This photo of the orangutan turning around to help the human out of the mud pit made me weep nearly to the point of incoherence yesterday.
But then, I was already in a weepy mood. Crossed communications with a Near-and-Dear.
I have severe abandonment issues.
Legacy of a father who walked out on me when I was very young and a mother who used to punish me by leaving me alone on busy NYC street corners, advising, “Your father will pick you up in a couple of hours.”
What I perceive as rejection makes me very anxious even when my conscious mind knows it’s not rejection.
I don’t really have any good coping mechanism for that anxiety. It makes me me feel a little bit better to think, “To hell with them,” and cut off all avenues of communication in case they want to reach out.
And to get shitfaced enough to allow distraction to filter in.
I did both yesterday evening. Blocked the Near-and-Dear’s phone number for a couple of hours, drank bourbon and watched Cormorant Strike movies.
The actor who plays Cormorant Strike, Tom Burke, is an archetype that used to appeal to me deeply back in the days when I was most susceptible to male archetypes. Big. Physically imposing to the point of threatening. Though he doesn’t have blue eyes, which is a point against him—blue eyes and dark hair make my libido strum beee-you-tee-full music. The late Oliver Reed was the ultimate prototype.
Anyway, suitably sedated and decathected, I unblocked my phone. Shortly thereafter Near-and-Dear was in touch, and I thought, You really need to figure out a more constructive way to deal with all this.
Not that yesterday was unproductive. I made good progress with the expository portion of the Remunerative Project and I tore down most of the upper garden plot.
The pepper plants are still thriving, so I guess I’m gonna have to prep the soil around them since the plan is to enrich the soil and plant daffodil, tulip, and garlic bulbs some time next week.
And it’s gonna take hours to process all the basil into pesto for the winter ahead:
There’s tons more basil in the lower garden. I think I’m gonna donate it to the food bank. I love pesto. But too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.