"Honey
All the movements you're starting to make
See me crumble and fall on my face
And I know the mistakes that I made
See it all disappear without a trace."
[Coldplay, "A Rush of Blood to the Head"]

I had a job interview today. It's the first actual job interview I've had in maybe 6 or 7 years. I was very nervous beforehand, and while I was there. I barely slept last night, and couldn't eat today before I went. I'm not exactly sure how it went - I think it went well, except maybe for the French portion where I was a bit weak - but the relief of simply having it overwith was enough for me to order pizza and donair for supper, and to treat myself to an afternoon of EQ guilt-free (albeit a very frustrating one, sadly, but hey, a bad day of playtime is still usually better than a good day of work, right?).

So I'm not quite sure if the good mood I'm in is just happy because I think I did well, or happy because it's overwith. But either way, and whether I get the job or not, I've at least been through the experience (and the practice alone is valuable to me). So I'm writing. To unwind and blow off as much more of this tension as I can while I'm in the mood. I've realize recently that I don't just have to write when I'm in a bad mood and need to vent. I can write for a very different reason too: I enjoy it. It doesn't have to always be about exorcising demons, though when it is, that's fine too. Remember: "If only I could teach the world the duality of Yin and Yang, reading of my pain might be properly tempered with remembrance of my joy." (And if I could teach them the singularity of Yin and Yang, then I'd have really accomplished something, but let's a hefty philosophical waxing for another day.)

I've had a lot to say recently, but it's gotten mostly muddled, and I'm probably trying to hatch some of my mental eggs a little prematurely by writing today. But I'm here, and I feel like talking, so I'll just ramble it out and see what happens, shall I?

I've a female friend Tracey, whom I've known for some time, who's a most incredible and peculiar character. She never ceases to amaze, amuse, enlighten, or elevate me. She's a unique individual, whose mere existence breaks the molds in my head. She is not easily quantified or qualified. By her behaviour, lifestyle, and personality, she refuses to be simply pigeon-holed and easily understood. I could spend a lifetime knowing her as a close friend (and intend to), and I'm not sure at the end of it all I'll every really understand her any better than I do now. She's an enigma. But unlike most of life's mysteries which taunt and trouble me, this one I'm content to accept as beyond me. If I never unravel this secret, I'll be happy just for having witnessed it. Why? Zen. Chaung Tzu. The last episode of Star Trek TNG. Take your pick. Because the point of examining paradox, according to Eastern thought, is that only by confronting and accepting paradox do we expand our minds, elevate them past the base simplicity, and realize there are things which are simply beyond us. She is a paradox which expands the boundaries of my thinking and forces me to accept well beyond the conventional.

When she arrived to visit from Norway, she'd brought Xmas gifts for some of us. I only realized then that when a number of us, locally, had agreed not to exchange gifts, I'd not informed her. Well, this simply could not do, nor should it. So I gave her a little of everyone's most precious possession - time - in the form of a poem and some origami. Both took a while, and I hope she liked the results. (The poem is "Tracey (Angel of Truth)".)

So while we're on the subject of female friends and acquaintances, particularly ones that are married or have boyfriends, perhaps even boyfriends I know, and with a complete lack of subtle segue... I covet. Lustily do I covet. Boy do I covet. Funny thing is, it isn't always even a "man, I'd like to have sex with her" kind of covet. It's more of a... "sexual curiousity", or even just a "nudity curiousity". I think I mostly just want to see them naked. Sure, some I'd love to have sex with if it were consequence- and guilt-free. And in some sense, pretty much any woman that I find interesting, regardless of whether on a purely physical level I find them compelling or not, I want to see naked. That's to be taken for granted. Just cause. Cause I like naked women. Women look good naked. Most much more than they realize. It's just that I realized recently that I sure do tend to find myself attracted to or wanting to see naked a lot of women I can't possibly have, mostly because they're either very far away and/or with someone I know anyway. I guess maybe it's partly the "forbidden" element. I'm not quite sure. But damn, I'm surrounded by women I covet. And I should probably stop that. Certainly not a productive kind of way to feel.

People oughta just be way more free about nudity too. Quench my curiousity, and I can get on to thinking about more important things. I mean, there are more important things than naked women, right? There must be. Surely. Damned if I can think of any just now, but still. There gotta be. Man, I really gotta break this fixation I've had these past couple of days.

*Insert another total lack of segue here*. I posted some erotica, and I'm feeling even more nervous about it now. I'm determined to go forward with writing, in any and every form, so I'm not about to remove it. But I feel kind of exposed a bit having it up there, perhaps the same way that most people feel uncomfortable "talking dirty" to even their lovers. In spite of the fact that it might be words you use every day in other contexts, the moment you try to use them in that way, they suddenly seem so clumsy and stupid coming out of your mouth. I'm confident in my ability to narrate and to describe. Yet the moment I'm reading a narration I wrote where I describe sex, I feel like an idiot, sure others are reading it and giggling at me.

I'll get past it. It's an important part of my growth, as a writer and as a person, toward caring more about the quality of the product, and less about what others might think of it. And yes, that last sentence, for most of you, probably makes no sense. Why? Because it's a paradox. How can I want to produce something of a quality literary value, with no regard for its popularity?

To a Taoist way of thinking: is there any other way?

Care by not caring. Accomplish much, by doing little and with no regard.

My head is a strange place to live, but it sure can be interesting sometimes.