says, and jumping up and down won't change anything, though it may improve you chance of a heart attack and given that it's been a really long time since I did CPR I really don't think I feel comfortable thumping on your chest. Actually, that's not true. I could have happily thumped this woman.

I'm not good first thing in the morning, as anyone who knows me will attest to. Anyone that tries to talk to me for that first hour ... it's just better not to. Every now and then Miss R forgets this, and tries to have an indepth conversation while I'm trying to eat my cereal. It does not end well. 

Other than that life is moving along. Am looking for full time work with another library, as there seems little chance of me getting something where I am unless someone dies. I am happy in a community library, but there are a few academic library jobs advertised at the moment. Hard to know what would be best. 

Was talking to a friend about my funk, and everything that lead up to it (plus my epiphany). She said something rather interesting. She said, and I quote: "Your 'friend' is behaving like a scorned lover, not a friend. I think you're better off without her." I hadn't looked at it that way. 

I guess perspective is everything.

good mood, post-funk

30 days seems to be my limit. Even though I was rudely awakened before 9am, by Ms Ali canceling our play date, I have been in a good mood all day. Actually, that's an understatement. I've been in a fucking brilliant mood all day. Nothing seems to bother me. The funk has moved on. Huzzah!

Of course this euphoria does leave one feeling supremely over-confident, which has it's own dangers. Mostly stupidity. Case in point, I told Miss R about my epiphany. She was less than thrilled. She did however make an effort to be glad for me, having finally come out the other side of the cloud I've been living under, before she went off in her own funk.

Thankfully, I got distracted before I did the other stupid thing (called Ms L). Not entirely sure what I would have said anyway. Given my current mood I probably would have either gone off on some tangent, or conducted a reference interview on why she is ignoring me. Don't think either of those options would have been particularly helpful, but I find the mental images funny.

No idea how tomorrow will pan out. Hopefully the good mood will remain, and the stupidity impulse will move one. Otherwise I may need someone to take my phone off me. Any volunteers?

being the older brother

One of the responsibilities of being an older brother is trying to give useful advice to your younger siblings. Given how many siblings I have, and the varying gaps in our ages, this is something I've had to do a lot. Whether it's the best way to make french toast (1tsp of vanilla in the egg mix, soak the bread all the way through), or the correct way to shatter knee caps (a length of wood 2x4 between the knees, gaffa tape legs together above and below the knees, introduce sledgehammer to wood), I do my best to be as informative as possible. Something I'm sure would cause my parents and step-parents much consternation, if they actually had any idea exactly what the kids were asking.

Todays advice is about dating. I know, given what has been going on in my life of late, that this probably seems  ridiculous. However, if you can suspend your disbelief, at least for a little while, I think you may be surprised. My little sister, who will be 15 this July, is behind this post. For some reason she is under the impression that if you keep going back to a guy who treats you like shit, it only proves that you haven't given up hope that he will change. Apparently this exercise in futility doesn't make you stupid, just hopelessly romantic. It would appear that feminism, common sense, and self respect has missed this generation.

In order to be the best older brother I can I am posting my rules for dating below.

Hawm's Rules for Dating:

1. It you hit me, you're gone.
2. If you cheat on me, you're gone.
3. If it's a good enough reason to break up, it is a good enough reason not to get back together.

These are the main three. There are of course others, such as:

• Lie to me about big stuff,  you're gone. (I dated a compulsive liar. She put me through a rape/pregnancy/pregnancy with twins/miscarriage/cervical cancer. None of it was real).
• Read my email/go through my stuff, and I will cease to trust you.
• Steal from me, you're gone.
• Dependency on drugs (other than diagnosed medical condition) and/or alcohol, you're gone. (I grew up with alcoholics, and have dated people with drug/alcohol issues. Being subjected to drug/alcohol induced rages, having junkies breaking into your house while you're sleeping, getting raided by the police ... It's not worth it).

I'm sure you can add others. I know I can think of several more. The point is that even if you are prepared to compromise on some things (and compromise is a healthy part of any relationship), there are limits to what anyone should have to put up with. 

No one has the right to treat you like shit, and tell you that it's love.

/big brother advice

as another year draws to a close ...

I find myself reflecting on what has gone before. I'm not usually overly sentimental or nostalgic. I am rather good at leaving things behind, and disappearing without a trace. However, there are times when we discover that what we think we have moved past is still clinging to us. We have not moved past it, but are still draging it in our wake. So, what is this weight? Fear.

Fear that no matter how old we get, or how far we go, we never seem to escape. Kate Holden put it rather well:

"We tend to think of fear as something dramatic and epic: before a battle, or in the face of catastrophe. But it's part of our lives, and every day many of us find ourselves floating on that peculiar breathless tingly cushion of air, swallowing the hollowness in the throat. We must be so brave, even the littlest of us."

And we are. All of us. Even though it's hard, and we feel like cowards. Each in our own way, we are brave. Brave enough to be ourselves. Brave enough to risk letting other people in. Brave enough to think things will be differnet. Sometimes we get it right. Sometimes we don't. Sometimes the fear grips us the moment things don't go to plan, and we jump at shadows before running for our lives.

But when do we stop? How far do we let the fear drive us? When has enough time passed for us to be able to look, objectively, at what scared us so badly and see it for what it actually is, rather than what we thought it was?

Sanskrit based languages have 96 terms for love, but we only have 1 in english. I have loved in the sanskrit sense. Without reservation, limitation, or expectation. Sometimes I have been loved in return.  Other times I have not. I have not always loved wisely, or well. But I have loved. Either way, I can look back on this year and be certain about one thing. I regret nothing.