Tag Archives: Psychology

Creating The Villain

They tell me I simply need to let it be; to pay no mind. But how is such a thing possible? The anguish that was caused; the heartache; the grief; these are attributes of my character, in the sense that they have shaped my emotional, intellectual and mental understanding of the world, of people, and the way in which these things interact with one another.

Wait, scratch that. I know it’s possible to let it be. After all, if I don’t, then he’s winning.

But, what if I don’t want to? What if I need him to play the role of the tormentor? What if I need to relegate him to evil, dictatorial villain?

What if I need to know that a person like that will struggle, experience hardship?

Don’t I have some say as to how he does this? Am I not part of the social barometer that demonizes infidelity, abuse, hypocrisy? If not, then who? Not, quite assuredly, god; the latter of which I find to be especially frustrating. To live forever, after this? Really?

Presumably psychologists would say that I was losing it; that I, to some degree, am failing to see the picture. I beg to differ. It’s really quite simple.

A is evil.

A causes B pain.

B’s pain surfaces when A’s damaging effects are witnessed within context of familial structure.

In order to absolve pain, B must do one of two things:

B can steer clear of the rest of family.

B can implement the “A as villain” approach.

If option 1 occurs, B suffers.

If option 2 occurs, B finds solace.

Or perhaps B needs to get over it.

Trying.

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To Be a Parent, Ah Yes. What, You Hate Them?

I’m excited to be a parent; to be a dad. Jessica, oddly, isn’t. Believe me, I’ve tried to get her to understand. She doesn’t get it. The child with the chocolate yogurt on their face, the ceaseless crying of the baby–I find these things to be wonderful. Jessica, she hates them. She’d prefer to not see them, or hear them, or smell their adorable poopy pants. I keep telling her that they can’t just “go away,” that he/she is only one-years-old and can’t walk. One time, at the park, she approached a crying baby boy and shoved a damp, snotty ball of tissue down his throat. I told her that she can’t do that anymore; that we can only use the “I’m so sorry she was just released from the asylum” excuse so many times. I suppose, in retrospect, I should have seen this coming. The day before our wedding, at the rehearsal dinner I walked in on her punching herself in the tummy saying, “you will never happen.”

But I digress.

Parenting isn’t in my future. Unless I put her down. Although I’m not willing, just yet, to do that. I’ll keep you posted.

P.S. I’m not kidding.

P.P.S. Okay, fine. I’m kidding. Jessica wants to be a parent too. She adores kids. But I hate that I have to explain that. But I foresee that I must.

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Mimi and Eunice: Defense Mechanisms

I thought of Jessica when I read “my excessive laughing is a defense mechanism.” And then I think, perhaps not a defensive mechanism, but a way for others to feel comfortable around her. I think it’s adorable. If you haven’t seen/heard her laugh, you should give it a try. It’s wonderful.

Courtesy of Mimi and Eunice by Nina Paley

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Blackberries, Urine, Cold Tile

I entered the public restroom and noticed the stall next to the urinal was occupied. Two shiny black leather shoes poked out from a pair of khakis that seemed to be, in their crumpled form, a comfort to his ankles. I liken the image and feel to leg warmers on fashionable young gals of the 80s, and thick wool socks in the snow.

Jane Fonda in Canary Yellow Leg Warmers

The impetus for this post, however, has less to do with my love for Footloose, and more to do with the Blackberry cell phone that rested on the cold tile floor between his legs.

That’s right. Betwixt the comforting confluence of layered pant-leg, atop the urine-deluged floor, there laid the cell-phone of a squatting neanderthal.

I wondered what sort of call this man was expecting; if his wife was pregnant and due any moment, or if he was anticipating an extremely (and I mean extremely) important sales call. Or perhaps he was waiting for an explicit text message from his girlfriend.

Regardless of the reasons for, I say it’s pretty darn disgusting. Even if this man had some bizarre intimate relationship with his Blackberry, it boggles my mind to think he had the option of placing the phone on his lap. Then again, up there, there’s a chance of it falling into the pot. That may be worse than the pee puddles on the tile.

In the end, I suppose it’s his decision. His phone. His hand, face, ear and so on then married to the putridity of the public restroom floor. I can live with that. I’ll just turn away and write about it. Oh, and leave you with a kick-ass clip from the aforementioned movie (Bonnie Tyler rocks your world starting at 1:49):

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