radiant fracture

As I was saying ruefully to inlandsea last night, I see that I'm going to have to be a grownup about this.

I like to tell stories. My life is usually quiet. I think I owe the storytelling urge more adventure than I give it. My stories end up mostly being about small seasonal changes and emotional near misses, because that's what my life seems to be composed of.

So this story is happening to me right now, and I want to tell it

The part we're at right now is: I have to get a brain and spine MRI, and they're rushing it. One of those good news/bad news things.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who is stoic and brave and you only find out years later that they suffered terribly.

However, as lemon_pickle says: play to your strengths. The truth is, as soon as I can make a story out of something, I want to tell it. The more I tell the story, refine it, solidify it, the better I feel.

Other people, though. They're busy. They're deep in their own stories.

The two things I mean by being a grownup are: If I want someone to listen to me, I have to ask them to. And I have to accept it when they can't.

For example, I was resenting this friend of mine. He's the one who pointed out that I should see a doctor in the first place. I took his frankness as interest, and I was hurt that he hasn't called me or asked me how I am.

Never mind that he's desperately trying to pull together funding for his PhD, find steady work, deal with his own health and his own life. Clearly, upon hearing that I had to see a neurologist, he ought to have driven directly to my house, given me a big hug, and declared (he's a declarer): Everything's going to be fine.

Yet he seems unaware of this sensible course of action.

I'm exactly the same way. I don't know my part in the script of his pain any more than he knows his in mine. I can't always give someone what they want, or even tell them clearly that I can't give it. I'm afraid to ask about hard things. I'm afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. Or I'm tired. Or I'm lazy.

So. It occurs to me that this LiveJournal is just about right.

I might be boring, but I don't have to worry that I'm boring. No one is being held captive by politeness or guilt. I don't have to know that they'd really rather be watching Torchwood (as indeed would I). If you'd rather watch Torchwood, you can. Your attention can drift off mid-sentence and you won't hurt my feelings. You can skip the dull bits, or ignore the entire narrative. I'll never know the difference. I'll get to tell the story. That will make me feel better.

Win.

So me, I want miles and miles of attention and adoration and comfort and praise. And presents. And giraffes.

In lieu of that, I admit I would not mind the occasional hug.

{rf}

In fact I am not talking about the election, although: relief. Pleasure. Vague glimmerings of something like is it no it can't be well it might be Hope. O Pandora.

I mean that my First Poll results are in. The Samhain ritual will be the Next Story Told.

...After I get back from Tacoma.

{rf}