The Jamie Saga for Becky

"You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering." Henri-Frederic Amiel Henri-Frédéric Amiel

A couple of weeks after you died, I contacted Jamie since you told me he called you some months back. I wanted to try to forestall any additional contact, knowing that Bill would probably be enraged. I tried to track Jamie down via the web, but his name was too common and I thought he was probably still living in California. that gave me the idea (and the opportunity) to contact E.U. I found his email address on the web...I knew he was living here, because I periodically do searches for a couple of my old lovers to see what they're up to these days. No, as a matter of fact, that does not constitute stalking.

I digress...more on that later. anyway, I finally got in touch with Jamie and we agreed to get together for lunch one Saturday not long ago. He greeted me with the statement that he hadn't seen you in 15 years. I thought that was odd an odd way to start the conversation. I wanted to do some general catching up before we started the serious conversation about you and Ken. I asked what he's been up to for the past 30 years or so. He told me that he got his master's degee after a lot of screwing around, had a job in California that lasted nine years, quit that job and he hasn't found a comparable job since then. It turns out he's been here for the past five years, working as a handyman. He pointed out to me that he hasn't "accomplished" anything.

I have to admit, the handyman thing really threw me for a loop. You know I don't care if he's accomplished anything or that he's a handyman. I guess I just expected someone with his talent and intelligence would find a less difficult and more financially rewarding way to spend his time.
He said that he was married once, for a year. Jamie said that his wife was younger (i don't doubt that--I'm sure it's hard to find women his age who are interested in getting into a long term relationship with a man with such low expectations in life) and was in her senior year in college when they wed . He said she told him she wanted to continue to live on campus for that year so she could be active in campus activities. Well, okay, that's pretty weird. What kind of lame ass person wants to voluntarily live on campus when she's a senior? And married. He said that at the end of her senior year, she just came over one day and told him she wanted a divorce. Out of the blue. I'm sorry, but that makes me laugh every time I think about it.

Generally speaking, I think it's a good idea to be a little bit concerned when your spouse would rather live in a dorm than live with you, if only because sex is so much more inconvenient that way. He said she was a film major and she made him go to see movies constantly. He complained that she made him sit through all of the credits at the end of all the movies they ever saw. Doesn't sound like much of a love connection there, does it? I wish I'd asked more, because now that I think back, there are a number of questions I'd like to ask. You know, just for fun.

So then he worked for some company doing what sounded like technical writing. I thought maybe I could help him get a contractor job, but he was so vague about what he wanted to do that I still haven't quite figured out what he's looking for. I called him about one job, but he told me he didn't think he had the technical skills for it. My therapist (and my mom) thought it was exceedingly rude that he didn't say thank you for the call. It actually hadn't occured to me until they pointed it out to me. then I got really concerned that Jamie really just likes being a handyman and just doesn't wish to tell me. I didn't want to call him up if it made him feel bad.

When i told my husband about lunching with Jamie, i commented that we always had some difficulty communicating. He thought i meant that i didn't like him. Frankly, i couldn't exactly remember what the exact issue. After our lunch date, though, the problem became abundantly clear. Jamie just likes to complain. He complained about his ex-wife (well, okay, I guess everyone does that), the job he used to have, the jobs he had in between this job, his current job, the fact that old friends are making more money than he does.

I'm sure I spent a lot of the conversation looking at him in complete bewilderment. As you know, I'm a big proponent of getting your shit together and doing something productive to solve your unhappiness. I think when we were younger, I believed my inability to understand his general unhappiness was due to some lack of insight or attention on my part. It wasn't me, after all. I wonder if he complained to you all the time. Surely not. I wish I could ask you.

There's so much more to tell, but my attention is drifting a bit, so I'll have to finish the tale tomorrow.

IQ Tests. What the Hell.

I've wasted most of my day today attempting to verify my IQ scores. My SAT scores placed me in the top 1% and I scored 136 onthe last IQ test I took. Big deal. I periodically get really obsessed with my IQ, as if it matters one tiny little bit to anything. I suppose I'm feeling insecure or needing some pats on the head. It's kind of pathetic, Really. Oops. I'm trying really hard these days to cut myself some slack and calling myself pathetic probably doesn't qualify as slack. I was surfing around, looking at high IQ societies to figure out if I could get in one. I could get into several, but I don't even want to be in one. My impression of those groups is that they involve a lot of solving those stupid murder mystery things where everyone plays a part...sort of like participatory theatre except nowhere near as interesting as real art. Boring. If they're so smart, why are they wasting their time with that bullshit? I've been laying low in my office these days. My stress level rises exponentially whenever i have to interact with j. You know, I've given him too much credit. I always thought that he must surely have insight into his own behavior. Other people, including my therapist, have convinced me that I'm incorrect. The unfortunate facts are that he is self-righteous, bigoted, narcissitic and a hypocrite. Of course, while I'm typing this, I'm thinking "He's just a very wounded person who's deserving of my compassion." I think there are always at least two ways to interpret people's behavior and I always select the nobler interpretation. Though it may be correct that most people don't act out of their highest self, I have a great resistance to changing my approach. It doesn't hurt me in any way to believe that people are kinder, smarter, etc. I don't let them get close no matter what their motivations or inclinations. The problem is that people (including me) tend to behave in hurtful ways out of their own blindness or weakness or pain. Mainly pain, I think. So you just naturally want to keep them at arm's length until one can discern each person's level of self-awareness. My therapist thinks that my standards may be a little stringent. She keeps telling me that if I would venture out of my safety zone, I might find people who could appreciate me. I'm not going to be finding that appreciation at work, that's for sure. It's a little late in the day to start talking about why that's so, but believe me, it's very true.I'm supposed to be proofreading someone else's work and, of course, I've been avoiding it by writing this post. They request so little of me. I guess I'm going to try to complete that task before I go. Still missing you, Becky.

You Will Never Imagine Anything Again

This is the first time I've written since you've been gone. I thought it might be good to continue our discussion. Your death has opened some new place inside of me. I find that I have a sense of the interconnection of all things. If my physical body was split open, there would be the whole of the universe swirling inside of me. I sense the movement of all beings everywhere, like feathers rustling as we all nestle inside this soft machine. The funny thing about it is that, shortly before you died, I spent a fair amount of time actually thinking about the pieces of my heart which are scattered across the world. My old friends and lovers have good days and bad days, like what they had for lunch or hate the traffic while they drive to work in the morning. They are out of my reach. I suspect dying is something like that...you leave, knowing that your loved ones will fill millions of mundane minutes, but you will never know how they passed those ticking seconds. I wonder if you ever thought about this and imagined what some old lover was doing at 4:18 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Doesn't matter, though, of course. It only matters that you will never imagine anything again.