October 16, 2017 (Monday)

by Yule Heibel on October 15, 2018

It’s interesting how often I sit down to write morning pages, but immediately – before even setting down the date – think of two or three other things I should put on a list or immediately do instead. It’s obviously the busy, chattering mind, driven by feelings of guilt and / or neurotic self-talk. I wonder if men, especially heretofore white, western men, are becoming more feminized (or emasculated, in terms of some who really criticize the trend), and if thereby they’re becoming more neurotic. (Just think of the whole Woody Allen shtick, which used to be a cute sideshow but now is more main stage…) And in becoming more openly neurotic, more methods and “hacks” are increasingly available to deal with neuroticism.

Take meditation: I’m not sure it would have been as universally appealing (i.e., to both men and women) even one or two generations ago if it were offered (in those bygone times) in a more “masculine,” less neuroticism-friendly manner. And so, if it’s the case that mind-hacks are now more universally available – that is, appealing also to the more neurotic, which would encompass more women – it could be said that the feminization of men, the upping of their Neuroticism Quotient (NQ), has inadvertently opened doors to “fixes” and approaches for women which previously might not, in a masculine-only world of hacks and solutions, been of interest.

In that sense, it’s a case of the rising tide lifting all boats. But the question is, what’s in the fucking water?

Well, it’s Monday here in the real world, and although I’ve been back in harness since we unlocked the front door on Thursday night when we got home, today marks the return of the full Monty. We both slept badly – whether in anticipation of the 6-something alarm clock or just because of the weird windy weather which worried the windows all night – and arose well before the alarm. It was still dark. Right now the sun is pushing through a variegated, multi-hued cloud cover, painting a few stragglers in the hole torn open by wind currents a bright light gold. The tear reveals blue sky; otherwise we’re still mostly looking at shades of steel, cloud-blue, silver. But it’s thinning out, and more blue appears in the erasures.

Talked with A. at length yesterday, about derivatives of derivatives, and why it’s not worth investing in them. I’m talking about people and their derivatives-of-derivatives ideas, the junk bonds of opinions. We also talked about meaning, and how anger can stave off a deeper depression, but at the same time, no matter how angry (or depressed) you get, it’s not as if our fundamental calamity (knowledge of our own mortality) has changed in any way. You know you’re gonna die. The rest is commentary on that fundamental truth. But then, I’m not twenty-something anymore, so maybe it’s my age, my resignation (re-SIGN-ation) showing if I say, “the rest is commentary.”

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