November 14, 2003
I don't have masses of links in my posts-they're on my sidebar. I read them-maybe you'll want to check them out, too. If you have come here to talk about: sex, what it's like to be a stranger in a strange land, sex, how little Helen copes with the weird fuckwittage that is her life, or sex, then you have come to the right place.
The way I figure it is-I know my view on modern events and media, culture, religion and politics. I am happy to talk about them, but I don't see why debating it on my blog will change anything. Now, get us a bottle of single malt whiskey and a Friday evening chat, and I'm in. I started this blog in June 2003 at the urging of my stepfather (even though I skipped the whole chat room/ICQ emergence), who thought I was a decent writer with something to say. Mostly, he encouraged me to do it since in January of this year I had a breakdown and needed an outlet to let things out.
I found it.
Anyway, I have had a bit of a battle last night with Dear Mate about my site, since he wants me to clarify that I am not necessarily honest about all things here-I change some settings of situations and times of events in order to protect the real people in my life. He is right, and I should clarify that. Sorry. I am duly chastened.
But I never lie about my feelings here on my blog (although I do jealously protect the identities and specifics of those I talk about in my blog, since they are unwitting participants), nor in any of my correspondence with people that have mailed me. It's desperately ironic, since I never discuss my feelings in my real life. I just unleash them here. There is one, big, glaring lie here on my blog, and that is that my real name isn't Helen. I actually started to feel a bit bad about that, but a very kind e-mail from Rob said something which spoke to me:
"Your real name? It's Helen, isn't it?...And that's who you are. And that's your name. Helen. Right now, there's no more truth than that."
Thanks, Rob. That was what I needed.
My life is a train wreck, and I am often the hapless, drunkard conductor. There is always some crazy chaos going on in my life, but you know what? That's what makes life interesting. I can't imagine life any other way. I have a wild job, a whole lot of past, and a Scottish therapist that helps me get from point A to point B and actually talk about my feelings (I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that the Scots are very, very cool).
It's the reason why, next week when Judgment Day comes, I cannot leave Sweden just now if I lose my job. I have a great therapist that I respect and trust. This is my chance to help myself. If I walk away from it, then I am condemning myself to a lifetime of only being able to express myself through written words, instead of reaching out to talk to someone. I will be a walking example of the misappropriation of human funds. The inability to be anyone or anything other than a nice, helpful stranger (albeit the Everyday kind).
Last night I went to bed early and lit a fire in the fireplace. It's called a "brass kemin" here in Sweden, and the American troopers may know it as a pot-bellied stove, although it's sqaure and with a glass front. Anyway, I went to bed alone, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and laid in the bed watching the orange-red flames lick the glass, the warmth creeping in under the duvet, snaking around my ankles, legs, stomach and breasts.
And yes-I did play with myself. Um...who wouldn't? And once I had finished, in the warm hazy afterglow of an excellent session of self-relations, swollen labia and sedated brain, I started thinking about my security blanket, which is as un-security blanketish as it gets.
I have a card that I bought at Target almost 5 years ago. A greeting card. Like my cell phone, lipstick, pocket rocket vibrator and American Express card, it is something I don't leave home without.
Almost 5 years ago, I was living in Raleigh, North Carolina. I had to go to Target for some detergent, some shampoo, and a few other odds and ends. I was extremely low, and very, very stressed and sad. I felt like life was pointless, horrible. My grandfather had just died. Kim was very ill. I was working 80 hour weeks and on business trips two to three weeks out of each month. I wandered around with a shopping basket on my arm and sadness on my face.
Something led me to the greeting card section, and there it was. A card. The card.
On the cover is the famous painting "The Lady of Shalotte" by J.W. Waterhouse, of the red-headed woman in a boat, heading off to her death. The cover says:
"Every passage has its beacon. Every shadow has its light. We must therefore keep watch, my friend, keep watch."
-Captain Brenner Tate.
And on the inside, in simple letters, it says: "Everything is going to be all right."
I remember holding the card in my shaking hands, tears beginning to run. I forgot everything else I was going to buy then. I just bought that card. And that card saved my life. I carried that card with me from then on. Everywhere. It was an omnipresent part of my briefcase. When it started to get tatty from too much movement, I put it in a plastic envelope.
I still walk around, with that card, in my briefcase. Some people have teddy bears. Some people have habits. Me? I have a security blanket in the form of a greeting card. Whenever I hear the words "Everything will be all right", I think of that card, and some part of my brain remembers the hard feel of the paper in my hands, the stress leaking through my brain, and I remember that the card found me in a moment that I can never live without now.
And so it was that I fell asleep watching the gorgeous flame in the fireplace, the ice a lacy pane on the window, desperate to press itself closer to try see the fire, with the thought running through my head: Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right...
-H.
PS-4 days to Judgment Day
PPS-anyone seen Luuk?
UPDATE: a meeting this afternoon with our management team at Company X resulted in thus: Judgement Day will be delayed, and will now possibly be next Thursday. This means 6 MORE DAYS. If anyone needs me, I will be drinking myself into a violent stupor tonight. I have rented "The Hulk" and "The Hours" (now there are two films you generally don't see in the same sentence). Yup, they ought to help further the depression.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
08:51 AM
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