Everyone secretly wants to be seduced by a supernatural being and that’s ok

image

I read a lot of science fiction, horror and fantasy books.
I watch a hell of a lot of trashy sci-fi / horror TV shows and films.
What I have learnt is that deep down, everyone has this base desire to be seduced by a very powerful creature – preferably immortal.
In some cases it is a human, one that seems unattainable and awe-inspiringly strong, brave or skilled, but then those are altogether too relatable as stories go. I don’t really like that in a fantasy story because it makes me think about real feelings and shit like that, I want to be taken somewhere that I can’t possibly go in real life.
So within the pages and vicariously we secretly wish that we could become the object of some mythical creature’s desire. Can you imagine if something so powerful and beautiful chose you over all others….That’s got to boost your self esteem some hasn’t it? Plus we are led to believe that those with supernatural powers are somehow exceptional lovers, so…
I don’t think the feeling of wanting to be the centre of someone elses world is particularly new or weird, it’s central to human nature…but to want that attention from someone or something with a fascinating weirdness, who could choose ANYONE in the world? It’s not something that people are going to freely admit because of the shit tons of pride and parallel fragility that such thoughts stem from. It’s something about proxy to power isn’t it? To be desired by a symbol of strength makes one feel strong, no? All this reminds me of something Tori Amos said about wondering whether Jesus would be a good lover. I think that the desire to be loved by an all-powerful God amounts to pretty much the same thing as wanting to be seduced by a vampire (psychologically speaking). There are ‘spiritual’ nuances that I’m glossing over, but its all the same to me.

So you fantasise about being whisked away by a Witch, by a Mystif, by an Angel or superhero? Hey, that’s ok, as long as it doesn’t come at the cost of real relationships – maybe you need to work a bit on your self-esteem (most of us do) but ultimately everyone else does the same thing in the privacy of their own mind, and I know what you are thinking but, no, the fact that these humanesque creatures in question aren’t quite human doesn’t mean we are talking about beastiality, which is pretty much universally not ok (even in Germany now). Imagination and the unknown are such potent ingredients, who could help but wonder?

Ps. If you have a partner or two in the real world, remember that they have the superpower of putting up with your annoying shit, so don’t take that for granted.

Incidentally the painting at the top is mine (from some ten years ago). It might not be very good but don’t steal it without asking ok?
(c) Accidental Tentacles

Advertisements

Mingling with anxiety

image

Dear person who I have not yet met,

When I first see you I am intimidated, I see all the traits that you have and I do not. My heart races regardless of who you are.

When you make eye contact with me I want to run away because I believe you are either about to humiliate me, or have mistaken me for someone else.

When you walk towards me, my stomach flips over and I want to vomit because I’m afraid that you are going to do or say something that will make me feel inferior.

When you speak to me, I can’t focus on what you are saying because I’m too busy forcing myself to stand still and not shake.

When you smile at me, I can’t breathe and I feel paranoid that you are actually laughing at me, or smiling at someone else behind me.

When I need to reply to you my mouth fills with the sand that is trickling out of my brain. I’m so scared of saying something stupid that I crack a ridiculously poor joke instead, then replay what I’ve just said over and over, thereby missing what you said next :/ sorry…

When you try to ask me questions about myself I give short answers because I don’t think I’m interesting enough to warrant longer ones. I’m also too busy stopping myself from fidgeting to remember much more than my name and date of birth.

When I ask repetitive questions about you I’m not obsessive, I just need a few seconds to gather my thoughts because my cerebral hamster wheel has got all tangled up.

When you look over my shoulder at someone else I panic that you don’t like me, so I do something weird to grab your attention, like pull a strange face or say something inflammatory that I don’t even mean.

When I look over your shoulder at someone else it probably isn’t because I’m bored it’s because I’m looking out for assassins and trying to get respite from your focus.

When you walk away I can breathe again and recommerce being awkward without an immediate audience.

When you walk away I wish you hadn’t left so soon

I know there are more interesting, intelligent and attractive people out there for you to meet who won’t require so much effort.

Damn, meeting new people is exhausting when you crave social interactions but yet are terrified. It was so much easier when I could drink alcohol. I wonder, does everyone else feel the same?

If you know me already we can hopefully (but not always) skip the foreplay and I can just stand awkwardly and limpet-like beside you while you roll your eyes until such a time as it is almost socially acceptable for me to run away and hide.

Symptoms, hanging tasks and collecting useless bunches of thoughts

image

Thank-you very much universe for bestowing upon me a migraine of duvet requiring proportions. I had today all planned out but you stole those hours and left me in the dark just hoping and waiting for the pain to ascend. I could have been more productive in my studious efforts to watch all of “the collector” TV show before it gets taken away from Amazon prime, and I could have taken out the rubbish and recycling that’s been glaring at me all week and has therefore spontaneously overflowed into numerous ominous looking bags.

I’ll thank you not to call me lazy.

No horses today as my friend is sick. This makes me sad on many levels.

It’s been a pretty tumultuous week, running the gamut of tears, anxiety, panic, fear, sadness, exhaustion, shoulder acne and night sweats. I gave my talk to 70 people during which I came this (squishes two fingers together) close to using the word “voodoo” to describe how a piece of equipment works. Yay Science!! Nonetheless I’ve made it to the weekend intact aside from the little part of me that was hiding the whole anxiety issue from the boss lady, buuut….I had to tell her what’s up because I’ve reached the top of the list for CBT. Sadly the offered the ONLY time that I could not make, due to weekly meetings. After filling in the blanks and enquiring, my boss was understanding and said I should just take the slot…but…of course the NHS is most efficient when you don’t want it to be and in the time it took me to blink and ring them back, I’d been irreversibly placed back on the waiting list. Thanks. That’s just awesome. I admitted frailty to my boss for nothing….OK…not nothing, I suppose it’s out of the way at least. She knows I’m a bit mental and let’s face it, there was no hiding that meltdown in the meeting that I described before.

I’ve been asked by a company to travel to Poland to give an academic talk (all expenses paid) and I’m umming and arring about it (that phrase looks wrong when you write it down). I want to because it’s good experience, I like the person who invited me and it’s a country I haven’t been to but….what if I make myself (more) ill over it? I mean…how many days of valium does a normal person need for that kind of thing? What if security alleviate them from me!! And is there enough bog roll at the airport to cope with my anxious tummy? What if I sweat so much that I shrivel up to a crooked husk because I’m afraid to ask for some water? These are very real considerations!!! Giving a talk=easy. The week or two building up to it=hellish corporeal rebellion.

I’ve thought about the divergent books a lot, and I’ve decided that I really didn’t like the character Tris very much. She might have been brave and kick-ass but she was actually quite selfish and irritating(especially in books 2 and 3). I’m not annoyed that she died per say, I’m just aggrieved about the way it happened. So there.

I should have completed a task at work this week but I put it off because that would mean interacting with someone who had been off with norovirus. No. Fucking. Way. I therefore have the mystery of the unfathomable blot problems to deal with on Monday. Plus explaining to the boss lady why I chose instead to obsessively reanalyse some old data instead (fucking good job I did because I discovered a fuckup). Mmm, Western blots: my favourite unsatisfactorily borderline artistic and non-reproducible technique

Ps. I have a note stuck on my mac at work saying “fix your moronic mistakes re: algebra” someone should almost certainly revoke my a-level maths…  strike that, I’m not worthy of GCSE.

On finding unexpected pockets of pain, and dreading how the story ends

image

I’ll start with stories. I love to read stories. I become irrationality and unnecessarily emotionally involved in stories and the encapsulated characters. I just spent the better part of three weeks living in a world conceived by someone else’s mind, learning to love the (at times irritating) characters, and just as the final book is coming to a close, the fucking kick-ass protagonist gets killed off, leaving an intense love dangling limp, lending an unsatisfying and depressing void where a happily ever could have been. I’m looking at you Roth. Why did you have to do it?! It’s like Alice Morgan all over again. Abandoned as I am by the untimely departure of a strong and unique character who I have at times, wished I could be.

Endings suck. I always want the story to keep on going, taking me further into the dream world, letting me live in the intimacy of someone elses fantasy.

Yes, endings are, generally speaking most comprehensively unsatisfactory.

As for the pockets of pain, well. I found one in a hotel. I found a whole hotel brimming with dread and memories and the fear that if I stepped foot inside, I’d break the spell and lose what I had when I was last there. I remember how we had tea together by the window, chatting about how beautiful the city is, how much they loved it here. Smiling and joking about how the restaurant was so dark that they couldn’t see their food! That was the last place I saw them that is not tainted by what came after. It was preserved in my head as a time capsule of memory, Something to revisit in my head, but never in person. Thinking about going there just reminded me of the pain that I’ve been tying down, dampening with anything I can grab a hold of but grief can find some peculiar times to remind you that you are still bearing a gaping hole in your life that no-one else can ever fill. The tears dried up before I set foot inside and it looks and feels like a different place now. I’m not afraid to go back tomorrow, but I’m still trying to stop playing the images over and over and mourning my losses. They would want me to remember, but not to be in pain.

Someone recommend me a damned good book with a happy or at least neutral ending please. I need some literary hope!

Life lessons

Things that we learnt tonight:

1. I’m a fucking dickhead
2. You can’t fit your arm comfortably between two flip down seats EVEN IF you put your arm there before the other seat goes down.
3. I am perfectly capable of screaming in public

So….you can do the maths there. I’ll just find some paracetamol and arnica and wait for the embarrassment to pass. At least I didn’t break anything….except my pride.

I totally didn’t spend the whole concert freaking out about the horrors that I imagined were unfolding inside my jumper.

(runs and hides under duvet where you can’t mock me)

Nope

I just can’t hear you from here

Stand up and light that oilburner folks, let’s get out of here!

image

Action doesn’t happen of its own accord.
If everyone just rolled over, laid down and waited for someone else to deal with niggling or gargantuan issues, then we’d be forever stuck in a dark cave waiting for someone else to light the oilburner to find our way out.

Why are so many people so content to stand back and expect that regardless of what the problem is, or how closely it relates to them, they can just throw the reins to the winds of fate? It is someone else’s problem.

I wouldn’t mind so much but everyone seems to be so opinionated with it, so righteous, so quick to criticise. I wonder if they ever really think about how they would handle actually taking action and making a difference? Not just pontificating about what should be done, but genuinely doing something.

The world is so full of expectant spectators. They wait like TV audiences, waiting for the next episode so they can gripe about a show they couldn’t be bothered to vote for.

Next time you have the opportunity to be involved in shaping the outcome of something that will after your life, take it, or keep your criticisms to yourself.

As a distinctly apolotical beast, this rant may seem uncharacteristic, but I seem to be increasingly standing up and taking responsibility for whatever unpalatable roles there are at work that require someone to represent the murmering masses, that no-one else wants to do. They all want action, but they won’t do it. I know I’m not really the girl for these jobs, but I feel strongly that someone has to step up, so why not me.

You have to pick your battles, that’s what the say isn’t it? No one person can do everything, but if everyone did something, wouldn’t that lighten the load?

Precious little enough of our worlds are within our own control.
Why give up what opportunities you get?

I may have a utopian vision but come on folks. This isn’t 1984.

Panic as a failed balancing act

Here is a discussion I had with my anxious inner squid while sat in a meeting.

Me: hmm our ear is ringing a bit
Squid: that’s bad.
Me: it’ll probably go away
Squid: it hasn’t gone away, I think we are going deaf
Me: yeah I guess we do feel a bit dizzy
Squid: a bit? Did we even eat breakfast?
Me: yes, we did
Squid: well it wasn’t enough, our blood sugar is plummeting
Me: but we can’t very well walk out of this meeting to get a snack can we?
Squid: standing up might make us pass out
Me: shit, why is this meeting still going on?
Squid: I don’t like this,I think I might just shut down the consciousness centre to make it go away
Me: what the FUCK? No! That’s not an option
Squid: why are you doing weird things,like constantly squirming,taking our glasses on and off and rubbing bits of our body
Me: because I’m not letting you make me faint
Squid: but people have noticed..
Me: shit
Boss: are you OK?
Me: nope
Boss: haha
Squid: you should just let me win
Boss: why dont you just go
Me: erm. Because I think I’m going to pass out if I stand up
Boss: what do you want us to do?
Me: can someone get me some water and something to eat
(some kind person goes to get water and I’m passed some sugar sachets)
(worried looks all around the table)
Squid: I knew it! You are such a drama Queen!
Me: oh just fuck off, I’m going to have to tell them
Squid: that the anxious squid in your head is freaking you out?
Me: it’s probably just a panic attack
Colleague: has it happened before?
Squid: idiot
Me: yup
Colleague: have you eaten something?
Me: breakfast
Squid: skipped the juice though didn’t we…
Colleague: did you eat something that might have poisoned you?
(luckily neither I nor squid heard that one)
(hurray, water has arrived)
Boss: the meeting is over anyway, shall we leave you alone?
Me: I don’t really need an audience…
Squid: I haven’t gone away you know, I’m still hovering over that switch
Me: except colleague 2, can I borrow you a min.

Two hours later, unaided by medication, I ran out of adrenalin.

So there we have it. The most public anxiety fail so far. I’m getting my ear checked out at the Dr.